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fushitoru · 2 months

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chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character. Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.”

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!"

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you?

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up.

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice.

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile.

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator.

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones.

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there.

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered, “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere.

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course."

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious.

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.”

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk.

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms, with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims.

next. the aftermath

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sarahisslytherin · 5 months

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•❣•୨୧ 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 ୨୧•❣•

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

summary: benedict has always been against marriage, but when he meets the princess one fateful night he can't help but fall in love.

contains: fluff and a lot of flirty banter.

a/n: another series cos it was just too much for a oneshot! this was so fun to write i just adore him. to the anon who requested this, i hope you love it and all its upcoming parts!

word count: 1.2k

You feel a heavy gaze on you as you glide across the ballroom. The chandelier above you twinkles with a warm glow, the light catching in your hair as you’re spun around by this suitor and that. The king has tired of begging you to select one for yourself and has threatened on more than one occasion to marry you off to the next prince to set foot in the palace. You know he doesn’t mean it, but you also know it is your duty to carry on the royal bloodline. Your father is right. You must choose. But certainly not this young man dancing with you. No, he’s far too boring. Not unsightly by any means, but he doesn’t make your stomach flip, doesn’t make you giggle as if possessed by an unearthly amount of joy. Still, you feel the eyes of another on you.

Benedict Bridgerton has long been a firm believer of marrying only when absolutely, undeniably in mad love. He hasn’t found that, not yet. That is why when his sisters begged him to accompany them to the royal ball he only agreed under the condition that they leave him free to speak to all the lovely women attending. Perhaps he might be able to take one home tonight and part ways come morning. That had been his original plan, anyway, which lay discarded from this very moment on; the moment he laid eyes on you.

Your current dance partner bows before you as the song comes to a close. He gives you a playful smirk before leaving you, and you resist the urge to laugh. You sigh, exhausted. You’ve got half a mind to find your father, tell him you’re not feeling well and retire to your bedroom for the remainder of the night. You’re grasping at the ruffles of your gown to turn and leave when he appears before you. He has a boyish grin fit to make the most reserved of women melt, and his ocean eyes glimmer like moonlight on waves. “May I have this dance, Your Highness?” You couldn’t say no if you tried.

It’s a different ballroom tonight, but you feel yourself searching faces in the crowd, hoping you might catch a glimpse of that handsome stranger you danced with only a fortnight ago. It was no simple feat escaping the palace. You struggled to squeeze into your gown on your own, but couldn’t risk any of your ladies in waiting knowing about your little disappearing act. You slipped on a cloak and placed a mask over your face. You followed an emergency tunnel beneath the palace grounds until you finally found yourself beneath the pale glow of moonlight. You knew it was mad, but you simply had to see him. He consumed your dreams, and when you were awake, your daydreams. He had been whisked away too soon by his family. You couldn’t even get his name, only his surname: Bridgerton. They have always been a respected household, and at tonight’s masquerade ball you can only hope to encounter them.

Music fills the halls of the Featheringtons’ estate, but the plucking of strings and sweet melody of the violins does little to soothe your nerves. You resolve to distract yourself from your anxious mind and seek out a dance partner. They’re playing a lively song, one that makes you laugh giddily as you hop to the rhythm. You’re so overjoyed, you almost forget all about that Bridgerton lad and his blasted piercing blue eyes. That is, of course, until you step aside to catch your breath and are met with them for the very first time since the night of the royal ball.

“So we meet again, Princess.” he teases, and your eyes go wide.

“How did you recognize me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“The same way you recognized me, of course.” he smirks, almost as if he weren’t speaking with royalty. “I would know those sweet eyes anywhere.”

“You’ve got quite the silver tongue, haven’t you, sir?” you smile, your cheeks taking on a faint blush as you fan yourself coyly.

“So I’ve been told.” he replies cockily. He gets closer to you; simultaneously too close for comfort yet not close enough. You’re not sure what to make of this man who makes your heart pound in your chest like no other has ever done before. This man whose name you do not even know.

“Tell me,” you demand in the tone you have grown accustomed to using to get what you want, “what is your name?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” he giggles like a mischievous schoolboy, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t find it endearing.

“You know mine.” you retort. “The entire kingdom knows it.”

He feigns shock, clutching his heart and letting his jaw drop. “Why, aren’t we full of ourselves?” You laugh, your eyes crinkling behind your lace mask.

“I know one of us certainly is.” you tease him back, and he loves every second of it.

“Princess?” he asks, but is quickly hushed by you.

“Lower your voice, do you wish for the entire ballroom to know of my presence here?” you urge him.

“Forgive me, Pri-” he begins once again, but you give him a playful shove your father would have undoubtedly reprimanded you for, seeing as it isn’t very ladylike. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“Much better.” you smirk, satisfied with yourself. “You are forgiven, my lord.”

“Now you tell me.” he says. “What is a lady like yourself doing at a ball like this? Surely you’ve been to better ones.”

You’re suddenly thankful for the white mask hiding your bashful expression from him. “You’re right, I have. But, you see, I was hoping to run into someone.”

He replies with a playful, “Oh?”. You can tell he is clearly intrigued by the information you’ve provided him. “What a coincidence. I was hoping for the same, though I must admit, never in my wildest dreams did I think my hopes would come true.”

“Well”, you go on, “I dare say they have.”

Suddenly, his eyes change and all playfulness is replaced with earnestness and solemnity. He lowers his voice down to a baritone only you can hear. “Princess, you truly must know you have haunted the chambers of my mind since the moment I laid eyes upon you. I may not be royalty, but I have other virtues you will discover if you only allow me. I can love you like no suitor or prince has done so before. Say the word, my lady, and I am yours.”

You’re a bit taken aback by his sudden outburst, but you can tell by his eyes, those gentle eyes, that he means every word he utters. And his words couldn’t have described your own feelings any better. “You’re quite the poet.” you grin. “But how can you be mine if I don’t even know your name?”

He laughs once again, and the tension is lifted. “Benedict Bridgerton, my lady.”

You extend your hand to him and his lips ghost your knuckles. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bridgerton.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Benedict beams, rising once again. “and I’m hoping the next dance will be, as well?”

“Of course.” you nod, a glint in your eye only Benedict can catch. “I’m all yours.”

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl @enchantedbytomandhenry @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @dd122004dd @marvelspogue

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton

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interstellarflare · 3 months

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A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART THREE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @greengableslover

|PART ONE| |PART TWO|

The house was in shambles.

Mary had thrown almost every single dress she had bought on her bedroom floor, crying loudly that she ‘simply had nothing to wear’. Though you tried to reassure her that she in fact did, and that she would eventually find something that would make her stand out amongst the other debutants tonight, she didn’t believe you.

“This is all so hopeless!” She shouted sadly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw a deep purple dress across the room, the embroidered fabric smacking you in the face in its flight path to her dresser. You grimaced, shaking your head and brushing your hair from your face as you sighed lightly. “It’s not hopeless, I promise…” you tried to soothe as Mary continued to ball her eyes out “what about that light blue one you tried in earlier? That was very beautiful?”

“No! I cannot wear that! I hear Eloise Bridgerton is wearing a similar colour, and I will not be compared to her…” Mary squealed in protest, throwing another expensive dress across the room, a flash of yellow and gold “I am far better, and prettier!”.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, your patience wearing thin as you picked up the numerous clumps of fabric scattered around the room. There was really nothing you could do except try to comfort her during her meltdown, whilst trying to keep your own head. As you began to lay the dresses out on Mary’s bed once more one by one, there was a faint knock at her bedroom door.

You lifted your head, spying Elizabeth standing in the doorway shyly as she fiddled with her hands in front of her. “If you aren’t too busy, I require some help in choosing a dress as well” She spoke softly, before disappearing back down the hallway just as quickly as she appeared. Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you hummed a short reply, turning your gaze back to Mary who once again descended into hysterics.

“Go! Leave me alone, I shall die of embarrassment now that I have nothing but these rags to choose from!” She exclaimed, dramatically collapsing onto her side and covering herself with her bed covers, beginning to sob loudly as she buried her head into her pillow. You glowered down at her, a small sense of jealousy and envy forming in your chest. Had your situation been different, you would have loved to have such a selection of beautiful clothes. Your father always bought you some of the nicest things on his travels abroad, whether they be small trinkets or delicately made clothes.

A sense of sadness and guilt replaced that feeling of jealousy and envy. You missed your father terribly, but you felt guilty for feeling this way. You weren’t entirely sure why, but as you left Mary’s room and made your way to Elizabeth’s, you decided that you could reminisce about your family later.

Upon entering Elizabeth’s bedroom, you almost gasped audibly in relief. Her room was completely tidy, unlike the previous monstrosity you had just left. There were three dresses splayed out on her bed. The one on the left was a pale light green, adorned completely in a delicate floral lace pattern that descended all the way to the floor with matching white satin gloves. The one in the middle was a deep royal blue satin, completely unadorned except for a white bejewelled belt underneath the bust. And the one on the right was a beautiful light pink, adorned in a delicate white floral lace which fanned out slightly below the end of the dress. Parts of the lace were adorned in small white pearls, which no doubt would have made the dress incredibly valuable…and eye-wateringly expensive.

Elizabeth looked up at you shyly, brushing her auburn hair from her shoulder as she sighed heavily. “I…I need your help deciding what one I should wear…” She spoke softly, her eyes falling back to the bed as she stuttered “I don’t want to look too desperate…but I also want to look pretty enough to attract his attention away from the others…”

You raised an eyebrow questioningly as you closed the door behind you, leaning against the white panel with a confused expression. “Who are you trying to impress?” You asked kindly, tilting your head to the side as you waited for her response. Elizabeth’s gaze met yours, and a bright blush formed on her cheeks as she shifted her position on her bed. “I…it’s Lord Burton. We met late last season, before it’s end actually. He was incredibly sweet, he took interest in my writings, and we have a shared passion for theatre…but his attention was drawn to one of the Lady Featherington’s daughters…”

You could see the sadness forming on her face as she began to idly pick at her bedsheets, sighing nervously as she breathed deeply. “After embarrassing myself before Lord Bridgerton, I realised that I am truly an ignorant person…and I don’t wish to be that anymore. So I ask you, will you help me choose a dress for Lady Danbury’s ball tonight? It would…mean a lot to me if you did.”

Your head straightened and your eyes widened, a strange feeling of acceptance forming in your chest. Neither of your stepsisters had ever acted this kindly towards you before, least of all actually apologised for their behaviour. Yet here Elizabeth was, a guilty look on her face as she waited for your answer.

“If you don’t I completely understand, I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming step-sister to you-“

“The pink one” you blurted out, pushing off the door and making your way over to her side. Your reply surprised you. You should feel annoyed, furious even. After everything she and Mary had done to you, should you really have been so quick to help her? You picked up the dress and held it up before you, examining every intricate detail of the lace and the fabric. Your gaze turned back to Elizabeth, her sadness now replaced with happiness…and gratitude.

“It’s really beautiful. If Lord Burton doesn’t notice you in this…then he is a fool” You spoke kindly, extending the dress towards her as a gesture of forgiveness. Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she gently took the dress from you, smiling kindly as she spoke “I know I haven’t been the best sister, nor really a good person towards you…but thank you. Though I do have to ask, why are you always so kind? Especially to my sister and my mother?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Have courage, and be kind. It was something that my mother taught me before she passed. It means that you must always have courage to do the things you want, and to be kind to everyone you meet, no matter their treatment of you…kindness goes a long way.”

With those parting words, you left Elizabeth’s room and returned to the attic for a moment of peace. You would be back downstairs in an hour or so to Lady Worthington and her daughters get dressed, but you allowed a small smile to cross your face at Elizabeth’s kindness.

“You have been awfully distracted since you returned home, dear brother. Tell me, what is on your mind?” Benedict asked somewhat teasingly, collapsing onto the lounge beside him with a loud huff of effort.

Anthony didn’t reply. He was consumed in thought, his mind mulling over something Eloise had said after the two of them had made their escape from Lady Worthington and her daughters.

“Anthony, you truly are blind. If you look closer at someone, like really look, and see past their dress, then perhaps you will see the truth behind a well-crafted-“

“A ‘well-crafted’ what, Eloise? What are you insinuating about Lady Worthington? Perhaps, she supposedly keeping a huge secret from the ton? One that would cause scandal and outrage should news get out?”

“Well…I didn’t say it…”

She had said those words with such sarcasm and malice, that it had stuck with him for the remainder of the afternoon. Eloise hadn’t looked at him since their return home. It was so unlike her, she wouldn’t speak to anyone except Colin. Surely this entire situation didn’t have anything to do with you…did it?

“Hello? Anthony…are you there?”

“Hm?” The Viscount asked, eyes blown wide as he eventually realised that he was not alone in the parlour room. Benedict laughed, lightly punching his brother’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

“What is going on with you? You’ve been very quiet since your return home, and Eloise is in a right mood-“

“If you’re here to bother me, it’s working” Anthony grumbled, shifting his position to rest his chin in the palm of his hand. He heard Benedict chuckle loudly, the sound echoing across the room.

“No, I would never do that!” Benedict mused offendedly, leaning closer to his brother and speaking in a more hushed tone. “Buuut…what happened between the two of you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of you this mad at each other-“

“It’s really none of your concern…” Anthony snapped, now turning to face his brother with a stern glare “…I’m not really sure if I know if it’s any of my concern”.

