#violet bridgerton is always masking. to me

[violetbridgertonstan]

violet bridgerton is an icon for all the girls who grew up bad at socialising and always saying the wrong thing and turned into women who only speak the positives

[shinysobi]

"it was awkward to see colin flirt and behave like a rake" "he gave me the ick" yes ! that is the fucking point!! congratulations! you have the media literacy skills of a fucking monkey because my 4-year old niece could understand it better than you do.

we are supposed to find colin cringey and annoying and get the ick because that is not who he is. he is not anthony, or simon, or even benedict. colin (apart from gregory) is the sweetest of all bridgerton brothers (i'm going by book canon) and his most identifiable character trait is the fact that he values an emotional connection above everything. he runs away to the continent because he wants to feel that emotional connection. he has meaningless sex in brothels because that is the example he has seen growing up, that is the norm. he tries so hard to fit into the norm. he goes out drinking, adopts an entirely new personality, learns flirtations because that is how he thinks he will fit in. he's got armour on, as violet said. he puts everyone's needs above his own, he stops rambling on and boring his family with details of his trip because he knows no one cares. he doesn't talk to anthony or benedict about his heartaches because he knows they still, somewhere in their heart of hearts, view him as the annoying younger brother. he's so devastated by his closest friend not responding to him that he adopts a new personality in the hopes that it might mask the hurt better. he runs after penelope in episode one because he is so attuned to her emotions that he knows she's hurting, and tries to comfort her even when she's spiraling and lashes out. he must have been hurt by her words in the "good night mr bridgerton" scene but he puts it aside to genuinely apologise to her when literally no one else in that family would do that. colin, instead of brooding over his own feelings, goes and corners penelope in her family's garden and apologises to her, disregarding his own hurt at being cruelly dismissed by his close friend.

penelope asking colin to kiss her is not a mark of how "pathetic" she is. she has written and shamed herself in a manner that is almost entirely unsalvageable. she is at her lowest point, and then portia comes in and reminds her of how undesirable she is, and she sinks even lower. she asks colin to kiss her because she sees it as a final act, after which she can quietly wave goodbye to her dreams of ever getting married and leaving her mother's home. colin kisses her because he is also keenly aware of how she's feeling. he knows how hurt she is, he wants to do anything to alleviate that. be it cracking a joke, or kissing her. he is gentle, because he wants it to be something she can dream of when she's by herself. penelope, at this moment, has no hope for herself, and their kiss is an act of letting go for her. no, it's not a pity kiss, no he did not like her after her glow up, he has always loved her. him being struck dumb is a reaction to her physical transformation, nothing more. he does not flirt with her in that ballroom scene, he only approaches her when she's in distress. he's not flirting with her. i can assure you penelope could wear the frumpiest most neon yellow gown of all time and colin would still go "<333 my pen" for her.

colin jumps to catch the balloon's ropes because he sees that penelope is in danger, he does not give a shit about anyone else lmao. he feels temporary relief when he sees eloise run to safety, but the moment he sees penelope in immediate danger, he rushes to take action. afterwards, when he sees that she's being comforted by debling (all my homies hate debling, even if he is aro/ace coded i do NOT claim him) he does not approach her. it would be easy for him to do so, but he does not, because he respects her boundaries. colin bridgerton is the only man in the ton who respects women (the featherington sons-in-laws are too pretty to have a thought) he calls out fife and his friends for treating women like objects and calls them cavalier. the only way he would have been more explicit about his demisexuality was if he tap danced on the club table (entertaining thought, luke newton please)

colin also rapidly takes action, something which no one in the show has done so far. simon would have died instead of accepting his feelings for daphne, daphne would have been content with a loveless marriage forever instead of asking for help. kate would have pushed edwina down the aisle and gone off to india instead of confronting her own feelings, and anthony would have married edwina if she hadn't been brave enough for the three of them to run from the altar and ruin herself. penelope stood on the sidelines for years and loved him quietly because she had no hope of him loving her back. colin, the moment he is assured of his feelings, runs to penelope, almost kisses her in the middle of a ballroom. when he hears that debling is about to propose, he goes to the ball, just to dissuade penelope one more time. he cuts into their dance because he's desperate. when he runs after her carriage, he asks her if she has been proposed to, because he would not have touched her otherwise. he confesses his feelings to her only when he knows that she hasn't gotten engaged to debling, and when she says "but we are friends" he moves away. nothing more. he would have let her go, if she did not return his feelings.

