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spnhunter4life · 10 months ago

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Bullets and Ballgowns

Summary: In the summer of 1813, the arrival of a new family in Brighton causes much excitement for the townsfolk. Anna Foster is shocked to realize she has already met the elder of the two sons, Dean. As she gets to know the family better, she must fight her feelings for him. Though she finds herself drawn to him, it is impossible that they could ever be together.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of the regency era fic I promised. Set in England because it just seems wrong to write for this time period in any other location. Thanks to everyone who has shown excitement for it! I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Masterlist

Anna Foster was greatly enjoying the ball her parents were hosting. It was a beautiful evening. Despite the late hour, the sky was clear of clouds and the full moon shone bright enough to see clear to the horizon. Their country home located a few miles outside of Brighton thrummed with energy. The windows were cracked to let some of the mild summer air into the warm room. The room itself was occupied by a crowd of people. Gentlemen in suits and ladies in beautiful gowns twirled together on the dance floor, accompanied by the town’s most well-respected musicians. Even more people lingered around the edges of the room, chatting amongst themselves and admiring the dancers. It was an overall pleasant and joyful way to end the day.

There was always a great deal of excitement surrounding any ball, but this one was doubly exciting for the town, and Anna’s mother in particular. A new family had moved to town today and would make an appearance at the ball. A wealthy man with his wife and two eligible sons. Naturally, everyone was quite anxious to meet the new family – particularly mothers with eligible daughters – but none more so than Anna’s mother. She had been a ball of excitement since the announcement of the new family’s arrival several weeks ago and had been nearly literally bursting with joyful anticipation today. Anna could do nothing but shake her head and smile fondly.

She was just finishing a dance with Mr. Littleton – a sweet older gentleman who spent each ball dancing with as many ladies as he could, determined that none should be left out – when the sudden outbreak of whispers in the room alerted her to the new arrivals. She curtsied to Mr. Littleton and retreated to the edge of the room, taking up a position next to her friend Charlotte near the door to watch the unfolding excitement.

As tonight’s hosts, Anna’s parents were, of course, the first to greet the new family. They were already standing beside the newcomers, welcoming them not only to their home, but to the town. As the family of four made their way further into the room, Anna found herself staring curiously at them, much the same as everyone else. Her eyes flitted over the line they had formed, first the father, then the mother, and then the two sons.

Mr. and Mrs. Winchester were quite an attractive pair. He was tall with dark hair and had a certain ruggedness about him. Her blonde hair and slighter build complemented him well. And it appeared their good looks had been passed on to their two sons. It was hard to say which was older, but the one standing next to their mother was taller. His brown hair was on the longer side and fell attractively around his eyes. He had a friendly smile that Anna was sure would have caught the attention of girls even if he did not come from a good family with money. The second son was just as attractive, maybe more so. Though he wasn’t as tall as his brother, he was by no means short. His hair was shorter and a lighter shade of brown and he wore an equally charming and friendly smile. Anna felt the blood drain from her face at the sight of him.

Why was he here? How could this be happening? He was a stranger from London, one of thousands of people there. How could he be here of all places? Surely he must have been sent here to torment her, to remind her of that night.

“They are quite handsome,” Charlotte noted of the sons. “I suppose that means the fight for their affections will be even more fierce than expected.” She was not upset or bitter about this fact, merely making an observation. Charlotte did not fall all over herself anytime a new eligible man came to town. She was as eager to be married as any young lady, but she was determined to marry for love. Therefore she had no interest in the Winchesters at present beyond perhaps a desire to get to know them.

Managing a calm that she did not feel, Anna agreed with her. Her hand twisted nervously in the skirt of her gown as she watched her parents. The musicians started up a new song and couples shuffled off to the dance floor, no doubt still keeping a curious eye on the newcomers.