“Right, I won’t ask. But I suggest you make amends, otherwise the ball tonight will go very poorly…” Benedict mused informatively before an amused chuckled escaped him “…well, it will go poorly for you. I myself will enjoy your misfortune-“

“You’re such a child” Anthony scowled, becoming more annoyed by his brother’s presence by the second.

Benedict smiled sarcastically, “I know”.

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#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #jonathan bailey

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renegadesstuff · 5 months

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Benedict & Eloise 🥰

#bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton series #bridgerton edit #bridgerton season 1 #bridgerton s1 #bridgerton season one #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #benedict and eloise #eloise and benedict #bridgerton siblings #bridgerton brother #bridgerton sister #bridgerton rewatch #bridgerton cast #bridgerton netflix #luke thompson #claudia jessie

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igotanidea · 4 months

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The little bean: Anthony Bridgerton x pregnant!wife!reader

A/N: So..... After my "Too much" series I've been asked to do something with Antony and pregnancy trope. And since 1) I got baby fever and 2) Bridgertons are back, there is no better time than now.

***

“Y/N, my love, what are you doing?”

“I’m holding a book…?”

Ever since Y/N found out she was pregnant with the heir (which she would rather address as her precious little baby, instead of giving him titles before he or she was even born) Anthony entered right into an overprotective mood. If anything he would just keep her home, away from any prying eyes, that – in his opinion – might somehow take a look inside, at his baby and perhaps, see the little one before it came into the view of a proud viscount father.

Y/N could barely walk around the Bridgerton household, let alone the garden, without her husband chasing after her with a very concerned look, ready to carry her wherever she wished, just so that her feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

There were so many dangers on the way after all.

Wild animals. (i.e. bees, dogs and strays cats)

Speeding carriages.

Stones on which she might trip and fall.

Too much sun.

Too little sun.

And worst of all-

Members of the ton.

It was merely the first trimester and viscountess was torn between calming Anthony down (tactfully avoiding the information that the next months will be much more challenging) or just rushing away to her mother-in-law (yet, again) to seek aid in keeping him in check.

And just when she thought the oldest Bridgerton could not get any more obsessive, he took the lecture she was reading out of her hands.

“My dear, you cannot carry such weights. It’s straining and I am to protect you from threats.”

“It’s a book…” she frowned a little, but not without a hint of amusement in her voice

“It’s heavy.”

“It's a 200 page novel…”

“It’s heavy.” Anthony’s voice was gentle, but firm. Both demanding and pleading.

“Anthony…”

“Y/N.”

“I can hold my own book.”

“We got servants for that. In fact – let me call upon your maid and –“ he started walking towards the door in sheer purpose to liberate his dearest wife from the unnecessary burden.

Nonetheless his dearest wife had quite a different plan, reaching to grab his hand and stopping him in his tracks.

“My love. Please, come. Let us sit.” She guided him to the ottoman, still keeping the soft touch that was grounding to him.

Much to her surprise Anthony rushed to the furniture first, fixing pillows and blankets so Y/N could sit comfortably. And apparently that word, in his language, meant sitting half a meter in the air, covered from head to toe, regardless of the perfect spring weather outside.

“Here. Perfect.” He flashed a perfect smile, content with the spot he made for her.

“Anthony…”

“Yes, my love?” as he spun around meeting with her desperate look, the smile slowly disappeared from his face. “Y/N? Are you not feeling well?” Anthony grabbed both her hands in his, searching her face for any symptoms of malaise, dizziness, nausea. “Do you need some water? Or-“

“No, no, Anthony, please just listen to me for a moment-“

“Perhaps I should call upon Daphne, she already had a child of her own and she would be of help. Or maybe my mother could-“

“Anthony!” she laughed whole-heartedly at his feverishness “I am not going to give birth in the fourth month of pregnancy! Please just calm down.”

“Just say a word and I’ll call for a medic immediately. Do not fret my dearest, I will take the best care of you. I swear on my life that-“

At that moment Y/N used the most effective way to stop his blubbering in the form of putting his hand on her slightly rounded belly in which their baby was healthily growing.

“Shh.” She whispered, putting her own palm on top of Anthony's, calming him down, letting him caress the stomach in hope to make him calm down. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I don’t need medic. Nor your mother. And certainly not your younger sister. I am feeling good and the only thing that concerns me is my husband's distress over nothing.”

“Nothing? You are carrying our baby!”

“And our baby needs his father to stop fretting.”

“But-“

“Here!” her eyes grew wide as she guided his hand to another place “did you feel it?”

“Was it--?” Anthony’s face expression mirrored the one of his wife.

“It kicked…” she whispered as their gazes met and for a second that extended into eternity, they just kept looking into each other’s eyes expressing so many feelings.

And then, almost as if in a dream, Anthony fell to his knees in front of Y/N, pressing his head into her belly.

“Our baby.” He whispered, kissing her body through the material of the dress. “our little baby.” He wrapped arms around her midsection with his ear pressed to the home of the child, almost hoping to hear him or her inside.

“Our baby…” she repeated with tears in her eyes. Despite knowing and obviously – feeling the imminent arrival of the new family member it was the first time she actually felt and knew. And it was beautiful. Her little bean was really there. Growing and waiting for the right moment to appear in the world, landing right into the waiting, safe arms of loving mother and father.

“Do you think it can hear us?” Anthony pressed one ear to her stomach, his entire face lighting up at the possibility.

“Depends.” She chuckled

“On what?” his eyes travelled up to meet hers.

“If I say yes, will that mean you start talking to my insides?”

Anthony smirked.

“I will do that, even if you say no.”

“Then why the question?”

“Testing your knowledge.”

“I am not a doctor, Anthony. My expertise in the area might be a little limited.”

“Very well. Then give me an answer as a mother, not a medic.”

“Yes. Yes, I think it can hear us.” She cupped Anthony’s cheek in the affectionate gesture. There was something utterly heartening in seeing him like this. Holding her (and/or the baby) like she was the most precious thing in the world, needing the assurance that his child was already reaching to him.

That it could hear him, even if it wasn’t even born yet. Hoping for the love of the Lord that it was truly happening. That in a few months, that were going to pass by with extraordinary speed, the little one, a girl or a boy, would take a corporal form. That the viscount would not only be a noble and a husband but would also take on the new role – a father. A protector. Caregiver. A teacher, guardian and a guide. That somehow – his life would be complete. He’ll have his own little family. Something that was nearly impossible to him a few years prior.

And now-

“Anthony…” Y/N whispered, wiping a single tear from his eyes. “Sweetheart, what is wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, love. It’s all perfect.”

“Then why are you-?”

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat and gathered himself.

“Of course not.” She laughed softly brushing his hair. “But if you’d want to actually talk to the baby, that would stay in this little circle.”

Anthony smiled lovingly, grateful for having his miracle of a woman in his life. She understood him so perfectly well.

“We’re waiting for you, little one.” He whispered against her attire, with a little muffled voice, be it from emotions or closeness of his lips on her body. “You are already loved by two people, with more to come.”

‘You can say it Anthony…” Y/N whispered, knowing what he was holding back.

“I love you my little one.” The viscount whispered with the softest voice, caressing the place where the kick was previously felt.

And they stood like that for a while longer, enjoying that moment of joy and thinking about the future that looked quite bright.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony x you #anthony bridgerton fluff

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 months

Text

Precious Truths: Part 4

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

The next day, your Aunt Eliza takes you to the modiste for new dresses. The ones you had gotten earlier in the season "wouldn't do anymore" according to her. Now, you had to stand out more, make yourself look more appealing. Corsets were tighter, hugging your figure more and making you breathe less.

Your aunt is holding up some fabric against you when Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton enters the shop with an annoyed Eloise following her.

"Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton," you greet the woman with a kind smile.

She observes the fabric held against you, "Well, that is a beautiful fabric. It goes well with your eyes."

"Thank you," you give her a small nod.

Violet clears her throat, "I assume things are...well now?" The dowager does her best to be discreet.

"As well as they can be, Lady Bridgerton," you respond.

After Aunt Eliza brought you home, your father was asleep, still cradling a bottle of brandy in his hand.

You confessed to Aunt Eliza about your secret identity, about your writings. She was proud to know that you never truly gave up on poetry as well as how famous your words were becoming. However, she was saddened that you felt the need to hide your ongoing love for poetry from her. She expressed that she would have helped you, that you didn't need to hide that love from her, especially since she also loved your mother like her own sister.

Aunt Eliza became even more determined to help you out of the situation.

Although your father and Aunt Eliza are siblings, none of the luxuries of your father's lordship well onto her. She also never found someone to marry, becoming a spinster and learning to become content with it.

She can only do so much to help you, given that your father still has the funds to help. Thankfully, your Aunt Eliza had stepped in to help manage the finances.

"Remember, dear, if there's anything you need, you let me know. We are happy to help," Violet says as she places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your family has always been so kind to me."

Violet gives a smile and greets your aunt, the two moving towards a shelf of silks that catch their eyes. You move to Eloise with a grin, whose face is the complete opposite of yours, "Everything alright, El?"

She groans, "You disappoint me. Mama, says you're taking this season more seriously now and that I should do the same. I blame you for this!"

You let out a deep breath, "My condolences, but, trust me, this wasn't the plan either."

The young Bridgerton steps closer to you and whispers, "What happened? Anthony and Benedict were talking about you this morning when we were breaking fast."

You blow air out of your mouth, "My father threatened to marry me off to my dreadful cousin if I am unable find a husband within a month's time."

Eloise makes a pondering face and then asks, "Is it the cousin that visited a few summers ago? He tried to best Anthony in everything?"

You scrunch your face in distaste, "The very same."

Eloise shudders, "God, he was...appalling."

"Yes, and there is absolutely no chance I am marrying him. So, you see, I'm lacking a choice." You give her a pointed look and she nods.

"Oh, Y/N," Eloise hugs you, "We shall both get through this together."

Aunt Eliza calls from the door, "Y/N, make haste! We must continue!"

Your shoulder slump forward, "I'm coming!" you give Eloise a wave and follow your aunt out.

______________________________

Benedict's in the sitting room, sketching in his notebook. He's sketching a pair of eyes, ones soft and full of wonder. The very pair that belongs to you, the eyes that he loses himself in.

"Here," parchment falls over the sketch and Benedict sits up, looking at Anthony, who's given him the paper.

"And this is...?"

"The list of eligible men for Y/N."

Benedict gulps as he reads of the names, sitting up to read the list "No to Harris," he says with a shake of his head and then grimaces, "Absolutely not to Woodrich."

"What's wrong with them? They're from good standing families, no scandals-"

"That you know of. I hear Harris has been visiting the brothels far too often lately. Woodrich apparently invested in the empty mines that Lord Featherington spoke of last season. So he has no money."

Anthony gives his brother an annoyed expression, "I shall cross them off the list, but the rest of them?"

Benedict hands the paper back to his brother, "I suppose they're alright. But Y/N gets the final say, obviously."

"So you have truly decided you won't do anything about this whole ordeal?" Anthony asks his brother in disbelief.

Benedict stands with a sigh, "Yes, brother. I have. I won't do anything but assist in Y/N's search for a husband. That is final." He steps aside, striding out of the room in annoyance.

Hyacinth, who sits with Gregory playing a game of chess, shakes her head, "I always thought Y/N and Benedict would get married."

Anthony nods, "As did I, Hyacinth," he murmurs and also exits the sitting room.

____________________________

No longer were you able to be a wallflower when it came to balls, soirees, luncheons, etc. You and Penelope had been wallflowers together since both of your debuts. However, now Penelope is on her honeymoon with Colin, so you are left to fend for yourself.

You now stood more towards the front, more accessible and noticeable. You hated it. You hated how people looked at you when you attended the next ball with your new gown and different hairstyle.

When you saw the Bridgertons, you immediately rush up to them, clinging onto Benedict's arm.

"Please dance with me," you beg in desperation, yearning for some sense of familiarity.

"Of course," Benedict takes your gloved hand and leads you to the dancefloor. When he looks over his shoulder, Kate is winking at him and he rolls his eyes.

You curtsey as Benedict bows before the next dance, a waltz. With the strings, you and Benedict move as one. Swaying to the melody, bringing each other in close.

"Thank you, Ben, for dancing with me."

"Of course. It is tradition at this point, is it not?" he gives you that cheeky grin that always makes your heart flutter.

You sigh, "Might be the last time I get to dance with you for a while. I should probably prioritize potential suitors."

Benedict's smile slowly fades, "Yes, well, Anthony came up with an impressive list. I overlooked it as well. You might find some of them...agreeable."

You hum as you circle Benedict, "Are any of these men here now?"

Benedict takes a quick glance around the room, "A few of them. Shall I introduce you?"

You shake your head, "No. Thank you, but it is probably best I do that myself. You might scare them off," you give him a smirk and he chuckles.

"That is a fair argument. If I am quite honest, I don't think any man will truly be worthy enough for you."

You arch a brow at him, "Oh?"

He nods, "You're...everything and so much more."

The way he says those words, you feel like there's something more to them. He relayed them to you so breathlessly and he's looking at you with a gaze that makes you feel as though you two are the only ones in the room.

