#they are all Benedict Arnolds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

basset-babe · 8 months ago

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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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unterwaesche · 1 year ago

Text

Forgive me if I'm getting some details wrong here, I haven't been paying very close attention.

But it's my understanding that:

A stroke victim who acted as a governor in his home town and ran it into the ground ran a campaign for a House seat

Mans was only marginally more coherent than Biden

Literally some of the videos he was in were hard to watch. Clear abuse of the infirm

Wins anyway

Gets institutionalized (while in office?)

Comes out no longer a progressive

So ol' boy got put on the campaign trail hot on the heels of a stroke, clearly unwell, could not possibly have won clean, buckles under the pressure, then gets put away somewhere where oftentimes the treatment is getting to the bottom of figuring out who the people were that hurt you and what they did to hurt you and how you can pull yourself out of that place they put you in...

...and people are...shocked he went turncoat?

#i hate statecraft bro this is all so shit #my brothers in Christ y'all did this to an unwell man #Benedict Arnold was also justified but we use his name to this day to call someone a traitor

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mschievousx · 9 months ago

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now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

v. five: lonely in your company

the young silva did not expect this at all. yes, lady whistledown wrote about quite a lengthy chat that the viscountess silva had with a certain son of the renowned pathologist, sir astley cooper, yesterday. but, for the rest of the gentlemen to flock her now? she was aghast.

while we have so far seen how she loves being in the bridgertons' companies and how she openly enjoy the things she finds fun, it is also as open she shows her distaste to the rest of the population—probably better that we haven't seen that part yet.

"i heard you like chocolates, lady silva."

"i believe we share the same interest in mechanical science."

"we have quite the collection of guns ourselves, my lady."

"a convention in astronomy is happening in the near future. if i may be so bold to have your presence when the time comes?"

honestly, she liked the last offer—had the man been fifteen years younger. it would have not mattered to her though, if only it was benedict.

the men continued to force their offers on her face. a man pulls another to the back to have his turn. a man pushed his bouquet forward. a man yelled his offer from the back. a man—

"excuse me, gentlemen. may i have a moment with the lady?"

a woman's voice stood out from the clamor, causing the men to turn and giving a space for her to take a hold of the younger one.

the ladies did not wait for the men's responses as they easily linked arms and walked away. although they could not do anything seeing as causing a scene in the queen's presence is not to everyone's benefit, they did groaned and cursed that a viscountess got away from their grasps.

"i cannot thank you enough for that, lady arnold."

loraine spoke gratefulness, her mood still marred from the encounter.

"you know there is no need for that. you act like we do not know each other." the widowed woman warmly smiled at her as she gave a squeeze on the silva's shoulder.

"i am simply grateful," she insisted, followed by a scoff, "i talk to another man and the rest of them think they could."

lady arnold chuckled at her stubborness, "i see, you still have not stopped using your father to fend off possible suitors?"

"i fend them off with anything i can. a gun, if i must."

the older woman said an immediate shush as if on reflex, something akin to a fear of being heard about using guns on suitors—although she herself would love to do so, "do you carry?"

"oh, no. the regular size is too heavy and bulky to conceal in a dress." raine said with clear annoyance that she could not carry one conveniently, "i am currently working on a smaller one."

do note that she already finished one.

at the mention of her creating a smaller version just simply because she would like to hide one made her look staggered at the young one, "and yet, you refuse to join the discussion inside."

lady silva moaned in displeasure, "i already went in. all he talks about is the principle of circular motion."

while interesting at first read, it gets boring mean you have understood it. the concept itself is significant, no doubt, in explaining various natural as well as mechanical sciences. however, she simply did not feel up to it today.

"that and i hate balloons."

lady arnold laughed at her honesty, bidding farewell to her as she continues to the dome. raine walks by herself, trying to find the bridgertons. while she did have other friends, she was not as keen to spend time with them as she did with the said family.

and so, she strolled until she found something interesting. eloise, cressida, and penelope; all surrounding the poor man.

"what do we have here?" she mouthed to eloise from the side of lord debling and penelope.

as the bridgerton girl shrugged and gestured nothing to her, the rest of the group noticed her arrival.