“Anna, darling, come here,” her mother requested when she noticed her standing nearby. She was absolutely beaming, smiling so widely it looked like it hurt. Even though she dreaded what might happen, Anna obeyed immediately, coming to stand next to her mother who wasted no time before getting to introductions.

“This is my daughter, Anna.” Anna said a polite hello as she curtsied. “Anna, this is Mrs. Winchester,” she continued giddily. “My childhood best friend I’ve told you so much about.”

She had indeed told Anna much about Mary Winchester, and always spoke of the other woman fondly. Mary had moved to London with her husband shortly after marrying, and Mrs. Foster had missed her friend dearly. Anna had never seen her so happy as the day she learned they were soon to be neighbors.

“This is her husband Mr. Winchester. And their sons, Sam and Dean,” Mrs. Foster finished. All three gentlemen bowed as they were introduced.

“How do you do?” Anna asked. “I hope you are finding Brighton to your satisfaction.”

“We've only been here but an hour or two, but my dear Mary is quite excited to be back,” Mr. Winchester said. “I must admit, I do have fond memories of the place myself and I believe we are both hoping Sam and Dean will grow to love it here as much as we once did.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Anna answered.

“I hope your expectations haven't been raised too much,” Mrs. Foster said to the younger Winchesters. “For while I find it hard to believe anyone could not be pleased with this fine city of ours, I find expectation a hard thing to live up to.”

“I don't doubt that we should be very happy here,” Dean answered with a polite smile. Anna forced herself to maintain eye contact as their gazes met. She saw no recognition on his face and couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Come now, dear,” Anna's father interjected. “Surely Mr. Winchester and his family should like to make the rounds to reacquaint themselves with old friends and meet their new neighbors. We mustn't keep them to ourselves all night.”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Foster immediately agreed. “Shall I introduce you to the Baileys? They are your closest neighbors.”

“I should like to make their acquaintance, but first I think we're forgetting something rather important,” Mrs. Winchester said. “We have not given either of my sons the opportunity to ask your daughter for a dance.”

Anna's heart started to race. Surely she would be allowed a little more time to settle her nerves before being thrown into a dance with this man.

“I assure you I would not mind if you wished to make a few more acquaintances before being thrown straight into the dancing.”

“Nonsense. It would be poor manners indeed not to ask for a dance from such a lovely new acquaintance, especially one whose family is graciously hosting this ball,” Mrs. Winchester insisted.

Before Anna could protest further, someone else spoke up.

“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me, Miss Foster?” It was Sam, and he wore a smile Anna recognized well, full of apologetic exasperation and fondness.

“I would love to,” Anna agreed immediately, smiling back at him. She was relieved it had been him who asked and not his brother.

As her parents took the Winchesters off to meet more people, Anna made her way back over to Charlotte.

“Well then, are they deserving of all the attention they’ll no doubt be getting from every eligible lady around?” Charlotte asked immediately. She was nothing if not to the point.

“I hardly know,” Anna answered. “I only spoke to them for a moment. I daresay they do appear to be quite kind though. I am to dance the next with the younger Mr. Winchester. I shall give you a better formed opinion after.”

“Wonderful,” Charlotte said. She sighed wistfully. “I do hope at least one of them has a character as lovely as his face is handsome.”

Anna smiled. “That would be quite lovely indeed. But of course nothing less could ever be deserving of you.”

As the two girls talked, Anna noticed Dean excuse himself from the conversation with the Baileys and make his way across the room. He stopped beside George Young and they warmly clasped hands. George had just returned home from university and Anna assumed that must be how they knew each other.

“Anna, you’re staring,” Charlotte informed her gently. Anna blinked in surprise before turning back to her friend, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks.

“What is going on with you?” Charlotte asked. She sounded torn between concern and amusement. “I thought I detected a hint of unease when you saw his family tonight, but I dismissed it as nerves. But now to catch you staring as well. That’s not like you.” She paused, waiting for Anna to respond. When she didn’t, Charlotte continued. “He is very handsome. Perhaps you find him particularly so? Should I focus my attentions on the other brother then?” The ‘assuming he’s worth paying attention too’ went unspoken.