As the dance nears its end, you and Benedict are face to face, so close to lips touching. However, when he inches closer to you, you pull away and curtsey.

"Thank you for indulging me, Mister Bridgerton," you walk away from him without another word, fanning yourself as you grow warm.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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misserabella · 4 months

Text

Filthy Rich

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader PT.1

pt2! pt3!

✧ Synopsis;; Spencer Reid was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 22. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold.

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty! inspired by bridgerton!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

WARNINGS PART ONE: mention of blood, abuse, cursing and slave trafficking.

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WORD COUNT;; 2k!

Her faced seemed to tell everything: she hated it.

She hated everything. From the music, to the little stupid shoes that clacked against the floor. The floral scent, the wine, the giggles… She hated the ton*. Every single one of them,

Everything. It was a goddamn nightmare.

“y/n! You are letting my coat slip! Do i have to tell you how much it costs?! If you dare let it touch the floor I’ll take the money out of your poor allowance to pay for a new one!” one of the misses glared at you, hitting you in the face with her closed paper fan, its gemstones leaving marks on you cheek.

“We might as well do it anyways, since her filthy hands have touched them already!” her sister laughed, grabbing your face in between her gloved fingers and digging her nails in your skin. “Don’t you think so, y/n? What? Cat got you tongue?” they giggled.

“Children, children!” the woman of the house hushed them with a sweet smile. “You shall never touch her!” she said, taking of the gloves out of her daughters hands to give her a new pair, with a sweet smile telling one of the servants of the castle to burn them. “God knows what she might infect us with!” she laughed, her offsprings following her.

God, you hated her. Her and her stupid daughters. With their stupid dresses and stupid painted faces.

You glared at them, your grip tightening around their belongings, holding your stare and your head up even when the woman stared back at you, her face scrunching in disgust and anger.

“Who do you think you are staring at?!?!” she suddenly yelled, catching the attention of those who enjoyed drinks and company around her, not waiting a mere second to rise her hand and slap you to ‘show you your place’. You took the hits, the metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth due to the continues smacks and hits with the back of her fan. “You filthy ungrateful bitch, you dare stare at us, who give you food and a bed?! I should’ve let you died out in the cold, in the dirt, where you belong to!” you gritted your teeth, your eyes down to the floor as your free hand made its way to your bottom lip, where you felt the skin split, the crimson of fresh blood tinting your frail skin.

“Fucking fussock*.” you cursed her under your breath, loud enough for her to perfectly hear you.

“What did you say?!” her free hand gripped your long and matted locks, making you look into her enraged eyes, her other hand rising up to hit you once again.

Your eyes closed as you expected a new slap, which surprisingly enough never came. The sound of multiple gasps filled your ears and when you opened up your eyes once again, your stomach sank at the sight of…

“Your highness!” everyone suddenly diverted their eyes to the floor, including you, your mistress and her daughters bowed in his presence, the wrist of the first of them all gracefully and softly held by the prince’s, who let her go with a kind smile.

“Is everything alright?” his voice tested the waters, his tone low and soft as the silk he dressed in, his hands jeweled in golden rings joining and intertwining in an elegance you never had witnessed.

“Yes, your highness.” the woman stuttered, showing a nervous smile. “Our slave just seemed to…, misbehave, your highness.” your eyes travelled trough his tall and magnificent demeanor. His fern green suit matched perfectly with the caramel of his skin and his brown and perfectly combed curls.

Your eyes quickly darted always as he had caught you staring once he had turned to you. He fought the lopsided smirk that urged to grow in his lips, stepping closer to where you stood.

He took a glance at the ragged clothes that hid your bruised and malnourished body, probably due to the family’s treatment under your care, your matted hair, cut up hands…

His warm touch spread on your skin as he took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, softly trying to rise your head up, but you denied him, in a harsh turn of head freeing yourself from his touch before giving him a glare.

A new wave of gasps filed the air as you stared right into his eyes, him holding your glare.

You didn’t care if he was a noble or pure royalty. Those ‘pure blood’ were all the goddamn same. With their leather shoes and gold jewelry, fancy words and silk dresses and suits. Their appearance was only a pretty facade that hid the ugliness of their insides.

You hated all of them. Might as well just get your head off as soon as possible.

“You slave! How is it ye dare to stare at the prince, soon king?!” a brunette and tall man talked, you recognized him as the pince’s right hand, but only with a wave of this hand, he stood silent beside the prince.

“Huh…” the smile he had been trying to fight off finally took place on his gracefully sculpted face and full rosy lips. “Interesting.” once again he took a soft grasp to your face, this time not letting you go even if you fought him off. His eyes took everything your face offered him, from your perfect nose to you long eyelashes and your beautiful fierce eyes, which stared at him with pure hatred and anger. “How much?” he suddenly asked, still not drifting his eyes away from you.

The woman stood frozen in place, just like her daughters.

“What does your highness mean with…-”

“How much would you want for her?” he cut her off, the deadly silent that fell on the salon almost giving you chills.

What was he saying?

“Your highness, I can’t…” she was short of breath and words. “I surely doubt thee would want her under your care, she…”

“I don’t care about any of it. Name a price.” everyone was shocked by the situation. Buying and selling slaves was something quite common, that’s how your current ‘family’ have got you, but this…

The prince? Has he gone nuts?

“Your highness, I don’t think…” the prince’s counselor stepped in, shutting up once again as soon as he gave him a glance.

“50 gold coins.” the woman suddenly blurted out, everyone’s jaws dropping at the audacity of the woman and such large figure.

“Mother!” her offsprings whispered-yelled. Not believing her words.

50 gold coins?!

You scoffed, smirking at such nonsense, not noticing the staring of the prince due to your reaction.

She wished you were worth that much. He would never…

“Make it 150.” he closed the deal.

“Your highness!” the counselor exclaimed, completely alarmed.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gideon.” he hushed the man with his soft hazel eyes.

You watched as the woman who once abused you and starved you for days fainted due to the prince’s words and his daughters kneeling down to help her followed by some of the nearby guests, fanning her pale sleeping face.

You too felt like fainting.

“Hey, eyes on me, sweetheart.” the prince caught your attention once again, when your eyes met a smile growing on his lips. “All you need to do from now on keep your eyes on me.”

“Get off of me!” you screamed at the servants that tried and strip you out of your clothes, pushing their hands away. “I said stop!”

“Miss, they’re orders from your highness.” one of them spoke, her blue eyes soft on you. “He wanted us to help you bathe and and get rid of your dirty clothes.” she explained.

“I don’t care about what he said.” you scoffed. “If he wanted me undressed so fast why isn’t he the one taking my clothes off?” they all gasped at your words and no respect to the prince.

You didn’t care though, they were all the same anyways. Always reaks* that just wanted to have women swoon at their feet. Maybe that’s why he had bought you, just to use you when his cock got cold.

Suddenly, the door on your back opened, the heads of the servants quickly lowering as your eyes met the prince’s.

“Oh, fantastic…” you muttered. Just what you needed at the moment.

“You heard her, ladies. You are all dismissed.” he smiled at every and each one of them, bowing and moving aside with a swing of his arm on the door to let them out, all of them bowing and giggling.

And weren’t you just right?

“Great. And what do I have the honor of your highness’ presence for?” you sarcastically inquired him once he had closed the door behind his back, noticing…, ‘Gideon’ outside. “Got too excited due your new acquisition to just wait?” you mocked him.

“I heard you were putting up a fight.” he smiled, ignoring your words whilst looking at you up and down. “Is there something not to your liking, perhaps?”

“‘Not to my liking’?” you scoffed. “I can’t believe you.” you shook your head, grasping at your locks as you stared at him in disbelief. “How about this whole goddamn situation? I mean, look at this!” you pointed out everything that surrounded you, the whole bathroom with a gigantic bathtub of quartz, marble floors and pillars… “A few hours ago I was being used as a coat hanger in your ball and now I’m in a bathroom with the prince, who, surprisingly enough, bought me for 150 golden coins god knows why?!” you exclaimed.

He stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. His back against the door as his eyebrows raised at you.

“What.” you spit out, a glare in your eyes.

“Nothing, is just that…” he stepped closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t seem to…, respect me.” he frowned, his voice low. “Not like all of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, for not being another dog licking your leather boots.” you bowed, more of his steps growing closer to you until his thumb took your chin, rising your head up so you could meet his eyes, his face stood serious for a couple of seconds, before a downside smirk grew on his factions. “Why haven’t you cut my head off yet?” you inquired him, not really understanding his behavior. By the way you treated him, any other prince would have already gotten you to the guillotine.

“Why shall I?” he answered with another question, his thumb caressing the wound on your bottom lip, the still fresh blood that stood on it staining his thumb as you hissed in pain, getting away.

You stared at him in confusion.

Yeah. He was absolutely nuts.

“The water will go cold if you don’t get in soon.” he said, drifting off the matter while whipping off your blood from his thumb with his handkerchief. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off those ragged clothes?”

“This is the only dress I’ve had, sir.” you said, his eyes meeting yours.

“What’s your favorite color?” you frowned at his sudden question, which made absolutely no sense. He made no sense. “Crimson, like the purest blood? The forest’s green? The ocean’s blue, perhaps?��

“I’ve never seen the forest nor the ocean, sir. I’ve never left the capital. Though I find the sky’s blue on spring pretty wonderful, not sure it does justice to the ocean’s.”

“It doesn’t.” he said, sitting in the edge of the bathtub, his fingers taunting the warm water. “The ocean is cold, and fierce…, untamable. But it can also be warm, and calm, and soft.” he tried to explain, and from your point of view it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense but you found it…

“It must be beautiful.” you said, him flashing you a soft smile before nodding.

“It is.” he got up clapping his hands together before looking back at you. “Well then, you should really hurry up, the water is perfect.”

“I already told thee, this dress is the only-“

“You won’t need it anymore.” he cut you off.

“And why is that?” you inquired, his steps growing closer to you.

“Because from now on…” he said, catching one of your locks in between his fingers. “You belong in this castle.”

To be continued…

*fussock; a lazy fat woman…, a frowzy old woman.

*the ton; the ton actually refers to English high society during the Regency era, and encompasses every aristocrat from the royals to the gentry.

*rake; ‘rake’ is used to describe an immoral, hedonistic young man circulating in high society.

#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!readr #criminal minds #spencer reid cm

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cherryclxud · 4 months

Text

Catch me if you can, Lord Holmes pt1

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON!reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has been writing a weekly updated crime story that appears in the newspaper and it is the talk of the ton. sherlock is then pulled in to uncover the mystery of the story of the abominable bride. will he be able to find the writer of this story who yet remains hidden from seemingly all of society?

word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

read below for credits

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MARCUS BRADFORD WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY WRITER. He wrote books of fantasy, romance, and tragedies. But anyone who has read Bradford’s works will tell you his prized works were that of the thrilling crimes series that would be posted on the weekly newspapers on page 4. Yes, no one could deny that this was the reason he was the talk of the ton. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Marcus Bradford’s words made it into every household in London, whispers about the crimes written were on the tongue of the fanatics every passing day,

“Did you read what this man has written?”

“Did you see where he left this week's edition off?”

“How can the bride return when she so clearly shot her brains out in front of a whole street?”

“She returned and killed her husband then was found back at the morgue?”

It was a story where no one could see a true way to solve it, and so it kept everyone on the edge of their seat, that is…everyone but one.

Sherlock Holmes hated Marcus Bradford, and he hated his work. He was never a fan of fiction since fiction wasn't real and wasn't deducible, therefore he was never actually interested in anything this man was writing, but when all the clients asking for help seemingly came to him complaining that they wanted him to solve a fictional case written in a newspaper, that's when he would pick up the story to read and wasn't able to put it down till he had finished the latest edition of it. Two thoughts running through Sherlock Holmes’ head after putting the paper down, he hated fiction, and he hated Marcus Bradford.

The story was impossible to deduce anything out of, how could someone dead return? The bride quite clearly can't be who murdered her husband however the story clearly states that the husband had recognised her before his death. But she was in the mourge, how could the bride be in 2 places at once? How could she then continue to kill countless men after her funeral? Sherlock felt there were too many open ends and loose threads. Threads that only one person knew the ends of. Marcus Bradford.

But no one knew who Bradford was, no one had seen him before, in fact, he had never attended any soirees nor had any presence in the ton that anyone knew of. This opened a new case for Sherlock. Who is Marcus Bradford?

No one in the ton knew that Marcus Bradford was always under their noses.

In the prestigious house of the Bridgertons, y/n Bridgerton picked at the strings of her violin with a sigh. Mrs Wilson walked into the drawing room with the weekly news and a copy of today's Lady Whstledown, y/n watched as her younger sister Eloise snatched this week's paper out of the head maid's hands and quickly skipped to page 4, with an eye roll, y/n took the gossip sheet from Mrs Wilsons hand thanking her before pretending to skim over the paper. In truth y/n wasn't interested in the words of Lady Whistledown, she only ever tried to look out to see if ‘Marcus’ was ever mentioned. He was not. She dropped the sheet on the table before standing at the window and looking out.

“Can you believe it, another one?” Eloise spoke up not tearing her eyes from the sheet. Looking back at Eloise, y/n feigned confusion “Hmm, sorry what was that?