"ah, lady silva." the man greeted with a hidden familiarity.

"lord debling." raine tightly smiled at him in return.

miss cowper turned to the young girl, "loraine, you are an enjoyer of science just like lord debling, are you not?"

"oh, cressida," she began with a chuckle. she does not mean any offense to her though. while the said woman was indeed quite ill-natured, so was she. therefore, she is not one to judge the other, "you would be surprised by the amount of different sciences there are."

lord debling turned back to the cowper, "we do not share the same interest."

"we despise each other." raine nodded to that reassuringly, causing the man to look at her with seriousness.

"i do not despise you."

"your loss," the young silva shrugged with a hint of jest, "i despise you."

"such a strong word, my lady."

"i am petty like that." she giggled, lightly tapping the arm of the man in a friendly manner as she continued.

"do continue your conversation. i apologise for the intrusion."

raine stepped back with a smile and neared eloise, "where is your brother?"

"i did not see him. i thought he is with you?" she asked back, trying to look around herself too to catch a glimpse of her brother.

good thing she was looking around though because she had enough time to grab the other girl by the hand as the extraordinary balloon started to fly their way.

penelope, however, was stunned on their place. lord debling did not think twice to cover the girl for safety. while they did not agree with the science, she would give him points for that act.

raine turned to the men pulling the balloon, seeing colin upfront. such a personality he is embracing now, she thought. another bridgerton stole her attention though, because just meters away, benedict can be seen rubbing his palms as if in pain from pulling the ties.

she turned to eloise to bid farewell, thinking to go to him. however, as she turned back to where he was, he was now rushing to walk away.

her confusion was interrupted when cressida suddenly yelped in pain. catching on to her hidden agenda, raine rolled her eyes.

"ugh, i really hate balloons."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

after the incident, they all went home, likely to also prepare for the ball this evening. she went with the bridgertons to their home, not wanting to disturb her father for whatever work he's doing again.

the girl grumbled as she laid down on their couch, completely not listening to whatever conversation the family was having. everyone was doing something—gregory and hyacinth eating biscuits and quarreling, francesca playing the piano, colin reading and benedict sketching, and violet and eloise talking.

raine groaned once again before speaking on her own, "my father is so busy. it is almost like he is not here at all."

she continued to stare at the ceiling, only looking at the family after a prolonged silence of whatever they were doing. lady bridgerton was staring at her lovingly as eloise added, "and when he is away, you keep on saying you want him to go home already."

raine feigned ignorance to what she said, acting like she did not say that at all—which she did say, by the way, quite a lot too.

"ben," she called for the man across who seems to be ignoring the entire happenings in the drawing room.

"hmm," he replied with a hum, intent on his sketch.

"will you marry me so that someone will be with me when father leaves again?" she said as she sit up about to go to him.

"no," he replied, looking up from the pad and to her briefly before standing up himself, "i will be painting in my room."

he turned away after bidding farewell to everyone, the sound of his footsteps slowly fading. violet and eloise turned to raine after that, confusion clear on their faces as if asking what happened.

honestly, she is asking the same thing.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

her second ball—to be honest, balls are not as fun as the ton made it out to be. with the exception of what seems to be a men's club inside, there is nothing much in it.

"the surgeon from yesterday said he will be writing you a letter." she turned to see astley cooper, looking more dashing in a ball's fit, and still lacking greetings.

she smiled at what he said, "are they really going to study my suggestion?"

"of course, your points were quite strong. why do you seem to be doubting yourself now?"

she shrugged as she placed her glass down, "i was brazen yesterday. i am not feeling like it now."

letting out a sigh, she lifted her glass again and took quite a sip with a new resolution, "well, they better do because i have already boasted to my father that i made an expert pause and think about my ideas."

he chuckled at her changing moods in just five seconds, "oh, he shall prepare to be more proud then."

"lady silva, may i have this dance?" she turned to her right, only to see the brother of who she's waiting for.