“No, it’s not that,” Anna protested. “I mean, he is quite handsome. But you know as well as I that I could not hope to be pursued by him even if I wished it. It is only…” Charlotte waited patiently for her to finish her thought. Anna sighed, steeling herself to admit something she had hoped never to speak of. If anyone deserved to know though, Charlotte did. “It is only that I’ve met him before. And I am quite ashamed of the way I behaved.”

Charlotte seemed puzzled by this news. They usually confided in each other quite openly after all. It wasn’t usual for something to happen, especially something big enough to cause discomfort at the mere mention of it, that the other was unaware of.

“What happened?”

“Nothing I want to speak of in such a public place,” Anna replied. “But I promise to tell you soon.”

“Alright,” Charlotte agreed worriedly. The closing notes of the song rang through the room and Anna saw Sam excusing himself from the small group of people he was talking to. “But… everything is alright?”

“Everything is alright,” Anna assured her.

Sam stopped in front of them with a bow and offered his hand to Anna. She took it and he escorted her to the dance floor where they lined up with the other couples.

“How are you enjoying your evening so far Miss Foster?” He asked as the musicians started up with the next song and they moved together in the first steps of the dance.

“Very well,” Anna answered. “Although I think it is unlikely for anyone to feel otherwise at a ball.”

“Yes, I believe you are right,” he agreed. Anna glanced around and saw all the ladies who were not currently dancing eyeing either her and Sam or Dean.

“I suppose you have a long night ahead of you dancing with every eligible lady in the room,” she said sympathetically. She did not know of anyone who did not enjoy dancing, but to be new to town and expected to get to know everyone through an endless stream of dances seemed rather tiring. “I should be happy to make introductions for you if anyone catches your eye. Or if at any point you need a break from all the dancing, I shall brave the displeasure of all the young ladies here and sit and talk with you.”

He smiled widely. “A very generous offer.” He was either amused or grateful. Possibly both, Anna couldn’t tell for sure. They danced in silence for a few moments before Sam spoke again. “I must apologize for being so quick to ask for a dance when I know it’s possible you would have preferred the invitation to come from my brother.”

“Why should I have preferred that?” She asked calmly, desperately hoping it hadn’t been that painfully obvious how nervous his older brother made her.

“Well, as the eldest son he is a better prospect than me. I shouldn’t blame you if you would prefer to get to know him.”

She supposed that was true enough, but why anyone would turn their nose down at Sam – who seemed to be a very kind, well-mannered man – simply because he was not the oldest was a mystery to her. He was still a very advantageous match.

“I do wish to get to know him,” she answered truthfully. “I have actually been quite anxious to make both of your acquaintances. But not in the hopes of securing an offer from either of you.” He looked at her questioningly, so she continued. “It means a great deal to my mother that all of us get along.”

“Ah,” Sam said, the understanding clear on his face.

“So no, I am not offended that you offered me a dance before your brother could. I should not feel slighted in the least to not dance with him at all tonight. I believe there shall be ample opportunity for us to talk in the future.”

“That may be true, but you can be assured you will not have to wait until after tonight for a chance to talk to him. Our friendship means a great deal to my mother as well, and she would not hear of us leaving here tonight without both of us having had at least one dance with you.”

Anna chuckled. “It should not surprise me to hear that your mother and my own appear to have a great deal in common.”

“No, it should not,” Sam agreed with a smile. He hesitated a moment before speaking again. “I hope it is not too forward of me to say I am glad that the young lady our mother so dearly wants us to become closely acquainted with is you. Though I do not know you well, I daresay I think it shall be quite easy to be your friend.”

“I quite agree Mr. Winchester. You appear to be just what I might look for in a friend.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

They chatted quite contentedly for the remainder of the dance, at the end of which he escorted her back to Charlotte’s side.