Eloise dropped the paper on her lap and looked blankly at the ceiling “Another man was murdered, all because the yard can't solve the case”

y/n picked the paper from Eloise and pretended to skim over it while hiding her smile, “Oh Eloise don't tell me you are going on about this stupid little story again, why not go read something more useful? Or try looking into who Lady Whisteldown is again, you loved that remember? This story doesn't seem to be doing anyone any good, and the writer seems to have hit a wall don't you think?”

Instantly Eloise turned her head to y/n and stood up walking to her, “no you don't get it, sister,” she snatched the paper from the elder girls hands and pointed to a line “See here it's different ‘The man’s face paled as he looked at the contents of the envelope, turning it over, four orange pips dropped unto the table’ see sister it’s strange, this man got a warning the others didn't. Something big must be coming y/n, something different.” she quickly took the paper and ran up to her room leaving y/n looking behind her.

In truth y/n was out of inspiration. Writing under the pen name Marcus Bradford, she had made quite the name for him, but she thought, perhaps she had gone too strong with the opening and now she was crashing, the seeds in the envelope was her quite literally reaching for straws at this point, trying to buy herself time hoping that some grand idea will hit her.

She was happy with all the attention her writing was gaining even if it was under a false name. She knew her stories would have gotten nowhere otherwise. She also knew that she couldnt keep writing forever, no matter how much she loved it. Her mother was on her back about missing many balls since her debut last year and that since Eloise’s debut this year, it’s harder taking care of two girls at once, especially two girls who cared more about books than looking to the men right in front of them.

It wasn't like y/n was not interested in romance at all, rather, she was actually quite the romantic, but she found no interest in the advances of the men of the ton, in fact she always compared the whole process to a birds mating ritual, all the dancing, and the reciting of poetry and the hundreds of flower bouquets and colours. no, she much preferred the romance on the paper she read, and quite often found herself daydreaming about the books she had read, maybe one day a pirate would take her to go treasure hunting together. Or maybe a past childhood friend she doesn't remember will profess his undying love to her and how he never forgot her all these years.

y/n scoffed at the thoughts she was having, “Maybe all I need is a change of perspective and scenery…I assume a ball will have to do then” She rolled her eyes before standing and going to look for her mother's whereabouts.

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

IF YOU WERE LOOKING TO FIND SHERLOCK HOLMES, polite society would usually be the last place you would look. To Sherlok it is mundane and boring, and really there is no point in trying to connect with people whose knowledge and understanding end where yours begin. With this knowledge in mind, you can imagine how shocking it would be to the people of the ton when that very Wednesday Lord Sherlock Holmes was in the promenade with his younger sister in hand, they walked straight ahead ignoring all the stares they received. Enola could quite clearly see many desperate mamas pointing to Sherlock and whispering to their daughters. “You must remind me again Sherlock, why are we here?”

Sherlock stopped walking and unhooked his arm out of Enolas’ before looking around the park and then turning to her “I’m hunting”

“Hunting? In the promenade? Brother that's hardly quite safe” she spoke with a smirk before raising an eyebrow at her brother “Don't tell me you’re-... you're not hunting for a wife are you?”

This question made Sherlock momentarily stop looking around and then sigh “Really Enola think before you speak, honestly a wife out of any of the women here? Marrying a mannequin would be more productive, at least then it wouldn't throw stupid questions at me” he eyed a few women but quickly looked away uninterested “besides I doubt any of them can hold up any meaningful conversation with substance”

Enola rolled her eyes before swatting her brother's arms lightly with her fan “Don't be so easy to underestimate them all Sherlock you never know” She then walked ahead leaving him behind.

“Of course I know, I'm Sherlock Holmes”

—--------

y/n sat on the chair under the umbrella with a fan in her left hand and a book in her right, skillfully managing to hold the book and turn the pages all with one hand, her mother sat by her chatting her ear off about some lord or other that had passed by, and all y/n could do was hum in absent agreement to please her mother when in truth she held no care for whatever lord she spoke of.

“y/n dear look theres lord manyard,” y/n looked just above her book at the lord her mother spoke of, truth be told he was appealing to the eyes but y/n knew better, she knew that he had been sweet talking almost every debutant in the ton, her eyebrow twitched into a semi frown when he caught her eyes. A wink and smirk were sent her way causing her to use every muscle in her body to not shiver with disgust, she could not however stop the massive eyeroll she did “i hear that he owns land and estates in the country and that he is even buying out oil factori-”

y/n lightly slammed her book in her lap and gave violet bridgerton a tightlipped smile, she knew her mother meant well and that she only wanted what is best for her, but it was getting hard to see her mothers disappointment at every rejection she made, “Mama, where perchance did eloise go? I did have something quite important i needed to discuss with her”

Violet sighed but pushed no further “well yes I suppose sitting here will do you no good, last i saw her she was on the promenade trail with Penelope, will you be alright on your own or should I send Anthony with you?”

y/n had already gotten up and adjusted her dress “No it's quite alright I think I’ll be fine on my own” and with that, she made her way in the direction her mother pointed to only to be stopped by a bunch of little kids running past her throwing confetti at each other, unfortunately, some got caught on her dress so while she walked she busied herself with clearing the tiny squares of paper off of her. As such in cliche stories and books, she wasn't looking in front of her causing her to bump into someone who equally wasn't looking where they were going.

Both parties' priorities regaining their balance before looking to the person in front of them, and looking up y/n noticed a girl about her age looking back at her “Please accept my apologies I wasn't focused on where I was going”

The girl quickly shook her hands in front of her “No no please you must apologise i also wasn't aware of my surroundings as I walked so if anything I'm equally at fault here”

Y/n smiled at the girl in front of her and gave her a small nod, then suddenly thought…what now, the girl was looking at her almost expectantly, y/n wasn't sure if she should say something or just walk away, but she had already stood there for too long in silence to suddenly walk away, but on the other hand what does she say?

“Enola”

Y/n raised her eyebrows “Sorry?”

“Enola Holmes… that's my name if you wanted to know” y/n raised her eyebrow at the familiar-sounding name. Enola extended her hand to y/n to shake.

“OH… oh I see yes, very nice to meet you Enola, I'm y/n Bridgerton” She then grabbed Enola's hand and shook it too as they smiled to each other.

“I must say Enola I haven't seen you in the promenade before…or at any soirees or some such thing” y/n spoke as she looked around.

Enola nodded as she brought her head up to her forehead “Yes well, I don't usually come out, I'm usually around my brother and he really doesn't care for the affairs of the ton so we rarely actually leave Baker Street”

Y/n tilted her head “I see, then what seems to have prompted today's outing?”

Enola linked her arms in y/n as they started to walk “Well-” stopping midsentence the Holmes girl furrowed her eyebrows and lifted her chin as she tried to think “In all truthfulness, I haven't the faintest idea when I asked my brother he simply stated that he was hunting”

Y/n stopped midstep and looked to Enola in confusion, “Hunting? In the promenade? I doubt he'd be lucky getting any deer or game here” She laughed at the absurdity then a thought popped into her head “he's not..hunting for women is he?”

“Those were my exact words when I confronted him, however, if I know anyone it's my brother, he isn't interested in trivialities, ‘Enola, I’d rather marry a mannequin than a woman’ were his exact words to me” she spoke as she walked on with y/n and even deepened her voice as she quoted her brother, making y/n giggle at the absurdity.

“Quite the idealist he sounds like, lucky he is a man and gets to choose and not get judged upon it” y/n voiced her thoughts making Enola look at her “You quite right y/n, and it helps him that he is also the second son so no responsibility on his shoulder he is free to do as his heart desires”

Y/n and Enola both laugh before the latter girl notices her brother standing with a couple of gentlemen smoking cigars. She pointed at her brother and sighed “Had I known he had planned to throw me aside for his playmates I would have benefited more from staying at home”

Y/n looked in the direction she was pointing at and suddenly it was like it all clicked once she saw him, of course, how could she miss such an obvious thing “Your brother is Lord Sherlock Holmes?! Of course, how could I not realise it sooner.” She slapped her hand lightly on her forehead as she looked to Enola who nodded in response.

“Trust me y/n, not as fun as it sounds, my eldest brother gave my wardship to Sherlock since he is already busy as it is with family and estate affairs and ever since then Sherlock has been as busy as ever” she stuck her tongue out at sherlock who looked away from the group of men at his sister. His eyes quickly flickered to y/n but didn't linger as his attention returned to Enola before he too stuck his tongue out to her.

Y/n smiled at the sight of the two of them, they made her think of her own family “You complain yet you both seem inseparable, it's sweet, mine are over there” She pointed to where Anthony and Colin were standing with Hyacinth and Gregory playing with a hoop. Hyacinth threw it up and Anthony managed to hook his arm in it then bowed to the trio in front of him.

Enola giggled at the sight “My that is a lot of siblings how do you get a moment of peace to yourself?” causing the other girl to roll her eyes with a smile “I don't, and believe it or not there are 4 more” Enola’s jaw dropped before noticing that Anthony had apparently started approaching them, “it seems your brother wants you back I assume?”

“Not at all I'm just checking on my sister” he smiled at the two girls before directing his attention solely to his sister “sister I'm glad you are finally adjusting and meeting people that aren't on paper” y/n rolled her eyes before pushing Anthony's shoulder lightly “oh nothing makes you happy does it Anthony, I sit reclusively, I’ll become a spinster, I mingle with other people I'm suddenly to adventurous” they both laughed before the sister turned to Enola “Enola this is Anthony my brother, Anthony…this is Enola Holmes”

Anthony's eyebrows rose “Holmes? As in Sher-”

“Good day to you Bridgerton”

There is a saying, ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’, and it seems quite fitting to use right here seeing as the man who approached the group and spoke up at that moment was Sherlock Holmes himself.

Anthony stood straight and nodded with a straight face to Sherlock “Holmes.”

Both men looked at each other, like in a staring contest, both Enola and y/n raised their eyebrows in confusion, looked at each other then back at their brothers. Suddenly like it was synchronised both the men shook hands and pulled each other into a friendly hug.

“I'm sorry Anthony but it feels like there's some missing context here, you both looked like you were about to murder each other and yet now you are acting like old friends, which is it friend or foe?” Y/n crossed her arms as she looked at the two men

Anthony looked to Sherlock with a smirk “Definitely foe dear sister seeing as since his graduation Lord Holmes here didn't see it fit to send any correspondence any longer”

The younger Bridgertons eyes widened as she looked to the older Holmes “You knew Anthony during his study?”

Sherlock nodded “We studied at Oxford at the same time, I studied chemistry and your brother focused on history and literature or some such thing”

Anthony coughed looking away quickly “Lord Holmes here was 1 year my senior and was booked in a flat with Hastings and I, of course, he valued his complete privacy so while he got the single bigger room in the flat me and Bassett had to share” he spoke with an eye roll.

It was Sherlock's turn to clear his throat and look away “Yes…how is Bassett… well I assume I must respectively call him the duke now”

Y/n who had felt that she and Enola had been quite forgotten now spoke up before Anthony could “Yes he is quite well, dukedom fits him rather well”

Sherlock turned to the younger Bridgerton “Is that so? I see you have become acquainted with the duke” making the girl smirk “But of course hard not to when my sister is quite literally married to him”

“I see…”

“So Holmes” Anthony spoke up clapping his hands together to divert the conversation “you never promenade what has changed? Finally thinking of settling down?”

“He's hunting” Enola spoke up.

Sherlock looked to his sister with a sigh before meeting the confused face of the Bridgertons and before they could speak up with any accusations he decided to clear his name.

“Not hunting persay, more scouting. I'm looking for the Bradfords”

It seemed as though time stopped around them, the two Bridgerton siblings and Enola’s eyes widened and y/n’s fan stopped mid-swing, the silence was heavy but was burst when Anthony quickly started laughing.

“Holmes, surely you jest, don't tell me you too have been ensnared by a small column of fiction like the rest of the ton” he spoke and was quickly followed by Enola who expressed that he constantly refused to read it and that he could possibly just be joking.

Y/n looked at each person and stepped back to watch how this would play out.

“I assure you I do not jest or joke, I have received many clients coming to me with this case and it can only be solved if I find this Marcus Bradford himself” Sherlock frustratedly spoke while looking to his sister and old friend.

Enola raised an eyebrow before addressing her brother once more “And…what case might that be Sherlock?”

Suddenly as Sherlock looked to the three stood before him, his eyes flickered between them as he embarrassingly spoke. “The case of the abominable bride.”

Y/n tried so hard but couldn't hold in the laughter causing it to come out as a snort more like. Most unladylike and in fact unhelpful seeing as Sherlock's embarrassment now turned to frustration and annoyance.

The girl quickly realised her mistake and apologised with a smile, “It's just you'd think you of all people wouldn't waste your time with a storybook”

Anthony was quick to scold his sister lightly then turned to Sherlock “I am not sure why you are doing this Holmes but…if it helps there is no Marcus Bradford in the ton, trust me people have looked.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly while looking around the ton slowly “I see… well then we had best be on our way then, it was nice seeing you and meeting your sister Anthony”

Anthony nodded and bid the Holmes' farewell as Enola promised she would write to y/n. As the two families split away and started walking away, y/n suddenly stopped and stood back and waited for Anthony to keep walking and not notice before quickly walking back to the Holmes siblings.