"anthony, i told you. i am not going to dance with you first."

the viscount stood straight again, slowly retracting his hand, "you have not danced yet tonight?"

she let out a small groan at the reminder, "should i have?"

he chuckled, crossing his arms as if in deep thinking before chuckling again, "you are so obsessed with him. it is just a dance. he was already your first ever dance."

raine stopped the glass she was about to drink midway. she narrowed her eyes pointedly to the older man, the latter rolling his eyes, "okay, fine."

"viscountess silva, you are needed." a footman called for the lady, gaining the attention of the pair. his voice carried seriousness, yet that is not enough to reveal what it could be about. they all spoke monotonously during working hours.

she tapped anthony's arm before walking across the room, swiftly dodging the ton.

"lady silva."

a soldier strictly acknowledged the young lady. the man was sweating considerably as he pulled a letter from his pocket. he passed it to the girl in front of him without any word.

as raine took hold of the letter, small red stains are noticeable as well as the lack of seal. she opened to see the contents of it written in a hasty manner. her eyes flew from word to word, line to line. the lack of greetings, the lack of complimentary close.

she was not sure if this was done in jest—she would like it to be. however, upon observing the man in front of her now, his hand is visibly shaking. and so, she shut her eyes closed, crumbling part of the paper on her grip.

"name?"

"morgan," he answered with no mention of his rank. perhaps, this is his way of being sympathetic to the silva in front of him. perhaps, offering himself as a fellow person rather than a soldier would offer comfort.

"tell me where they are, morgan." she stared directly in his eyes, voice now void of the festivities behind her.

"i cannot tell."

"oh, you surely can." her volume starting to increase, sarcasm, anger, fear, and grief mixed.

"my lady, i am under strict command to not tell you their whereabouts." he did not break his eye contact, believing it as a form of respect to the girl.

she stepped forward, grasping her concealed small gun inside her dress out as she start to scream, "tell me or i will—"

"raine," a man grabbed her, pushing the gun down before anyone can wander their eyes on it. he swiftly took and pocketed it on his own. he turned to the young one, putting both palms on her cheek as if to call for her, "raine."

anthony crossed the hall as fast as he could after noticing her crumbling the paper, excusing himself from mr. cooper who conversed with him after she left. he was not the best man when it comes to emotion, but he knows anger like an old friend. and raine? she was rarely angry. she despises everything on a daily basis, but never with rage. and so, he knew something was wrong—very wrong.

he looked at her directly in the eyes, seemingly finding her behind it as he whispered, "there is a lot of people present. the ton is here."

"i do not give a hell about them. where is my father?!" he pushed the viscount away, freeing from his grasp but he reached again instantly, as if knowing how to deal with her already.

"darling, do not yell," he spoke in the same warm voice, "what happened?"

"papa has been shot," her voice broke upon saying it out aloud, just as her tears from her eyes, "in the shoulder and chest!"

raine nearly dropped down, if anthony did not pull her to him in time. although they were outside, the ball is still quite crowded. they could not let this go out. they could not let people see and know of this.

"i—" the viscount could not find the right words to say at the moment, he himself now feeling the panic akin to what he has experienced before.

sergeant morgan informed them of raphael's orders, him being the second-in-command of the currently incapacitated general, "colonel montague has ordered to have you stay in the ball. this is surrounded by our men, and the people responsible are less likely to attack a crowded event."

anthony nodded to acknowledge what the soldier said as raine is starting to lose herself, muttering on her own, "papa was shot."

while the general has certainly been shot before, this is possibly the most fatal. raphael knew that the girl would prefer the exact information, even in grievous situations. she hates when people feel the need to protect her from the truth.

and so, that is what the colonel wrote. he mentioned his state in all its actuality. general has been shot four times, once in the shoulder and thrice on the chest, sternum to left. he is bleeding heavily and is currently unconscious. we will be going on another quarters. i ask you stay at the ball. after, be with major thorpe at all times.

she pushed the viscount once again and turned back to the ball inside, "le—leave me be."

before anthony could take a hold of her, she already has entered inside. forcing to assist the girl would only raise suspicions now. she walked slowly, eyes darting from point to point as if looking for something. good thing it is a ball, and people will brush off her actions as a bit intoxicated—which could not be farther from the truth.