“Might you introduce me to your friend, Miss Foster?” Sam asked politely.

“Of course,” Anna agreed. Well, she thought, now Charlotte can form her own opinion of the man. “This is my good friend Charlotte Thompson. This is Mr. Winchester.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Charlotte said.

“The pleasure is mine,” Sam replied. “Would you like to dance, Miss Thompson?”

“I thank you, yes,” Charlotte agreed, taking the hand Sam offered her.

The pair walked off, leaving Anna by herself. She retreated to the refreshment table, grabbing a glass of lemonade for herself. She noticed a small group of ladies gathered together in one corner of the room and was about to join them when a gentleman stopped her.

“Miss Foster,” he said. She turned to see Mr. Winchester grabbing a glass off the table. “Pardon me. I don’t mean to keep you from enjoying your evening.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. He took a sip of his lemonade, looking around the room as he did so.

“This is quite a lively ball your parents have put on tonight. My family and I are quite pleased to have such an event to attend on our very first night here.”

“As we are all quite pleased to have you here,” Anna said. He smiled.

“I think it will not come as a surprise to you to hear that my wife dearly wishes to get to know you,” he told her. “While I fear it will be some time before we host an event as grand as this, we should be settled enough in a few days' time to host small gatherings. I tell you this so you can know to expect a more formal invitation from my wife very soon as you are no doubt at the very top of her list of people to invite.”

“I thank you for telling me. And if Mrs. Winchester should ask, you may inform her that I look forward to forming a better acquaintance with her as well.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Winchester said gratefully. “I shall detain you no longer from your evening.” With that, he bowed and returned to his wife’s side.

The next couple of hours passed by just as pleasantly as the first couple. Anna danced several more times with several different gentlemen. When she was not dancing, she chatted with her friends. She and Charlotte were in agreement about Sam being a very pleasant fellow to be around, but Charlotte did not seem any more taken with him than she did any of the other gentlemen of the town.

Sam stayed quite busy dancing with various ladies but did take her up on her offer of talking when he needed a break. He spent some time acquainting himself with the gentlemen as well. His brother, while seemingly not quite as inclined to dance as him, still spent a fair amount of time escorting ladies to the dancefloor. He still had not asked her for a dance though, despite Sam’s assurance that he would. She was fine with that. The more time she had to steady herself before facing him, the better.

It was nearing the end of the evening, the musicians expected to play only three more songs when he finally approached her. He stopped in front of the group of four ladies she was talking to with a polite bow.

“Forgive the interruption, but I was wondering if I might borrow Miss Foster for a dance.”

Her friends looked to her in question. “I would be delighted,” she told him. Charlotte gave her a reassuring smile as she walked with him to the dance floor.

As the dance began, she found herself unable to stop from speaking the first words that came to her mind. “I was beginning to think I would not be offered a dance with you this evening after all, Mr. Winchester.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say you’ve been expecting an invitation all night?” Anna cringed internally. What an incredibly presumptuous thing to say. “If that is the case, I apologize for keeping you waiting so long. And for causing doubt that I, or any gentleman, would not wish to dance with you.”

“You misunderstand me,” she hurried to explain. “I did not mean to imply that I myself had any expectations. Indeed, if you ask your brother, you’ll find I had none at all. He assured me, however, that your mother would be rather displeased if the evening ended without both of her sons acquainting themselves with her friend’s daughter.”

“I see,” he answered casually. “So you are under the impression that I have asked to dance with you because my mother wished it, and that my own feelings had no influence on the matter.”

Up until now, the dance had required no physical contact between partners. They now reached the part where they were to clasp hands together as they made their way from one end of the lined up dancers to the other. His touch sent a jolt through her that she had not experienced with any of her other partners. She felt flushed as the contact reminded her of her actions on that night several months ago. Luckily any redness in her cheeks could be blamed on the exertion of the dance.