idk whether i should be flattered or offended at people misunderstanding this season because on one hand it is offensive, but on the other hand, it means only smart people get polin. seriously. your minds have been rotted by insta-love and enemies to lovers that you can't even appreciate the innate beauty of friends to lovers. being friends with someone and then holding all those feelings for them. the trepidation of possible rejection. the fulfillment of being loved by the person who knows you the best of them all. the privilege of loving someone whose feelings you know better than your own. love is gentle and kind and yes it is a violent, uprooting force but above all, love does not hurt anyone. it does not hurt you. i could love someone quietly for years and it wouldn't bother me if their feelings were requited or not because my feelings are none of their business and i consider it a privilege to love and be loved by them, even if it is not in the way i would want it to be. polin are privileged in the highest sense. they know each other better than anyone else, they know how to love each other better than anyone else. to think they are rushed or they dont deserve each other is a disservice to both of them. they would be miserable with anyone else.

in other matters, if i see one more person talking smack about luke or nicola behind the safety of their screens i will personally get a bazooka.

[lisafrnkstein]

people saying that penelope and colin's relationship seemed rushed through s3 part 1 and the whole colin hate train makes me sigh out of tiredness so, so deeply... so here's a random babbling out of my head:

they're CHILDHOOD FRIENDS. colin always seeks her out during social events and probably during pen's afternoons in the bridgerton house without her maid/chaperone, which probably gave them even more freedom to talk and cultivate their friendship (hence one of the reasons why she loved these visits so much)

yes, we had the "i'd never dream of courting pelenope" phrase and honestly i think that he was too influenced by his male friends, by how his brothers were womanizers and the whole messy/confusing third child thing going on

ALSO: he put on the mask of a man that society wanted him to be (even lady whistledown talks about it, c'mon now) and tried his hardest to pretend. let's not forget the whole scandal with marina, how guilty he felt after putting his family under such a bad light, how it made his heart break for the first time – his confidence and carefree vibe were broken for a while. violet saying that he has always been a sensitive child, always caring more about everyone but himself also shows it. he's a people's pleaser. this "cringe" rakish vibe IS INTENTIONAL!!!!!!!!!!

his sexual encounters with other women were satisfying physically, but they lacked emotional connection!!!! like the one he has with penelope!!!!! and such thing is obvious when we hear the paragraph that penelope reads on his diary. how lonely he felt despise being close to someone else physically. that look he gave her after being back from these travels during s2 screams so, but he probably just thought it was some sort of platonic affection.

they aren't strangers like daphne and simon or kate and anthony. these two exchanged letters for MONTHS once colin was gone, too. he just needed a wake up call, that being their kiss

[quotergirl19]

Currently entertaining myself with the thought that Violet will continue to tack onto her Edmund-lore to fit each of her children’s love match scenarios.

To Colin: Your father & I started as friends, until he built up the courage to interrupt another gentleman who wanted to dance with me, so he could ask me if I had feelings for him. We were married 4 weeks later.

To Francesca: When your father & I met as adults, I forgot my name because I was so flustered by his charm that I didn’t recognize him as my childhood friend. He was quite fond of walks as a boy and often had mud on his shoes. We always knew when Edmund was visiting because there were muddy footprints everywhere. When we met as adults, his shoes were clean, I had no idea it was him!

To Benedict: When I first met your father as a grown woman, out in society, he was wearing a mask at a ball and I didn’t recognize him. I forgot my name because I was so flustered I didn’t realize he was my childhood friend and he didn’t admit that it was him behind the mask until months later when he built up the courage to ask me if I had feelings for him. Before that I was convinced I had been flirting with a masked footman who crashed the party.

To Hyacinth: Your great grandmother on the Bridgerton side loved treasure hunts and as children, your father and I would spent our summers searching for a jeweled necklace which was supposedly hidden on the property. We never found it because the clues she gave us were in Italian and neither of us spoke it.

To Gregory: Your father was so determined to marry me that he climbed through my window one night to admit that it was him who had flirted with me behind a mask months earlier at a ball and it took him months to build up the courage to ask me if I had feelings for him. Then he tied me up but we don’t need to get into that.