"where's...." she whispered to herself, not knowing that she is saying it out aloud, "where is... benedict?"

raine turned and turned, left and right, but she could not find even his shadow in the dance floor or within the hall. so, she continued to walk aimlessly, only to find who she's looking for at the bottom of the stairs, with a familiar lady conversing with him from a few steps higher. her mind was wandering. she did not understand a thing anymore.

"i need to go," she muttered to no one in particular, turning to a corner where a staircase leading to another wing can be seen.

she gripped the bannister, anthony in tow, seeing his wife in conversation with his mother. he gestured for kate to come to them, offering a smile to not raise worry before disappearing from view.

raine continues to find her way to the balcony, breaths already starting to be more noticeably heavy. fortunately, the place was vacated with no other person in sight. she dragged her feet and found comfort on the corner between the wall and a balustrade, sitting down with her knees on her chest.

"an—anthony," she began after a few gasps of air, the said man leaning closer as he crouched in front of her too.

"papa... papa was shot." the young girl reiterated in disbelief and grief. she left first for the ball as armand told his daughter he had some things to work for a bit with raphael. they were supposed to arrive late in the ball.

they were supposed to arrive on the ball.

he continues to comfort her, saying that her father's going to be well. he is a general, after all. the viscountess bridgerton reaches them with a smile, but it is immediately changed with a confuse and worried one when she sees what's happening.

anthony turned to her in a rushed manner, "kate, get my brother."

she knew better than to ask why. kate has always been a smart woman. she does not know, but she understands. and so, she nodded at him and turned on her heel in a hurry.

"you... will not find him. he—he is..." the girl whimpered. she cannot even see anything, her eyes blurried intensely as she fights to hold on to herself, "with lady..."

anthony caressed her hair before leaning his forehead to hers, speaking with the smallest and most serene voice he could, "shh, it's okay, raine. i am here. you can do—"

there were so many things happening all at once. she could not focus. she could not hold on to this for any longer.

"an..." she began, her words dying in the middle as she gasps and gasps, "tony...? i cannot... i cannot hear."

the fear started to settle in more to her. she cannot even hear her own voice. she hears nothing but the beat of her heart, irregularly fast.

she fumbled, trying to find his hands, and as soon as she did, raine squeezed it tightly.

"tony, i'm..."

she does not even know if she was able to say the following words. she has thought of it before, but more strongly now. she is thinking of it now, and she hopes that the thought counts.

"i need him."

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #father daughter tandem is fire here because we cant have it in real life #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton

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bcacstuff · 3 months ago

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The clock may be ticking for Outlander on TV, but the story is everlasting for bestselling author Diana Gabaldon, who writes the historical fantasy books (nine and counting!) upon which the show is based. Debuting in 1991, the first Outlander novel has spawned several sequels, spinoff novellas, and ultimately the intense Starz drama that viewers have come to love. With the final episodes on the horizon and new prequel series Blood of My Blood forthcoming, Gabaldon reflects on the show’s end and offers a peek inside her notebook.

What have you been happy to see so far in Season 7?

Diana Gabaldon: One of the things the Outlander production as a whole does really well is battle scenes. We’ve had a certain amount of the [American Revolution’s] Battle of Ticonderoga, the first Battle of Saratoga, and a lot of the second Battle of Saratoga. And I absolutely loved the actor playing Benedict Arnold, Rod Hallett. The casting this season has been spectacular. Every character is just right.

Would you say that Benedict Arnold was the character you were most excited for fans to meet this season?

He is historically fascinating, and I did a lot of research work on him because he plays a large part in more than one of the books. And we’ll see him again in Book 10. His story is very interesting. Everybody knows how his story ends, or at least they think they do. But yes, I was just impressed that, between the script and the actor, they pretty much nailed him and captured his sense of reckless adventure and his charm. Luckily, they used a lot of the book dialogue for it, some of which was taken from things that Benedict Arnold himself said.

With the show set to conclude with Season 8, do you have an ending in mind for Claire and Jamie’s story on the page?