“My mother would be flattered to hear you have such a high opinion of her ability to influence my actions, but I am no longer a boy required to obey every wish of his mother’s. I asked you for a dance because it was my own desire, not anyone else’s.”

Anna could not deny the sincerity she felt in his words. Not being able to come up with a response to this declaration, she decided to change the subject.

“I asked your brother for his opinion on your family’s move to Brighton.” At the other end of the row of dancers now, they detached themselves and took their places back in line. “He confessed himself torn between an eagerness to know the people and sights here, and a sadness at the loss of his old home.”

“And you find this odd?”

“On the contrary. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to leave the only home you’ve ever known. Of course there must be excitement at meeting new people and experiencing new places. But that can only soften the feeling of loss so much.”

“That is very insightful of you,” Dean said. They clasped hands again as they began to weave in and out of the other couples.

“Perhaps not so insightful as you might think,” she disagreed. “I rather think every woman contemplates the difficulties, or perhaps in some cases joys, of leaving home, given that once she is married it is possible she will be settled quite far from her family.”

“And once you are married, what would you wish?” He asked. “To be near your family or to have a new city to explore?”

“I believe I should be content with either,” she answered, “assuming I am close enough to visit my family on occasion.” The topic of her marriage wasn’t one she wanted to dwell on right now, so she steered the conversation back to her original point. “What of you? Do you share your brother’s feelings?”

“I do not,” he answered. “But perhaps that is because I am only to spend the summer here with my family. After that I shall move into a place of my own.”

Of course. Sam had mentioned that he had just finished school. It only made sense that he would be preparing to start his own life then, a house being the first step before starting a family.

“And where do you plan on settling?” Anna asked.

“I do not know yet,” he answered as they came to a momentary stop, allowing the couples on either side of them to circle them as they waited their turn to do the same. “I hope to find a place in the country, just outside of London. I admit I have not seen much of the world, but I do not believe there could be a better place to live.”

They started moving again as Anna considered her reply. “I hope you are able to find the sort of home you are looking for.”

They spent the remainder of the dance discussing such things as how the Winchesters’ journey from London was, upcoming social events, and their families. It was a surprise to Anna when the music came to an end. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed. They walked together to the edge of the room, out of the way of the couples who were lining up for the next dance.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Foster. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Before Anna could reply, she became aware of the presence of another person stopping beside her.

“Good evening,” the new person said. Anna recognized his voice immediately. William Sanders. Her heart sank a little, but she kept a polite smile on her face. “I had meant to speak with you earlier, but I fear I got caught up talking with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Collins about tomorrow’s race,” he informed her. Then, as if just noticing she was not alone, he added, “Oh. I see you are already engaged in conversation. Would you introduce me?”

“This is Mr. Winchester. His family just moved here from London. This is Mr. Sanders.”

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Sanders said. “I had heard a new family was moving to town. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours as well,” Dean agreed.

Never one for small talk, William appeared to consider the conversation over. He turned his attention back to Anna and his original purpose in approaching. “I do hope I am not too late in asking you to join me in the last dance this evening. Have no fear, if you have already promised the dance to another I will not be upset, for I have only myself to blame. I do believe it would be quite unfortunate if I did not dance at least once with the woman I am to marry though, particularly at a ball thrown in her own home.”

“You are quite right,” she agreed, determinedly ignoring the surprise she saw briefly cross Dean’s face. “And as it happens, I have no partner for the final dance, so you needn’t worry.”

“Very good. I shall return to you in time for the dance then,” he informed her before walking away.

“I should return to my family,” Dean said when he was gone. “We had a long journey today, and while she would never admit it to anyone, I believe my mother is quite tired and would like to return home and rest. Good night, Miss Foster.”