“Lord Holmes!” she called out to him, Sherlock and Enola turned to y/n as she stopped in front of them and took a moment to regain composure. “You know Lord Holmes… I have a pet cat named Minnie”

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he was being told this, then the Bridgerton spoke up once more “She has this terrible terrible habit of loving the house a lot, and it drives me crazy looking for her but I think I have a technique down on how to catch her.” Sherlock still had no idea where this was going yet…something in him told him to humour the girl and give her his complete attention.

“I used to go to every maid and ask her if she had seen Minnie until I realised, really if I track down the most important places I'd be saving time and energy, so now… when Minnie runs off, I just go to the kitchens and wait… she will have to eat sometime and the kitchen staff know not to let her out after that.”

And with that y/n turned around and walked back to her family who were sitting under the umbrella.

“What was that about?” Enola spoke up when she noticed Sherlock was still looking at where y/n stood with a far-off look.

“A cat called Minnie…apparently”

y/n smirked as she watched Sherlock and Enola leave the promenade. If Sherlock Holmes wanted a wild goose chase, then who was she to deny him of it?

“Catch me if you can Lord Holmes” she spoke with a smirk

The game was truly afoot.

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

I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly do not own the abominable bride story

they belong to their rightful owners.

I only own the fic idea.

@frost-queen

#bridgerton #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #enola holmes #enola and sherlock #bridgerton reader #bridgerton x reader #sherlock holmes fanfiction #crossover #fanfic #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock #imagine #bridgerton x enola holmes

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maryleclerc · 24 days

Text

A SERIES: THE UNION OF HEARTS AND DUTIES

pairing: prince!charles leclerc x noble!reader

summary: as the diamond of the season, will lady y/n find a true match?

warning: english is not my first language, bridgerton theme, haven’t watch ss2-3 yet, took place in the 1920s era. not proofread/beta read yet

TUOHAD series

CHAPTER 1: The Diamond of the Season

The night was alive with anticipation as I, Y/N Y/L/N, stood before the grand mirror in my room, my reflection framed by the soft glow of candlelight. It was an evening I had long dreamt of, one where I would step into the world as the Diamond of the season, the most sought-after young lady among London's elite. The title had been both an honor and a burden, one that brought with it the weight of expectation. Tonight, at Queen Charlotte's ball, I was expected to shine brighter than ever, to captivate the gaze of every eligible suitor, and perhaps, to find a match as fortunate as my sister's.

The gown I wore was a masterpiece of Regency fashion—a flowing creation of silk in a shade that complemented my complexion perfectly. The delicate fabric clung to my form in just the right places, the empire waistline cinched below my bust with a ribbon of deep blue, matching the color of my eyes. My hands, encased in sheer gloves, fluttered slightly as I smoothed the skirt, a gesture of both nerves and excitement.

My hair had been carefully styled into a high bun, every strand meticulously placed by my lady’s maid, revealing the nape of my neck. I had always been told that it was a subtle but powerful feature, an allure that added to the elegance of my presence. The pearls that adorned my ears and the simple necklace at my throat were the finishing touches, heirlooms passed down through generations of the Y/L/N family.

As I studied my reflection, I couldn’t help but think of my sister. She had found her match at a similar ball, her marriage a love story that had become the envy of the ton. I longed for the same, for a partner who would see beyond my title and status, who would love me for who I truly was. But with the eyes of the entire nobility upon me, the pressure was immense.

My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts, calling from the hallway. "Y/N, you must hurry! The carriage is ready, and we mustn't keep the queen waiting!"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Yes mama, I'm ready!" I called back, my voice steady despite the flutter in my heart. I knew the importance of this night, of the decisions that could be made under the glittering chandeliers of the palace.

As I left my room and descended the grand staircase of our home, my parents waited at the bottom, my mother’s eyes gleaming with pride, while my father’s expression was one of quiet approval. They had prepared me for this moment, for the role I was to play tonight.

The journey to Buckingham Palace was brief but felt endless as my mind raced with thoughts of what the evening would bring. As we approached, the palace loomed before us, its grand façade lit by hundreds of torches, welcoming the nobility of England to another night of tradition and potential romance.

Upon arrival, we were greeted with all the pomp and ceremony befitting our station. The grand hall was filled with the most prominent families, their gowns and jewels sparkling under the brilliant chandeliers. Musicians played a lively tune, and the air was thick with the scent of roses and the murmur of conversation.

"Make sure to keep a bright smile on your face!" my mother advised, reminding me that a lady with a confident smile is a force to be reckoned with in the world of high society.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. The carriage door opened, revealing the grand entrance to the castle, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. The night was alive with the murmur of conversation and the rustling of elegant gowns as guests moved gracefully toward the ballroom.

As we stepped out onto the cobblestone path, I reminded myself of the importance of this evening. My every move, every glance, and yes, every smile, would be scrutinized by the eyes of the ton. But I was ready. I had been prepared for this moment, and I knew that tonight could change the course of my future.

With a final, reassuring glance at my mother, I allowed a confident smile to grace my lips and walked forward, ready to embrace whatever the night would bring.

As I made my entrance, I could feel the eyes of the ton upon me, whispers following my every step. But I held my head high, my mother’s lessons on poise and grace echoing in my mind. Tonight, I was not just Y/N Y/L/N; I was the Diamond of the season, and I would fulfill the role expected of me.

The evening unfolded as I had anticipated, with numerous introductions and dances. The suitors who sought my favor were charming and well-mannered, each attempting to outshine the others. But as the night wore on, I found myself seeking something more—an encounter that would set my heart alight, a connection that would make me believe in the possibility of love.

It was then, as I stood near the refreshment table, a glass of champagne in hand, that I felt a presence beside me. Turning slightly, I found myself gazing into the eyes of a man who took my breath away. He was tall, with dark hair that was slightly tousled in a way that suggested both nobility and a hint of rebellion. His eyes, a striking shade of green, held a depth that immediately captivated me.

"Lady Y/L/N," he said with a bow, his voice smooth and warm, "I hope I am not too bold in asking for a dance."

I recognized him instantly—Prince Charles Leclerc, the talk of the ton, known for his charm and his title as the most eligible bachelor in Europe. But there was something in his gaze that set him apart from the others, something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Your Highness," I replied, curtsying gracefully, "I would be honored."

As we moved to the dance floor, the orchestra struck up a waltz, and the world around us seemed to fade away. His hand rested lightly on my waist, guiding me effortlessly across the floor, and I found myself losing track of time, of the whispers around us, of everything but the man before me.

"You are as enchanting as the rumors suggest," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.

"And you, Your Highness, are as charming as they say," I replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my lips.

For the first time that evening, I felt a spark of hope—a sense that perhaps, like my sister, I too could find happiness in a match made at one of these grand balls. But as the music came to an end and the dance concluded, I knew that this was only the beginning. The path ahead was uncertain, and the world of the ton was filled with both opportunity and danger.

The grand ballroom of Buckingham Palace is bathed in the warm glow of chandeliers, the air filled with the soft strains of the orchestra. The guests, adorned in their finest attire, swirl around the room in a dance of color and elegance. After a waltz that left many in awe, Lady Y/N Y/L/N and Prince Charles Leclerc step off the dance floor, finding a quiet corner to converse.

"You dance with such grace, Lady Y/L/N. It is no wonder you have been declared the Diamond of the season. I must admit, I’ve rarely enjoyed a waltz as much as I did with you tonight," Prince Charles said, offering me a glass of champagne.

"Your Highness flatters me. But I believe it is your skill as a partner that made the dance so memorable. I must thank you for that," I replied, accepting the glass with a slight blush, my voice steady but tinged with warmth.

Prince Charles softened his gaze as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "It is not mere flattery, I assure you. In a room full of splendor, you outshine them all. I find myself drawn to your presence, Lady Y/N, more than I have been to any other in quite some time."

My heart quickened, but I maintained my composure, meeting his gaze with a calm yet curious expression. "You honor me with your words, Your Highness. But I must wonder, what is it that truly draws you to me? The season has seen many a lady catch your eye, has it not?"

Prince Charles paused, considering my question thoughtfully before responding with sincerity. "Indeed, there have been many beautiful and accomplished ladies this season. Yet, from the moment we met, there has been something... different about you. A strength, a wit, a kindness that goes beyond mere appearances. It is as though you see the world with a clarity that others do not, and I find that both intriguing and refreshing."

My eyes softened as I listened, my own curiosity deepening as I spoke more openly. "I must confess, Your Highness, I had not expected such earnestness from a prince. The world we live in often demands appearances over authenticity. It is rare to find someone who values the latter."

Prince Charles nodded, a serious yet gentle expression crossing his face. "You speak the truth, Lady Y/N. The weight of expectation can be a heavy burden. But in your company, I feel a sense of ease, as if I can be... simply myself. Tell me, do you share this feeling?"

Pausing for a moment, my gaze grew thoughtful as I considered his words. "Yes, Your Highness, I believe I do. In your company, I find myself able to speak more freely, to be more at ease than I often am in such settings. Perhaps it is because you see beyond the surface, just as you have seen beyond mine."

A warm smile spread across Prince Charles's face as he heard my words. Stepping a little closer, he lowered his voice once more. "Then perhaps, Lady Y/N, this is the beginning of something more than mere titles and duties. Perhaps this is the start of a genuine connection, one that I would very much like to explore further... if you would allow me."

I could feel my heart flutter at the sincerity in his eyes. Returning his smile, I replied softly, but with a voice filled with promise, "I would very much like that, Your Highness."

The night had passed peacefully, spent in conversation with Prince Charles. It was a chance for us to truly get to know each other, and by the time morning arrived, a sense of understanding and connection had begun to blossom between us.

The next morning, after a pleasant breakfast with my father and mother, our maid entered the room carrying two issues of Lady Whistledown’s paper. By now, we were quite familiar with the name, and the anticipation of what the infamous writer might reveal this time hung in the air.

My mother, holding the paper, began to read aloud. As she progressed through each line, her expression shifted from mild curiosity to wide-eyed surprise. Finally, she turned to me, her voice laced with both excitement and concern.

"Y/N, my daughter, read what Lady Whistledown has written. Is it true? Tell me."

Curiosity piqued, I took the paper from her hands and quickly scanned the contents. A mix of shock and confusion washed over me. How could Lady Whistledown have known such private details? I could only manage a somewhat awkward response to my mother’s inquiry.

“Dearest gentle readers,

Another season has come to an end, and once again, a new Diamond has been crowned. If you happened to miss the excitement, this season's Diamond is none other than Miss Y/N Y/L/N, a young lady from the distinguished house of Y/L/N.

But the season's drama did not end there. Prince Charles himself has proposed marriage to Miss Y/L/N. It seems the lady could not resist the undeniable charm of the prince. But will this union be one of true love, or is it merely a match made for mutual benefit? Only time will reveal the truth.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown”

[to be continue…]

—

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc one shot #charles lecrelc #prince!charles leclerc imagine

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bosbas · 7 months

Text

Chapter 1: if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy-ish!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, some strong language, a small part of the dialogue is in French (with translations provided), period-typical views on women, alluding to sex, mentions of alcohol

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: French is not my first language so IM SORRY if the dialogue is a bit weird. I speak some French and obvi double checked to make sure it made sense but please lmk if i made a mistake

April 14, 1816 – Dearest Gentle Readers,

A new season is upon us, and so my work begins anew. Firstly, we can reacquaint ourselves with the familiar faces we expect to see this season. It has been two years since Viscount Anthony Bridgerton married, and dowager Viscountess Bridgerton is surely itching to secure a match for more of her children. Miss Eloise Bridgerton, now in her second year of being out, remains unmarried. And, of course, one cannot help but wonder whether the charming Mr. Colin Bridgerton will return from his travels in time for the season. Though Benedict Bridgerton has been absent from the public eye as of late, he could also be considered an eligible bachelor. Shall we see any of them marry this season? This author remains skeptical, though, with the Bridgertons, one must always expect the unexpected.

There are, however, plenty of new faces. Chief among them are the two youngest Montclair siblings. The Montclairs resided in London for the debut of Lady Charlotte Montclair, now the Duchess of Somerset, before vanishing from England’s social scene. Until now, of course. Though Lord Louis Montclair is only two and twenty and may still be considered green for the marriage mart, all eyes will surely be on Lady Y/N Montclair as she steps into the spotlight and searches for an impressively titled gentleman. Though the Montclairs have graced the streets of Calcutta, Rome, Geneva, and Madrid, among other illustrious locales, one can only hope that the grandeur of London lives up to their expectations.

You let out a resigned sigh of frustration, scolding yourself for your tardiness as you hurried down the stairs. It was half an hour past when you were supposed to be in the breakfast room, and your mother was bound to be at least a little displeased with you. It was the first time your entire family was in the same place since your older brother Jacques got married in September. Despite being a big family, six siblings in total, four of whom were married, it was unusual that you had gone so long without seeing them all in one place.

Moving from country to country every few years for much of your upbringing had made your siblings a very tight-knit bunch. So, as you neared the breakfast room, which was full of laughter and lively conversation, you couldn't shake the twinge of guilt for your late arrival.

But you couldn’t help it! Not this time, at least. It had been your first night in London since your sister Charlotte’s season eight years ago, and you had stayed up until the early hours of the morning stargazing in your garden. There was a secluded patch of grass between the summer pavilion and the tulips, a secret spot hidden from prying eyes, where you could spend hours looking at the sky in peaceful solitude. Last time you were in London, you had snuck out of your bedroom every night to stare at the stars, and you had been pleased to find that the spot remained undiscovered.