Yes, I have shared the ending scenes with [the creative team]. But as to the actual way the story comes to a conclusion? No, they don’t know that. [Laughs] But we’ll get there. I don’t write in a straight line, and I don’t work with an outline. This is why it takes me several years to write one book — not only the way that I write, which I describe as like playing Tetris in my head, but also just the sheer size and the fact that they are books of a continuing nature.

You’ve shared a few excerpts from your 10th novel in the series. Is there anything else you can tease about it?

Well, I’m still writing it. And I have a title, but I’m not revealing that until we’re a bit closer to publication. I don’t want to rub all the “new” off it. I can tell you that it’s got whales.

You’ve also written Season 2’s “Vengeance Is Mine,” “Journeycake” in Season 5, and the upcoming 14th installment in Season 7. Can we anticipate more scripts from you?

Yeah, it’s so much easier than writing novels. [Laughs] It takes me three weeks tops to write a scene. I will be writing a script for the prequel [Blood of My Blood] and one for Season 8 [of Outlander].

Though only one season has been given the green light, how long do you envision the prequel’s story to be onscreen?

Well, the television version isn’t up to me, but for what it’s worth, I have material for three — relatively short, as compared to the main Outlander novels — prequel books concerning Jamie’s parents. Blood of My Blood is based on the synopsis of the first of those books.

Apart from the ones you’ve written, are there any episodes you love so much that you wish you had?

Oh, yeah. There’s always at least one per season where I’m thinking, “Oh, this is fabulous.” It would be [Episode 8, “Turning Points”] for Season 7.

Do you have a favorite memory from your times visiting the set?

It would probably be the first season where they invited me to do a cameo [as Iona MacTavish] in Episode 4. It was fascinating being part of the set rather than visiting it. I was a cast member for three days. It was just interesting to see how it all worked.

Were you able to make it to set for Season 8?

God willing, I will be on set for a week or so next month [September 2024]. They’ll be filming the final block, for which I wrote one of the scripts, so I’d like to see a bit of it live. The last time I was on set for a prolonged period — as opposed to drop-in visits — was for Season 2’s “Vengeance Is Mine.” The food from craft services was always excellent, so I’m hoping to have a toastie, and I’m looking forward to seeing good friends.

How have the main cast’s performances surpassed what you envisioned on the page?

Sam Heughan does a fantastic job with Jamie, and Caitríona [Balfe], while she doesn’t look like the Claire of the books, certainly acts like her and is totally immersive in her character. I’ve [never] seen a bad performance by anyone at any level.

What will you miss most about the show?

I’ll miss the entertainment value of seeing dailies five nights a week, but otherwise, I’m not troubled. The end of a great adventure is always a bit traumatic and nostalgic — but it does leave you with a feeling of specialness, accomplishment, of having been part of a great endeavor. And they do live in my head, you know…

Are there more stories in this universe that you still wish to explore?

There’s always more I could write. Making the optimistic assumption that I’m going to live long enough, I have notes for [time traveler] Master Ray-Mond’s book (no title on that one yet) and for another [about Claire’s first husband, Frank], titled What Frank Knew.

Will you feel sad saying goodbye to Jamie and Claire?

I really don’t think I will — the main books are written with a lot of lacunae — spaces where we move from one block of story to another, leaving a hiatus of months (or sometimes years) in someone’s life. I can, should I want to, always go back to one of those places and write what happened while everyone was looking somewhere else.

Outlander, Season 7B, Fridays, 8/7c, Starz (Midnight on the Starz App and On Demand)

This is an excerpt from TV Guide Magazine’s Outlander: Claire & Jamie’s Love Story For The Ages issue. For a deep-dive into the historical romance, scoop on the second half of Season 7, and details on the upcoming prequel, pick up a copy of the issue available on newsstands and for order online at Outlander2024.com.