Anna wished him a good night in return and watched as he walked away. She couldn’t help but feel like something about this last interaction was off, strained. She could come up with no explanation as to why she felt this way though. He had been perfectly polite and had already been about to leave her side before William showed up. Why, then, could she not shake the feeling that something about their short interaction had caused Dean’s departure? With a frustrated sigh, she forced these thoughts from her mind and took some time to catch her breath before the next dance started.

Chapter 2

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @aylacavebear

#bullets and ballgowns #fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #mary winchester #original characters #original female character #dean winchester x ofc #regency era #non hunting au

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thatjessiwills · 2 years ago

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Happy 𝒢𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒'𝓈 𝒟𝒶𝓎 to my girls! I love @once.upon.a.tory and @tory.hatcher with my whole heart! 💕💕💕 I hope everyone is having a wonderful day full of love and friendship! 💕💕 Gowns by @toodarling.boutique Event @bridgertonexperience #galentinesday #galentines #galentine #valentines #valentinesday2023 #valentinesday #bridgerton #bridgertonnetflix #thequeensball #queensball #bridgertonexperience #cosplay #princesscharlotte #princesscore #princesscosplay #regencyfashion #regency #regencycore #ballgown #netflix (at Bridgerton: Queen's Ball, Los Angeles Ton) https://www.instagram.com/p/ConaXpaSygT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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dandelionjack · 7 months ago

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actually actually… buckle in for some more unnecessarily detailed baseless speculation*. because it’s fun and there’s still 2 weeks to go (*stop accusing me of TJLCery i’m going to cry)

so, since rogue is the pre-finale episode… as a pattern those tend to begin in the manner of your average doccy who story, but finish with a devastating plot twist denouement to segue into the two-parter at the end. best examples of this are utopia and (gotta hand it to s12 here) the haunting of villa diodati. “it’s a celebrity historical! byron and the shelleys are here! oh and oops… what’s that? that’s the sound of the doctor making a fatal mistake that will inevitably lead her to the narrative climax…”

now what i’m getting at is. what if we’ve all been looking in the wrong place and rogue, not TLORS, is the episode by the end of which the doctor figures out that they’re stuck inside a TV show that’s been remixing old stories from their former adventures? “bridgerton! regency era! jane austen! flirting! ballgowns! dancing! oh and oops… what’s that? that’s the sound of doctor making a tragic discovery that will inevitably lead him to the narrative climax…”

here’s how this ties in to the popular “jonathan groff = recast harkness” theory. now, i USED to be an ardent proponent of it, but i no longer believe he’s actually playing pre-TEC/TDD captain jack, or any era captain jack at all, really. what he is playing, or so i gather apropos of crumbs and wisps of information, is a remarkably harkness-like character. just alike enough to make us (and the doctor!!) wonder: am i getting deja vu?? has rtd devolved into a hack who’s been reusing his old ideas and hoping we won’t notice?

no. look at the sneaky incorporation of The Doctor Dances’ title in the DWM paragraph above. he’s hoping we do.

it’s been pretty much confirmed by ~inside sources~ (read: leaks on reddit from ages ago) that groff’s playing either a time agent or former time agent — judging by the description above, it’s “former time agent turned bounty hunter”. charming, handsome rizzlord fella from the future (what’s that blaster in this hand? could it be from the villengard factories?), adept at blending in with a british historical period despite sounding noticeably american, actively involved in the social life of that historical era, morally grey and antagonistic towards the doctor at first, yet strangely alluring… sexual tension heavily implied… we’re supposed to feel like we’ve seen all this before. this man is a Not-Harkness.

change the doctor’s life forever is the key sentence here. as the doctor realises how remarkably similar groff-“rogue” is to jack when he first met him, and how the circumstances of their meeting almost rhyme too, he’ll notice some more odd things.

he’ll notice. he’ll notice how ruby looks like clara, waited for him while she aged like amy did, called her mum from a future space station looking down through a panoramic window at a planet like rose had, how their relationship is a best friendship/sibling-esque like with donna … he’ll notice how many of their adventures together seem to retread steps already walked. and then the puzzle will click into shape and it will “change the doctor’s life forever”: he’ll discover that this is a puppet show and go searching for whoever’s pulling the strings.