You had always been comforted by the fact that the cosmos would remain the same even if your home did not. The night sky had become somewhat of a companion during your childhood years, and you were interested to see what part of it you were privy to in London at this time of year. Perhaps a scolding and a lecture from your mother were not such a high price to pay for the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the stars, you reasoned.

You slithered into the breakfast room quietly, hoping to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you had no such luck. Your brother closest to you in age, Louis, was sitting nearest to the door and noticed your late entrance immediately.

Taking advantage of every opportunity to make your life just a little harder, he goaded, “T'es très en retard, demoiselle. Ce n'est pas convenable pour une fille en quête d'un mari!” (You’re very late, young lady. This is not suitable for a girl looking for a husband!)

Under any other circumstances, you might have laughed at his impression of your mother, but you were quite sleep-deprived and in no mood to have your brother lecture you. You sighed in frustration, hissing, “Louis, ferme ta gue-” (Louis, shut you mou-)

“English, please!” interrupted your father, not even looking up from his newspaper as he sat at the head of the table.

You were relieved he hadn’t commented on your colorful language, but his curt reprimand reminded you that it was in poor taste to speak a language not everyone could understand. Growing up, your family had primarily spoken French, but with none of your siblings having married a francophone, you were now only allowed to speak in French when everyone present could speak it, too. It was a rule enforced particularly during big family gatherings such as this one. Despite your fluency in five languages, your parents insisted on English, the only common language among all twelve family members.

“Sorry,” you muttered, not quite sure that your father had even heard. You slid into your seat between Louis and your brother Jacques’ wife, Chiara. Still annoyed with Louis, you turned to the newest addition to the Montclair family and smiled at her warmly.

“Ciao, Y/N,” she greeted, smiling back and kissing you on the cheek.

“Ciao, Chiara, è bello rivederti,” you responded (Hi Chiara, it’s nice to see you again). You were tempted to keep speaking to her in Italian–you liked the practice, after all–but feared another scolding from your father. So, you settled for, “I trust your trip back home was good?”

“Oh, it was lovely. Florence always is at this time of year. You should come back to visit sometime! Beatrice misses you terribly,” she exclaimed.

Beatrice was Chiara’s younger sister, whom you had become dear friends with while living in Tuscany. You had remained in Tuscany for nearly four years, longer than you usually stayed in one place, and though you were itching to leave and see more of the world by the end of your time in Florence, you were thankful you had met Beatrice. Both of you were delighted when you realized your brother was marrying her sister, ensuring you would remain close even when you moved away.

You sighed. “I miss her, too. We correspond quite regularly, but it’s simply not the same. I assume it will be worse now that I am in England and even farther from her,” you lamented.

After Jacques and Chiara’s wedding, your parents, Louis, and you returned home to Amboise for a few months. Beatrice had visited for the holidays along with Chiara and Jacques, but you knew she was unlikely to come to England when she was busy with her season back home.

Chiara smiled sympathetically. “Well, Jacques and I are only staying for a few weeks before returning to Tuscany. If you get bored here in London, you are always welcome to visit,” she comforted.

It was a lovely thought, but you doubted your parents would allow you to leave England until you were married. Your parents’ marriage had most certainly not been a love match, and though they did grow to love each other eventually, they didn’t particularly care whether you loved the man you married. To them, marriage was an economic endeavor rather than a romantic one. You had never minded much, having accepted your fate early in life as you watched your siblings marry strategically.

Nevertheless, you had grown rather nervous about your season after watching the outcome of Charlotte’s. In your parents’ eyes, her season was a complete success as she married a Duke a few short months after her debut. But you knew better. Not all of your siblings had enjoyed moving around so much, but you, Louis, and Charlotte were the most enthusiastic. Having married the Duke of Somerset, Charlotte had become Duchess, and her duties tied her to England. After such an international childhood, you knew Charlotte was dreadfully bored of staying in England year after year.

You knew there were much worse marriages to be in, but you still wanted to avoid being permanently tied to England, of all places. You were only twenty years old, after all, and you still had so much of the world to see.

---

“By the way,” Violet said, strategically avoiding the topic until she was about to leave the sitting room. “Both of you are attending the Danbury ball tomorrow night.”

The expected chorus of complaints filled her ears, and she shook her head in amusement at her children’s petulance. One would think she was trying to force them to walk halfway across the world!

Violet sighed and said firmly, “I understand that neither of you is particularly enthusiastic, but we are not so rude as to miss the first ball of the season. And at Lady Danbury’s home, at that! Surely the retribution you would receive from her is enough to make you want to go.”

“Well, Colin’s coming home from Greece tomorrow and I hardly think he’ll be in attendance, so I don’t see why we should be,” argued Eloise, earning an enthusiastic nod from Benedict.

“You make the mistake of thinking that I have not already informed Colin he will be in attendance. None of you have the option to stay home, I’m afraid.”

And with that, she left her grumbling children behind in favor of a quiet turn around the garden.

---

Colin arrived at Number 5 Bruton Street feeling rather unkempt. His journey from Greece had been particularly tumultuous, and he was ready to change clothes and sleep for the next seventeen hours.

“Colin! I’m so glad you’re home,” exclaimed Violet upon seeing him. For all her nagging, he was quite fond of his mother and found that he had missed her while he had been away. Seeing tears forming in her eyes, Colin wrapped Violet up in a tight hug, hoping to avoid feeling worse about being away for so long.

“He’s home!” shouted Gregory, running up to greet him. The rest of his siblings followed suit, and Colin basked in the excitement of his homecoming.

To the rest of the ton, Colin was the most well-liked Bridgerton due to his easygoing nature and cheerful demeanor, and because he was rather good-looking as well, he hoped. However, it was nice to know that his family still cared for him despite his prolonged absences.

“The Danbury ball is in a few hours, so make sure to be ready on time,” his mother reminded him once she had gathered herself.

He groaned, having forgotten he had promised his mother he would attend. He sighed as he prepared for an evening of excruciating conversation as he politely listened to ambitious mamas name every single positive attribute their daughters possessed in the hopes of impressing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, but rather that he remained uninterested in marriage, finding his travels a much more exciting prospect. But he had a reputation to maintain, so he would be as courteous as ever to everyone he met and perhaps even dance with a few of them.

A few hours later, the Bridgertons were, quite impatiently, one could say, waiting for Benedict to finish getting ready so they could leave for the Danbury Ball.

“Excited for your third season?” Colin directed his question at Eloise. He knew the answer, of course, but he was growing bored of waiting for Benedict and thought that this would be the perfect distraction.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone you absolutely adore, El. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities,” preached Colin, annoying Eloise further.

“What about you, Colin? Five and twenty and still unmarried, that’s a bit ghastly don’t you think?” she shot back.

Of course, it wasn't unheard of to be unmarried at his age, but Colin panicked regardless, knowing his mother would surely love to join the conversation now that his marriage prospects were a talking point. But Benedict saved him by walking down the stairs at that moment.

“Finally! Now can we go, please?” exclaimed Eloise.

“I’m surprised, Eloise. I thought you didn’t want to go to this ball,” teased Benedict, but she only grumbled in return as they headed toward their carriage.

The carriage rides were usually the worst part of going to a ball. Violet Bridgerton, efficient as ever, would inform each of her children of the possible prospects that would be in attendance that night, impossibly elongating the journey and making the Bridgertons less and less pleased about being forced to go. They weren't always forced, of course, but the carriage rides certainly made it seem that way.

“The Montclairs will be in London for the season, I heard. Lady Y/N Montclair will be making her debut, which will surely interest you two,” said Violet, nodding at the men in the carriage. “And for you, Eloise, her older brother Lord Louis Montclair is perhaps too young to get married, but it wouldn’t hurt to speak with him and practice your French.”

Violet droned on for the rest of the ride, and the Bridgerton siblings could barely get out of the carriage fast enough when it arrived at Danbury House. Little did they know that they had played right into Violet’s plan. She wanted to enjoy the evening and visit with her friends, and hopefully, her overly long analysis of the key figures at today’s ball would keep her children away from her enough for her to do so.

Inside the ballroom, you were speaking with a perfectly nice but quite boring gentleman. You couldn’t quite remember his name, having talked to at least a dozen men practically identical to him already. You barely registered his request for a dance, and you only realized you had accepted when you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, the dance went by fairly quickly and you were able to sprinkle in interested hums and “oh really?” at the appropriate times. All in all, it was not a terrible experience, if only you could remember his name.

He returned you to your mother and bowed in parting, kissing your hand and promising to call on you the next day.

“Who was that?” you muttered once he had left.

“Y/N,” she scolded, but could barely contain her laughter. “I can’t believe you danced with a man you don’t even know the name of!”

You shrugged, not particularly interested in learning who he was anymore.

“Is there anyone else you want me to meet?” you asked her, hoping she would say no and you would be free to find Louis and talk to someone familiar at last.

But your mother was distracted from answering as she saw two tall men crossing the ballroom. She squeezed your arm and nodded in their direction, careful to be discreet.

“Those are the Bridgertons. Their oldest brother, the Viscount, is already married, but it is of no consequence. Perhaps the second and third sons might not be fit to be your husband, but you should still introduce yourself and make a good impression should you encounter them.”

You nodded, disinterested. You were too busy looking around the room, realizing that there was still a myriad of gentlemen left to speak with. It seemed that there were too many eligible bachelors if that was even possible. You had thought there would be five men that your mother would have approved of, at most, and you could make your pick between them. But it seemed London was a particularly popular place for titled gentlemen to search for a wife, and you were growing uneasy.

Trying not to think about the long evening ahead of you, you tuned back into what your mother was saying. “Oh! I don’t quite know where Colin Bridgerton has gone off to now, but Benedict is over by the lemonade if you can see him. I believe that is his sister, Eloise. They all look identical, don’t they? The same brown h-”

“Pardon me,” you interrupted as panic rose in your chest. You were in desperate need of a respite, and could hardly handle another minute listening to her speak about more men she needed you to meet. “I think I see an old friend of mine, and I must say hello,” you lied.

Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, shocked that you remembered people from eight years ago, but let you go regardless. Impatiently, you waited until someone else engaged her in conversation and quietly slipped out into the hallway. Stepping out of a ball on your own like this was forbidden, and your father would surely have your head if he found out you had risked being found unchaperoned and away from the ball, but you needed to get away for just a moment to gather yourself.

Lady Danbury’s home was quite beautiful, you found, and you were enjoying looking at the art on her walls as you roamed the halls. You were careful not to stray too far, not knowing your way around and recognizing that you only had a short time before someone was bound to notice your absence.

Suddenly, your senses heightened as you heard two men’s voices far closer than you would have liked. Panicking, you jumped around a corner and prayed that no one would find you, absolutely not ready to be forced to marry a man only one ball into your debut. You willed your heart to stop beating so loudly lest you get caught and tried to discern what the men were saying, unable to quell your curiosity despite the precarious position you found yourself in.

“And, if she's the right sort of woman, you won’t even have to do anything, she'll just get on top and do all the work. Though I suppose it all depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook,” slurred one of them. “And you, Colin? Do any ladies catch your eye? I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the same time as you heard 'Colin' say, “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, Nigel?”

Their footsteps echoed down the hall and you risked a glance at them, still horrified but wanting to know who they were anyway. You were unsurprised to find Nigel walking toward the garden, having met Mr. Nigel Berbrooke earlier in the evening and finding him quite unpleasant. However, you were shocked to find who you assumed to be Colin Bridgerton walking quite close to Mr. Berbrooke. Hadn’t your mother said the Bridgertons were people of good standing? Surely someone would have noticed that the third son was a complete ass. But perhaps he was the odd one out, and the rest of his family was lovely. Or perhaps Englishmen were simply unpleasant as a whole. Whatever the reason for his horrible comments, you decided you despised Colin Bridgerton and dreaded the day you would have to speak with him.

“Quel salaud,” you muttered angrily under your breath after you heard Mr. Bridgerton close the door to the outdoor patio (What a bastard). Pacing up and down the hallway, you were too enraged by what you heard to return to the ballroom.

The quality of men in England seemed to be quite lacking, and suddenly you wished you could follow in your sister Isabelle’s footsteps and go to Spain to find a titled gentleman there. Isabelle had seemed quite excited about all her suitors before eventually settling on Carlos, who practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Unfortunately, it seemed that you were not destined for such a husband, you thought glumly.

But you supposed you didn't really have a choice. You let out a weary sigh and leaned heavily against the wall, shaking your head as you accepted the reality of your situation. With an angry humph and one last look to make sure no one was around, you quietly slipped back into the ballroom and searched for your mother, who would surely be looking for you now. As you expected, she spotted you almost instantly, and she immediately drew you into conversation with a gentleman you believed to be an Earl.

---

Colin stood outside the door to the ballroom, flexing his fingers to make sure there was still feeling there. Confirming the health of his right hand, he gently opened the ballroom door with his left and stepped inside, looking around for Benedict. Spotting him a few feet away, Colin quickly made his way over hoping to avoid any particularly insistent mamas at this precise moment.

“You look quite relaxed,” commented Benedict, earning a glare from Colin.