Article posted 29 November 2024

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ms-march · 2 years ago

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Valiant ambition came in!!! Finally caved and bought her, especially after my fall semester research project in which I learned that I worship the ground Nathaniel Philbrick walks on when talking about all things Arnold. Needless to say, I am THRILLED to start reading >:)

#benedick Arnold #all my homies hate Benedict arnold #benedict arnold #turn amc #turn: washington's spies #amrev #american revolution #history #18th century #18th century history #Nathaniel philbrick #West Point #george washington #general george washington #John andre #major John andre

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psychicbluebirdmiracle · 2 years ago

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DUDE I JUST HAD A MASSIVE CAUGHING FIT WHEN I SAW THIS CAUSE I WAS LAYING ON MY BACK AND WAS TRYING TO LAUGH

We watched Lilo and Stich in world history and I thought, “why not make some cursed shit?”

#now i have tears all over my face from caughing #freaking funny #turn amc #turn washington's spies #turn: washingtons spies #amrev #lafayette #crack #marquis de lafayette #meme #ben tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge #alexander hamilton #benedict arnold

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twoidiotwriters1 · 12 days ago

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Chapter 14. Ivy

Summary: Yes, I shall tell you all about flowers. Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 1,447 Listen to: 'Bloom' -by The Paper Kites A/N: It has been a ROUGH week besties -Danny

Benedict sends for your carriage at the front gates of his home. You stand at a comfortable distance, looking at each side of the street. "Where is your townhouse?"

"Down that way," he points left. "And before you ask, no, it's not tidy enough for a princess to visit."

"But you're not saying no to a visit altogether?" You grin.

"I have come to learn that you're hard to discourage," he shows a faint smile.

Far from flattered, you realize Lady Danbury was correct in her assumption, and you had flustered Benedict to the point of withdrawal. "I owe you an apology. I was overbearing even though I claimed to respect you. I see the error in my ways."

Benedict frowns. "Princess, do not lower yourself to my level, I understand—"

"That's precisely the problem," you interrupt him. "We're both talking about levels and worthiness, but the truth is, when I talk to you, I feel closer to an equal than I have ever felt with someone of royal blood."

You reach to hold his hand, and Benedict moves to shield the gesture so no one sees what you're doing. "I'm flattered," he says, looking at you with affection. "We're friends, Princess, that much is true, but I cannot..." his voice lowers a note. "It's easier to walk away now than later on. I know myself."

"You look too far ahead," you reply gently.

"Why don't you?" He demands. "You're an intelligent woman, and you like orderly things. Why isn't this driving you to insanity?"

"I suppose I trust you," you admit, staring at him doe-eyed. "At every chance to be wicked, you've shown nothing but a good heart. You say you're not the man to take my offer, and I say you are, because you know it's no light matter. It's meant to be fun and enlightening, yes, but it requires discretion. Something that you possess in large quantities."

Benedict's heart races at that. "How do you know that?"

"You told no one about our encounter in Hyde Park," you respond innocently. "And you've told no one about our kiss in the Academy, even though I never asked you to keep it a secret."

The man relaxes, lifting your hand and caressing it with his thumb. "I would never betray someone's intimacy like that. Everyone has reasons to act and do, and I'm no one to judge them."

"After tonight, I'll never speak of this again," you continue soberly. "I wasn't planning to speak of it this evening, but Lady Arnold—"

"Tilley?" He frowns. "Was she disagreeable? If she said anything out of place—"

"No, Benedict, calm down," you squeeze his hand. "Let me speak. Lady Arnold told me you aren't the kind of man to seek the spotlight," you try to recall the full conversation, "that you prefer uncharted waters..."

Benedict's inner turmoil comes back, but he doesn't want to give any signs that you're inching to something of relevance, so he smiles that smile he's perfected over the years, and shifts his voice to something enticing. "I like the spotlight a little bit, I'm an artist, after all. And as for your offer..." he gently reaches for your waist, "if you promise to be more thoughtful when I tell you I don't want to do things... then I suppose I can agree to it."

You pause, staring at him with bated breath. "You mean it?"

"If you can take things slow," he says, wanting to be utterly clear. "Your current pace does not sit well with my hedonistic build."

You laugh. "I'm sorry I was so eager..." you glance at his mouth, "I had never felt this way about a man. I can hardly keep it in..."