Not-Harkness “Rogue” Groff is the catalyst. the final straw.

or maybe not. maybe this is complete waffle i pulled out of my arse. only time will tell

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els-wonderland · 6 months ago

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Ranking Bridgerton Outfits: Season 1 Penelope

Photo credits to Tv Costumes on Pinterest!

Penelope's Debut Dress, Episode 1

I love this dress! It's one of the only Penelope dresses this season with the Season 3 fit that doesn't cut the bust in half. The undertones of greenish-yellow on the cream fabric look lovely with her red hair, and the jewelery is understated and elegant for her presentation to the Queen. No notes.

2. Pink Floral Dress, Episode 2

She looks so fru-fru in the best possible way. The floral embellishments pop here and there without looking garish, and the accessories of her frilled sheer gloves and the flower-and-ribbon headpiece tie everything together so sweetly. Her hair is great too, with the one long ringlet.

3. Lacy Green Dress, Episode 3

Give Penelope more greens like this! Her hair almost reminds me of 1960s updo, and the diadem and necklace tie in well with the lace overskirt. I love the scallopy pattern of the flowers on the lace, it makes her look a bit mermaid-y!

4. Pink Feather(ington) Dress, Episode 6

This one is just so delicate and ethereal, the feathered appliques against the pink satin bodice make her look like an angel. Do you see her walking down the hallway, with that pleated skirt flowing behind her? The only thing that doesn't work with this look is the necklace, it's just too harsh for the softness of the other accessories.

5. Pink Fern Dress, Episode 3

1989 Little Mermaid, take notes. This is how you do red hair with a vibrant shade of pink.

6. Garden Ballgown, Episode 1

So pretty, almost fairy-like with the sprinkling of little flowers in her hair. Something about the overskirt with the flowers climbing up over the already flowery fabric reminds me of a rambling meadow. I don't even mind the polyester gloves, because at least they match decently well.

7. Butterfly Ballgown, Episode 1

Is it in your face? Obviously. Is it giving more Art Nouveau than 1813? Yes. But a little campy? Her prettiest yellow dress? Inexplicable how she could blend into a crowd in something like this? Yeh

8. 'Sunflower' Dress, Episode 3

Probably one of the most historically accurate costumes all season. In certain lights it gets into the nauseating yellow green that I hate on Pen, and the pink gloves are heinous, but I give love the froofy like gathered sleeves, the lower cut of the bust, and the details of the train.

9. Regency Barbie, Episode 7

Nicola Coughlan and the costume designers really predicted Diplomat Babrie all the way back in 2020. The little band of posies around the bust really makes this look for me, thought I could do without the big chunky necklace. Portia definitely picked that out for her.

10. Yellow Walking Dress, Episode 4

Cute! So cute! The shimmery polka dots remind me of a Barbie doll yet again, and the light pink trimming and rosettes under the sleeves make this one memorable for me. Surprisingly simple for a Penelope look.

11. Flowered Promo Dress, Episode 3

I do prefer the promo version with the tiara to the flower, but I'm not mad at it. I think I'd find this dress very over-the-top if it had flowered appliques all the way down, but the way they peter out into tendrils across the skirt puts me in the mind of a country garden. It's nice to see some pops of red on Pen.

12. Orange Leaf Dress, Episodes 1 and 3

I wish they gave Penelope more over-the forehead curls as opposed to the little clusters on either side of her face. Little curls on the forehead feel more 1810s than the latter. The yellow adds a lot more dimension to this fabric, and I do prefer the yellow/ruched trim to the yellow and orange ribbon/plain neckline.

13. Engagement Dress, Episode 6

I don't even mind the black waistband. In fact I'm kind of a fan-it's giving Parisian-themed bedroom-but the white lace descending from it rubs me the wrong way. Love her big, fluffy ringlets.