“Berbrooke,” Colin explained flatly. “How that man manages to get so drunk so quickly I will never know.”

But suddenly his attention was drawn elsewhere. Time seemed to slow down as a stunning lady he had never seen before crossed the ballroom. He was paralyzed, stuck to his spot on the ground as he stared after you. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his ears, and though Colin wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, he imagined it might have felt something like this if he did. Without a second thought, he knew he had to know you. It was almost instinctual.

Colin tugged on Benedict’s sleeve, his eyes still glued to your form as you laughed politely at whoever you were speaking with. “Who is that over there? Have you spoken with her?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” responded Benedict. “You could always ask Mother.”

“I might do just that, actually,” hummed Colin, deep in thought.

Benedict choked back a laugh, looking over at his younger brother. “Are you being serious?”

Tearing his eyes away from you for a moment, Colin turned to his brother, confused. “Well, yes. If anyone knows who she is, it’ll be her, no?”

Realizing that Colin was, in fact, quite serious, Benedict’s expression sobered. “You are aware if you even hint at the fact that you might be interested in her, Mother will surely come up with at least a dozen plans to marry you off?”

“I don’t think that would be the worst thing in the world,” Colin reasoned, eyes searching for you in the crowd again. Five minutes ago, he would’ve thought it silly, how captivated he was by you. But five minutes ago, he had not yet seen you.

Just as he was about to seek out his mother to ask about you, Lady Danbury walked up to the pair of Bridgertons and poked Colin's foot with her cane. Usually, her presence would have instilled a healthy dose of fear in him, but tonight all he really wanted was to know you, and he supposed Lady Danbury was just as knowledgeable as Violet Bridgerton about the goings on of the ton.

“What are you doing staring at Lady Montclair?” she demanded.

“Lady Montclair? Is that her name?” Then, vaguely remembering what his mother had said on the carriage ride to the ball, he added, “The one from France?”

Lady Danbury hummed, suspicious of Colin’s enthusiasm. “Yes. Lady Y/N Montclair. Speaking with her brother Lord Louis Montclair. Are you interested?”

“I think I am, yes,” he sighed.

“I do believe she has space left on her dance card,” prompted Lady Danbury, doing very little to hide the fact that she was nudging Colin in your direction.

Once Colin had taken off, Benedict turned to her, not distracted enough to forget decorum as his brother had. “This is a wonderful ball, Lady Danbury. My deepest gratitude to you for inviting us, as always.”

But she only waved his thanks away. “Shush, boy. I’m trying to pay attention to Colin willingly asking a lady to dance for the first time.”

Soft music floated through the ballroom as you laughed quietly with Louis, who seemed to be having a wonderful time terrorizing your mother and refusing to dance with any ladies she introduced to him. The gentle hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of footsteps beside you, and with a polite smile on your face, you turned to greet whoever had approached. Realizing you were face to face with Mr. Colin Bridgerton, your expression immediately turned stony.

Bowing with just the right degree of formality, Colin introduced himself, his charm seemingly effortless. He certainly played the part of a perfect gentleman; you could give him that. But you couldn’t forget his conversation with Mr. Berbrooke, the distasteful words replaying in your mind over and over.

Then, extending his hand to you and tilting his head slightly toward the dance floor, a soft smile on his lips, he asked, “Would you care to dance with me this evening, Lady Montclair?”

Looking at him squarely, you responded, your voice sickly sweet, “Why no, Mr. Bridgerton. I don’t believe I would.”

—

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basset-babe · 3 months

Text

five times: the third.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, drinking, anger, disgust, hurtful words, self-doubt / sabotage

word count: 5.1k+

a/n: honestly felt like i bit more off than i can chew but i do relish a challenge! also, my apologies for the prolonged delay of my postings, dearests. life has been life-ing recently lol anywho, here is the ever-challenging third! opening with a whistledown aND y'all know what we do when gossip arrives, we gossip! ciao amo! (dates included do not mean anything nor is accurate to any timeline)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

trees and skies banner from @cottage-writings, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

March 25, 18XX

Dearest readers,

The season is in full swing, and the social whirl is abuzz with the latest happenings. None have captured our collective curiosity quite like the endless stream of callers at the Y/L/N residence, all vying for the favor of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. With suitors from the finest families presenting gifts and performances, it is no surprise that Miss Y/L/N has been the object of much admiration.

However, keen observers might have noted a particular favorite among the throng. Yes, dear readers, the second Bridgerton son, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, has made a notable impression on the lovely Miss Y/N. Their promenades and conversations have not gone unnoticed, with many speculating that he holds a special place in her affections. However, as ever in the delicate dance of courtship, it is not without its complications.

Whispers have reached this author's ears that Mr. Bridgerton has been seen in the company of Lady Tilley Arnold—a widow of the late Lord Arnold and esteemed patroness of the sciences. Their encounters, whispered about in the most fashionable circles, suggest more than mere friendship.

Do hold your gasps, for the intrigue does not end there. No, for as Lady Arnold bid adieu to the shadows and prepared to depart, a most shocking revelation transpired. Witnesses, whose lips dare not speak aloud but whose eyes betray their secrets, observed a clandestine exchange between the widow and Mr. Bridgerton— a kiss, dear readers, of the most scandalous variety! The timing, dear readers, is most curious as Lady Arnold was on the verge of departing London, which only adds to the enigma of this nocturnal visit.

What, pray tell, does this clandestine encounter signify, one might wonder? Is there more to the attention of Mr. Bridgerton, that his affections may be wavering, or has Lady Arnold, with her enigmatic charm, ensnared him in her web of intrigue? Such a late-night rendezvous, particularly with a lady of Lady Arnold's standing, is certain to raise eyebrows and incite much speculation.

The ton will surely surmise whether this encounter was a fleeting indiscretion or the beginning of a more complicated entanglement. What could this mean for Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Y/N? Will their courtship withstand the weight of this scandal, or will it crumble under the pressure of whispered gossip and innuendo? Can Miss Y/N overlook this transgression and hold fast to her affection for Mr. Bridgerton, or will she be swayed by the lure of a less tarnished suitor?

One thing is certain, dear reader: the social season has become infinitely more intriguing with this latest development. Rest assured, I will be watching with keen interest as the drama unfolds.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

third time.

"Good afternoon, sister," Benedict greeted Eloise, who was standing in the middle of the house's foyer with her hands conspicuously behind her back.

"Ah! Brother, afternoon," Eloise replied cautiously, attempting to hide the gossip sheet behind her gown skirts. "Where were you?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Nowhere of particular interest. What are you reading?" Benedict inquired, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to her hidden arm.

"Nothing," Eloise replied hastily, but Benedict knew better. He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand, motioning for her to hand over whatever she was concealing.

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly produced the crumpled gossip sheet from behind her back, placing it in Benedict's outstretched hand. "Whistledown," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You are mentioned."

Benedict unfolded the paper and began to read. His typically affable expression turning stoic as he saw his own name linked with both Miss Y/N and Lady Tilley Arnold. His jaw tightened, and he placed the scandal sheet on the table. Eloise cleared her throat and asked. "How are you?"

"Quite the scandal, it seems," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of indifference. "And here I thought I could keep my affairs private. What truly vexes me is not the content concerning myself, it's how she drags in the names of Miss Y/N and Lady Arnold, implying something as if curious but ruinous as she almost did you last season. Heavens be damned, if I ever discover her true identity, I will ensure it is her life that is ruined."

"The lady has declined visits... for today, Sir. I ask... kindly, that you leave the premises," the lady's maid informed as Benedict sat astride his horse, a sketchpad clutched tightly in his hand.

His heart sank at the lady's maid's words, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He had ridden with fervent determination, his thoughts consumed by the desire to see Y/N, to seek solace in her presence after the scandalous sheet had been released. But now, faced with the reality of her refusal, he felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness wash over him.

He had hoped to find refuge in her company this late afternoon, to find comfort in the warmth of her smile and the gentleness of her touch. Yet, it seemed that even she was now beyond his reach, her doors closed to him in the wake of the damning gossip that had tainted his name.

"Could you try again, please?" Benedict implored, desperation lacing his words. "I just need to speak to her, to explain myself."

But the maid remained resolute, her expression unyielding, her features softened by a touch of sympathy for Benedict's plight. "I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, "but the lady's wishes are clear. I cannot go against her instructions."

Feeling the weight of disappointment settle upon him like a heavy cloak, Benedict offered a resigned nod to the maid, acknowledging her adherence to propriety even as his heart ached with longing. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the imposing facade of Y/N's residence, his footsteps heavy with the burden of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he urged the horse forward, the rhythmic beat of hoofbeats echoed through the quiet streets of London, a steady cadence that mirrored the tumultuous thoughts racing through Benedict's mind. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of the recent scandal pressing down upon him, its suffocating grip tightening with each breath he took. People who walked the pathways murmuring as he passed them. Almost as if they'd point and had been meaning to ask of the truth in the latest Whistledown.

But Benedict was not one to be deterred by adversity, nor to allow his spirits to be dampened by the trials of the heart. With a determined set to his jaw and a fire burning in his eyes, he urged his horse onward, his destination clear in his mind.

Arriving at the gentlemen's club, Benedict dismounted his horse with practiced grace, the cool night air stirring the tendrils of his hair as he strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. The club stood as a bastion of camaraderie and respite amidst the chaos of London society, its hallowed halls a sanctuary for men of wit and refinement.

He'd rode to the club where his brothers were spending the early evening. The ambiance was one of refined indulgence, with the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm hue over the rich mahogany furnishings and plush velvet upholstery. He found Anthony and Colin lounging in a corner, their laughter echoing through the room like the lively notes of a well-played sonata.

"Well, if it isn't our solemn Benedict," Anthony teased, clapping him on the back as he approached. His voice carried the joviality of a man accustomed to commanding attention, resonating amidst the club's genteel chatter.

Benedict managed a half-hearted chuckle, sinking into a nearby chair. His usually composed demeanor was tinged with a hint of melancholy, though he tried to play off his turmoil with a forced smile that did little to mask the weight of his troubles.

Colin, with his mischievous blue eyes and rakish grin, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Drama? Pray, do tell. Have you found yourself embroiled in a scandalous Whistledown-written affair, dear brother?" His tone was light, yet there lingered a genuine curiosity, as if he relished the prospect of a juicy tale.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. "Nothing so melodramatic, I assure you," he quipped, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated with the refined elegance befitting a man of his stature. "Just a bit of trouble with a certain someone who shall remain nameless."

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued like a hound on the scent of a tantalizing mystery. "Ah, a mystery woman! Do tell us more. Is she a diamond of the first water? A rose amongst thorns? A season's paragon?" His knowing words were infused with a playful charm, his aristocratic features softened by the warmth of his smile.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh at his brother's theatrics, the sound echoing through the room like the pealing of church bells on a crisp autumn morning. "More like a thorn stuck on my rose, if you ask me," he replied wryly, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "But alas, the sheet seems to have taken interest in me. Thus, I've offended the lady at my latest misstep."

Colin exchanged a knowing glance with Anthony, their eyes sparkling with mischief like stars in the night sky. "Ah, love can be a treacherous game, my dear brother," he remarked with a wistful sigh, his voice tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of past dalliances.

With a resigned sigh, Benedict brough out the paper, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he unfolded it to reveal the damning headlines. His eyes scanned the page again, each word striking like a blow to his already wounded pride.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Anthony quipped, leaning in to peer over Benedict's shoulder with a devilish grin. "It seems our dear Benedict has captured the attention of Lady Whistledown herself. Tell me, is there any truth to this gossip?"

Benedict felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he struggled to find the words to explain himself, "There is a sliver of truth. Lady Arnold did visit, and yes, there was a kiss. But it was far from the scandalous affair Whistledown implies. We aren't anything but naught, I tell you." He answered at almost a whisper. Benedict knew that the contents of the scandal sheet would be the subject of much speculation and gossip, his reputation hanging precariously in the balance.

"And what of Miss Y/L/N, whom you are so ardently courting? How does she figure into this little drama?" Anthony asked, concerned of his brother's standing.

Benedict sighed, his concern evident as he expressed his worries to his brothers. "That is precisely my concern. I have been nothing but sincerity in my courtship of Miss Y/L/N. She deserves better than to be dragged into this mess."

Colin leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the situation. "So, what will you do? Surely you cannot let Whistledown's prattle jeopardize your relationship with Miss Y/N."

Benedict's expression phased into determination. "I intend to speak with Miss Y/N directly. She deserves to hear the truth from me, not the twisted version Whistledown has concocted. That if she allows an audience with me. And as for Lady Arnold, I shall ensure our interactions are far more circumspect if not, naught in all aspects she may bring up on me, when she does return and does whatever near."

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze softening with genuine affection as he clapped Benedict on the back. "Let us not dwell on the past now, brother, but instead focus on the future—on what you can do. Whatever Lady Whistledown may have to say, we shall weather the storm together, as we always have."

Colin, then, raised his glass, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he played along with his brother's jest. "To no longer saving face, my dear Colin! For love, for honor, and for the sake of our brother's bruised ego!" His words were punctuated by a hearty laugh that resonated through the room like the rumble of thunder on a stormy night. This is going to be quite the arduous courtship.