"I like your honesty," he grins. "It'll be fun to hear what comes out of that pretty mouth while I'm touching you..." Benedict closes the distance between you, kissing you in a tentative fashion, to see if you can follow his pace even if it frustrates you.

You close your eyes and let him take the lead, his body pressing you against the ivy wall, hiding you from curious eyes in its thickness. He towers over you, tilting your head with one hand and parting your lips, teasing you with his tongue. A sigh escapes you and you feel Benedict's lips forming a grin into the kiss.

Your hand goes to his face and rubs your gloved thumb against his cheek, then moves down his neck, sensing the faint thumping indicating his excitement. As you sneak your fingers to the back of his head and pull him down to deepen the kiss, he withdraws firmly. "Do not rush me, Princess, a sweet as nice as you is meant to be melted, not finished in one bite."

You tremble at the image he puts in your head. "Do not talk of eating while we're doing this."

His smirk widens. "Would you prefer I speak of hands?" He sneaks one to your backside and gives a firm squeeze. "I know you're fond of them, I've seen how you stare at mine when I'm sketching..."

"I look at your sketching, not your hands," you argue, slightly breathless.

"Mmm, no, I'm quite certain it's my hands," he says with amusement, "or do you also enjoy looking at teacups, and erasers, and—"

"Fine, yes," you pull his hand away from your bottom. You lift it to the light, marvelling at how big it looks when you hold it. On impulse, you press your cheek against it and close your eyes. "You have lovely hands..."

Benedict nearly moans at the gesture, but the moment is broken when your carriage approaches the gates loudly. Hearts pounding against ribcages and skin burning to the touch, Benedict excuses himself to bring your sister to the entrance, and you know all this time she's stayed inside on purpose.

Your carriage arrives and your sister and Benedict come out of the house together, she thanks him and climbs in with the footman's help, you're about to follow her example when Benedict catches your hand and helps you into the carriage. "It was a pleasure," he kisses your knuckles over the silk fabric. "Come again."

"Invite me often," you retort gleefully, "Marie and I can come anytime, and we love your family," you remove your hand, though unhurriedly. "Have a good night, Mr Bridgerton."

"You as well, Your Royal Highness," he steps back, eyes bright and playful.

Once the carriage starts moving, Marie does a quick examination of your appearance and smiles big. "You ought to be careful."

You remain unperturbed. "I don't know what you mean."

"You have ivy leaves stuck in your hair."

"Oh, Christ!" You reach for them grumpily.

Dear Diary,

When I first began using you, I never thought you'd be filled with mentions of a single man on each of your pages, but I cannot say I'm sorry, when said man has managed to turn what I first expected to be a tedious journey into a wonderful adventure—destined to be fleeting, but so very enriching.

It is thanks to Benedict that I've made lovely friends, and if this were the one thing he'd ever done for me, I would not be any less grateful. He's made my time away from home less of a sacrifice and worth every second of separation. I cannot wait to return to Genovia, a woman in my own right, and ready to commit to my duties.

Should I write in you the things I'm bound to live by his side, or is that too improper for a Queen-to-be's memoir? I shall speak of flowers, and describe to you how the ivy looks at night—I shall tell you the wonders of Hyacinths and their many talents to bring people together. And how the smell of roses can stick to one's glove when you drag the fabric across a man's pocket.

Yes, I shall tell you all about flowers.

Paula enters your room with a small platter in hand, smiling from ear to ear. "You have a letter, Your Highness."

You take the light envelope and gasp in delight at the name on it. Benedict has written to you after only mere hours of seeing each other. "He's invited me to his mother's house this afternoon! To have tea!"

"How lovely," your maiden smiles. "Does this mean you are back to being friends?"

"Yes, indeed," you sigh dreamily. "Oh, I shall take Marie, I suppose the ton is already too aware of my attachment to the family, and going alone would make them suspect even more."

"You should keep an eye on the servants too," Paula says wisely, "they are a lot quicker at picking up hints, and if you show any sign of infatuation, they'll speak on it. We don't know who this Lady Whistledown is, but you can't be too careful."

"Of course," you hum, dragging your fingertips over Benedict's handwriting. "I shall be careful."

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