14. Floral Spencer, Episodes 3 and 5

It's giving a bit of Hawaiian shirt, but I kind of love the combination of the froggy green, saffron yellow, and flamingo pink. I like how the appliques overlap the edges of her spencer, the slightly overgrown vibe of some of her flowered looks really scratches my brain.

15. Yellow Flowered Dress, Episode 8

Abhor the way they did her hair here. The fabric is so dainty, but the dress is a little boring, and I hate the chunky necklaces on her.

16. Grandma's Couch Dress, Episode 7

Grandma's couch/pos. A very soft, cushy, slightly musty-smelling couch. Don't like the centered corsage, it doesn't match anything else on the outfit, and they need to stop putting that necklace with so many otherwise nice looks.

17. Pilled Dress, Episode 8

This dress looks like it's wool covered with pills, and the dark green and hot pink of her necklace and hair ornaments respectively pull my eye from the dress, which I honestly don't mind, because the fabric looks itchy as all hell.

18. Yellow Floral Promenade Outfit, Episode 2

If they'd just take away that waistband, give her a gauzier shawl, and stop piling her hair so high, this one wouldn't be half bad.

19. Yellow Dinner Dress, Episode 4

I truly do believe that pinks and greens suit Pen better than these bright yellows, or even just a more pastel yellow.

20. Dandelion Dress, Episodes 3 and 6

I understand why Pen is holding her arms like that, because having those little yellow balls rubbing against my bare skin would drive me absolutely crazy.

21. Meeting Marina Dress, Episode 1

The hair and that big ol' bow really ruin this one. The fabric looks so peachy and light with her red hair, and I just think some soft curls falling around her shoulders would make her look like such a doll.

22. Yellow Upholstery Dress, Episode 5

This looks like a Target throw pillow. Burn than necklace.

23. 'Mine Is Yellow' Evening Gown, Episode 8

I CANNOT STAND the greenish-gray look of the embroidery on the bodice, which is sad because her hair looks perfect. The cut of the bodice is cutting her bust in half.

24. Chartreuse and Pink Dress, Episode 8

Frankly pukey-looking. The pink trim makes it infinitely worse.

25. Tadpole Dress, Episode 1

Something about this fabric just reminds me of those Tiktoks of people putting frog eggs in jars. That pink shawl is not necessary.

26. Black and Chartreuse Dress, Episode 1

See above- the green, the pink, the black-no.

#bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin x penelope #polin #bridgerton costumes

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somedaylazysomeday · 10 months ago

Text

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

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It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself.

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend.

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge.

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit.

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress.

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself.

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball.

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city.

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade.

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain.

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones.

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed.

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair.

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest.

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was.

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones.

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom.

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next.

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening.

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd.

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity.

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton.

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?”

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.”

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room.

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?”

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply.

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away.

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you.

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly.

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.”

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture.

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.”

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass.

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him.

“Lady Sharp.”

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who.

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone.

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity.

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?”

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.”

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…”

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.”

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler.

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?”

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible.

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room.

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper.

“May I help you find your seats, sir?”

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.”

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.”

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…”

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.”

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp.

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair.

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?”

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably.

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.”

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest.

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people.

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures.

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked.

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss.

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat.

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table.

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat.

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.”

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?”

“Perhaps a little.”

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high.

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante.

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.”

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?”

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.”

“By lying?”

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people.

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.”

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.”

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly.

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?”

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?”

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her.

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started.

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.”

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.”

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?”

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.”

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.”

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.”

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.”

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.”

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.”

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.”

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?”

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.”

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating.

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.”

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid.

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.”

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.”

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.”

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions.

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.”

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.”

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.”

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.”

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.”

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-”

“Eloise, I am not-”

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away.

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop.

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success.

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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