The grand lobby of the Londinium Opera House was a scene of opulence and refinement, an exquisite embodiment of sophistication. As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall, arched windows, the room seemed to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting evening ahead. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to such perfection that they reflected the twinkling crystal chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers, with their countless prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars, illuminating the elegant assembly below.

The air was a heady blend of perfumes and colognes, mingling with the faint, tantalizing scent of fresh flowers arranged in lavish bouquets atop mahogany tables. The flowers, a riot of colors and species, were chosen to reflect the season, adding a touch of nature’s beauty to the man-made splendor of the opera house.

"This is definitely too stuffy for my nose." Eloise brushed her finger by her nose as she and Benedict passed through a sea of dressed up ton amidst tonight's opera.

As the two navigated through the ton at the opera's lobby, their steps softened by the plush carpeting beneath them, Eloise couldn't help but wrinkle her nose discreetly once more. "I agree," Benedict murmured to Eloise, his voice barely audible over the gentle murmur of conversations and the distant strains of prelude music.

"It's like drowning in a sea of perfume and pomposity. How long will the show take?" Eloise asks.

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a bemused expression. "Indeed, it seems we've stumbled into a gathering of the city's most refined noses and airs. But I fear, it'd be almost four more hours but there must be a few souls yearning for a breath of fresh air."

Eloise grinned, her spirits lifting at Benedict's playful remark. "That'd probably be us, brother," she replied, her gaze sweeping the room in search of kindred spirits amidst the sea of finery. "But until then, I'd die of ennui from this whole bonanza of a show."

"Not if I escape it," Benedict remarked in jest as he wiggled his eyebrows at Eloise. "But, of course, I'm taking you with me."

"You are absolutely my favorite brother." And the two, laughing at their antics, sneaked out of the opera house where their carriage is waiting to flee the night.

The carriage ride through the moonlit streets of London was a serene affair, with only the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft creaking of the carriage wheels breaking the stillness of the night. Benedict sat in quiet contemplation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city's twinkling lights danced like distant stars against the dark canvas of the night sky. He had set upon to spend the night on the invite of a fellow painter, Lord Granville. The address card nestled in his pockets.

He knocked on the carriage roof and said, "We are to drop off Eloise at home first." Eloise shot her brother with a knowing look, "So, you do have plans for the night, Ben. Interesting." She nodded teasingly.

"What? Can't I spend my night on my own concurs?" He said, feigning defense on whatever his sister may be implying. The carriage stops and the footman opens the door. Eloise turns to her brother as she went down the carriage steps and says, "Amidst your Whistledown scrape, you seem to be taking this very light. Oh, to be a man this easy!"

Benedict shakes his head as he laughs at his sister's comment. He has been taking this all seriously, has he? It's not like he hasn't been doing amends. The gossip sheet only had been spread this morning. Surely, damages are still reversible? As the carriage turned out their street, Benedict's thoughts turned to the ramble of his mind. All his thoughts are loud of Y/N, her voice ringing in his head. He'd imagined their time in her garden. How she simply tells stories and facts of botany; or the time she'd nestled by the tree, her cheeks flushed with the lingering laughs they'd shared moments ago, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. And as quickly as the smile drew on, it dissipated recalling that she had not allowed him audience this morning.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of a townhouse's doorstep, and Benedict stepped out onto the cobblestone path of 5th avenue, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. He turned to the carriage driver, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before the driver urged the horses forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Benedict delicately clutched the card bearing Lord Granville's prestigious name, ensuring he stood before the correct abode. With an air of refined assurance, he gently rapped the door knocker twice, whereupon Lord Granville himself promptly emerged to greet him.

Lord Granville, sporting a relaxed ensemble, greeted Benedict with a gracious nod, his demeanor exuding an aura of aristocratic charm. "Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, how delightful of you to join us," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of cultured refinement. "Please, do come in. The evening promises to be most engaging."

With a gracious gesture, Lord Granville ushered Benedict into the dimly lit foyer, where the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the earthy aroma of oil paints. The sound of lively conversation and the occasional strumming of a lute drifted through the air, creating an atmosphere of artistic fervor.

As Benedict crossed the threshold, he felt a sense of excitement building within him, eager to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the bohemian salon and the company of fellow artists and free spirits. Tonight promised to be a celebration of creativity and expression, a refuge from the stifling conventions of society, and Benedict couldn't wait to grasp his wash in of it.

The house was a riot of color and creativity, with tapestries adorned with vibrant hues lining the walls and eclectic artwork displayed on every available surface. Easels dotted the room, each showcasing works in progress, while clusters of artists and poets engaged in spirited discussions about philosophy, politics, and the latest artistic movements.

Benedict found himself swept up in the lively atmosphere, drawn to a group of painters huddled on their own canvases, their brushes dancing across the surface with frenetic energy. Where in the middle, nude women posed as muses and artist drew of their perspectives. Nearby, a poet recited verses of love and longing, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that hung heavy in the air. Lord Granville now swept in his own circle.

In a secluded corner of the salon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Benedict stumbled upon a private room adorned with tapestries of rich, jewel-toned hues and plush velvet cushions strewn about in haphazard arrangements. The flickering glow of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and secrecy.

There, amidst the opulent surroundings, Benedict spotted Y/N, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the soft hum of conversation. She sat perched on a velvet chaise, a paintbrush in hand, her eyes alight with passion as she leaned over a canvas, her movements fluid and graceful.

Surrounded by fellow artists, including Lady Granville and Genevieve Delacroix, the ton's most favored seamstress, Y/N appeared completely at ease, her quick wit and sharp intellect evident as she engaged in spirited conversation, her laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the rustle of paintbrushes.

As Benedict watched from the doorway, a pang of longing pierced his heart, the sight of Y/N's radiant smile and infectious energy stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. He yearned to join her, to bask in her warmth and revel in the shared joy of creation, but the weight of their unresolved conflict hung heavy between them like a barrier, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

Summoning his courage, Benedict stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floorboards. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say another word, Lady Granville intercepted him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Madame Delacroix greeted with a disdainful tilt of her chin, her French slurred tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "What brings you to our little gathering? Surely you don't expect to find yourself welcome here after what Whistledown's latest sheet has revealed."

Benedict's heart sank at the mention of Lady Whistledown's scandalous gossip, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation, but Lady Granville merely raised an imperious eyebrow, her disdain palpable.

"Ladies, could you please give us the room," Y/N interjected firmly, her voice carrying a steely edge that brooked no argument. Madame Delacroix shot her a questioning look, to which the lady nodded reluctantly. With a series of subtle glances directed at Benedict, the women filed out of the room, their gazes lingering on him with thinly veiled curiosity.

As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Y/N turned to face Benedict, her features hardened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

As Benedict and Y/N unexpectedly found themselves face to face amidst the opulent surroundings of the Granville party, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Y/N's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore a glint of guarded skepticism as she regarded Benedict, her gaze piercing through the facade of polite decorum.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the murmurs of conversation fading into a distant hum as they stood locked in a silent standoff, each grappling with their own tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The flickering glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features, adding to the sense of unease that hung between them like a tangible force.

"Benedict," Y/N's voice broke through the suffocating silence, her tone edged with a hint of surprise and resentment, "What brings you here? I didn't expect to see you at this gathering."

Benedict's features tightened with unease, his eyes darting nervously as he struggled to find the right words. The grandeur of the room seemed to mock his discomfort, its lavish decor serving as a stark reminder of the gaping divide that had grown between them.

"I...I could ask you the same," Benedict replied tentatively, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. The weight of Y/N's gaze bore down on him like a heavy burden, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Y/N's lips formed a thin line, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes as she absorbed Benedict's response. The tension between them crackled in the air, suffusing the room with an almost palpable energy as they stood locked in a silent standoff.

"I am here with friends," Y/N explained tersely, her tone tinged with defensiveness. "I didn't anticipate running into...you."

Benedict felt a pang of remorse at the coldness in her tone, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a chilling emptiness that mirrored the growing distance between them.

"Y/N," he implored, his tone tinged with worry. "There's something I need to ask you. Why did you deny me an audience earlier this morning? I sought you out, but I was turned away without explanation. Please, Y/N, I need to understand."

Y/N paused in her tracks, her hand hovering over the couch arm as she hesitated. The weight of Benedict's words hung heavy in the air between them, the tension palpable as they stood on the precipice of an unspoken truth.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face him, her expression guarded as she met his gaze with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I couldn't face anyone— even you, Benedict," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not after... Whistledown that's happened. I needed time to gather my thoughts, to come to terms with the depth of my pain and my reputation."

Benedict's heart sank at her words, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. "Y/N, I had no idea," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "If I had known, I would have respected your wishes. I never meant to add to your suffering."

"I know, Benedict," she firmly said, but her voice betraying her, tinged with sadness. "But some wounds run deeper than others, and time alone cannot heal them. I need space, time to find my own path forward."

"Y/N, please," Benedict pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, "Let me explain. I never meant to—"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her frustration boiling over as she confronted him with the pain he had caused. "Explain what, Benedict?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Your absence? Your silence? Or perhaps the fact that I'm possibly nothing more than mere amusement to you, a prim and proper distraction from your rakish pursuits?"

Benedict recoiled at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "No, Y/N, you know that's not true," he protested, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "How can I be sure of anything when you've left me to face the whispers and the gossip alone? When you've abandoned me to doubt and humiliation?" Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she spoke, the pain of betrayal etched deeply into her features.

Benedict felt the weight of her accusations like a sword to his heart, his chest tightening with the agony of her words. "Y/N, please, you must understand," he implored, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never intended for any of this to happen. My absence, my silence—it was never a reflection of how I feel about you. I've been grappling with my own inner turmoil, responsibilities and fears that have nothing to do with you."

Benedict's admission hung heavy in the air between them, his confession like a dagger to Y/N's heart. Her anger, fueled by betrayal and hurt, threatened to consume her as she struggled to process his words.

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury, her anger fueling her resolve as she confronted him head-on. "And what of the whispers about you and Lady Arnold?" she challenged, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you telling me you had no part in fueling those rumors? That you never kissed her?"

Benedict recoiled at the accusation, the shame of his actions burning like a branding iron against his conscience. "No, Y/N, I swear it wasn't like that," he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. "There was a moment…" He paused, contemplating confession and it's consequences. He closed his eyes wincing at what he's about to say, "We did kiss, but it meant nothing. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that I deeply regret."

"A mistake?" she repeated incredulously, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A lapse in judgment? Do you expect me to believe that, Benedict? Do you expect me to simply forgive and forget?"

Benedict's eyes pleaded with her, his desperation palpable as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Y/N, please, I know I've made a terrible mistake," he implored, his voice trembling with remorse. "But I swear to you, it meant nothing. I assure you, it was inconsequential. You are the one I am committed to, the one I wish to be with. Lady Arnold made advances, and I rejected them. It was a momentary lapse in which I failed to uphold my commitment to you."

Y/N's shoulders slumped with the weight of Benedict's words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his confession. She sank down onto a nearby chair, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivulets. With trembling hands, she buried her face in her palms, the anguish of betrayal and heartache washing over her in relentless waves.

The room seemed to blur around her, the vibrant colors of the decor fading into a haze as she struggled to come to terms with the devastation of Benedict's admission. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered beyond repair.

How could she believe him? How could she trust that his words held any semblance of truth when his actions had spoken so loudly against him? The image of Benedict with Lady Arnold haunted her, a specter of doubt and uncertainty that threatened to consume her from within.

But amidst the turmoil of her emotions, a glimmer of resolve flickered deep within Y/N's heart. She may have been broken, battered by the storm of betrayal, but she refused to let Benedict's actions define her worth. With a steadying breath, she lifted her head, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft glow of candlelight.

"I thought you were different, Benedict," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I... I don't know if I can forgive you. The pain you've caused runs deep, and I fear that trust may never be fully restored."

Benedict's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's tears, his own anguish mirrored in her sorrowful expression. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against her trembling shoulder.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand if you can't forgive me, if you can't find it in your heart to trust me again. But I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, I love you. I would give anything to make things right between us, to earn back your trust and your love."

His words hung in the air, a fragile plea borne of remorse and desperation. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain he had caused. But he knew that he had to respect her boundaries, to give her the space she needed to process her emotions and come to her own decision.

Y/N's shoulders trembled beneath his touch, her tears flowing unabated as she struggled to find the strength to meet his gaze. The weight of his words pressed down upon her, a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared and the trust that had been so brutally betrayed.

For a moment, it seemed as though Y/N might succumb to Benedict's heartfelt plea. Her eyes softened, her resolve wavering in the face of his earnest confession. But then, with a trembling breath, she pulled away from his touch, her tears still glistening in the dim light of the room.

"I... I need some air," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without another word, she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor in a jarring echo of their fractured connection.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Y/N lifted the glass to her lips, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. The bitter taste of the alcohol burned her throat, a sharp contrast to the ache in her heart as she turned away from Benedict, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision.

Benedict watched helplessly as she made her way to the door, his heart breaking with each retreating footfall. He longed to call out to her, to beg her to stay, but he knew that it was futile. The damage had been done, the rift between them too deep to bridge in a single moment of remorse.

As Y/N disappeared through the doorway, leaving him alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, Benedict felt a hollow emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had lost her, perhaps forever, condemned to a lifetime of regret for the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved. And as he sank to the chair, his heart heavy with sorrow, he prayed for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of their once bright future.

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