[hopepaigeturner]

An Offer From An Avid Reader: Jail Scene

Ever since reading An Offer From a Gentleman I have wanted to rewrite a better confrontation scene--so like a good ol' writer these scenes came to my head in the middle of the night lol.

And now that the name and casting of Sophie Baek has been announced I can finally post it!

I hope you enjoy it! Shout out to @orangepeelshortbreadcookies for beta-reading this. Go check out her awesome fics and blog at that name!

✨CONTEXT: ✨

I have split the jail scene in two for I agree with @eleanorbradstreet that the rapidity of plot points tied up via exposition could be improved upon. (post here)

So, part 1 will cover the confrontation with Araminta, Bridgertons swooping in, and jail release yet will not include the blackmailing of Araminta. That is for a future post where Kate & Violet BADASS Bridgerton come to the fore. 

Multiple ideas/motifs in other posts link to this one. Most importantly are my ideas for how Sophie’s trauma could be shown in the show, (here). So I recommend reading that if you want a bit more context. Yet you can still enjoy the piece. 

This scene follows straight on from a scene between Anthony, Benedict and Genevieve here.

Due to the length I have posted an extended version on AO3 that is also uncensored.

Check it out here

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ✨The Scene ✨

“Ugh I give up!” Sophie yells as a rat scurries across the floor.

We find Sophie in a musty prison, water dripping down the walls, and a soiled floor. In the distance are muted sounds of wailing and shouts of injustice. She has just risen from a stool—the only furniture present apart from a dirty (but empty) chamberpot. Her dress is rumpled, her typically perfect braids in disarray, as she stares at the bars encaging her.

“Do you hear me! I give up!” She shouts but at what she does not know. Fate? God? Herself?

“It is somehow fitting that after being behind figurative bars my entire life that I should find myself behind real ones.” Sophie puts her head back against the wall, looking up with unfocused eyes. “And there’s no point complaining because you got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you Sophie? A fresh start, mind you in Australia rather than the Americas, but one cannot be picky. A position far away from the Bridgertons and everyone else, so far that you will never make anyone you love or like miserable. And you cannot really make people more miserable when they are in chains—although knowing you there would be something. Yes, this is what you wanted wasn’t it? This is what you wanted when you rejected him, to be all alone, no happy ending. As it should be, as I deserve to be.” Sophie looks down at her scarred hands.

A pause.

“Yet there’s still one final question. Why?” Sophie looks back to the ceiling. “Because that has always been the question. Why? Why did you keep me only to ignore and then discard me? Why did you give me the lessons and ribbons and fairytales but never a smile? I could have lived without all that, it would’ve been hard but I would have never known better. I would have been content as a servant in the kitchen with calluses because I would never know what it was for hands to be smooth . Fairytales would be in books not in half-realities that all too easily get snatched away. Life would be hard but far easier than the half-life you’ve rendered me to.”

“And again why?  Why Papa?” She stands her voice growing in volume. “Yes, I will finally call you Papa because that was what you were. My papa. You were my papa even though you never gave me a kind word or an embrace. Why did you not love me papa? Why did you not protect me papa? Why did you let her hurt me, papa? Why did you let her treat me like a dog when I was your daughter?

“I did everything right.” 

Sophie starts pacing as for the first time, the anger, the pressure, the pain has space to rise. 

“I squashed myself into the boxes that you liked with the pretty ribbons and bows and locked anything that did not fit far, far away. I put on the mask and played the part to perfection.  The perfect daughter, shining and sweet. The perfect step-daughter, quiet and subservient. The perfect servant, meek and mild. And yet you still did not love me!”

And it is not impossible! I did none of it—hell, I did the utter opposite and still Benedict bloody Birdgerton chased after me!” She cries, not bothering to stay silent, not now, not when she has nothing to lose. “Still he loved me even when I exposed it all, still he loved me even when I pushed him away.”

Her volume rises and ries.

“So what was your excuse, papa? What is your excuse, when I did everything right? Why? Why could you not love me even though I did nothing wrong!” 

The words are wrenched out of her. They hang suspended in the air, her eyes seem to follow them as they dissipate. 

“I did nothing wrong,” her voice is softer, and she slides down the wall. “I did nothing wrong…”

Sophie takes a long, deep breath, as if something has flown from her chest enabling her to breathe deeply for the first time. Sophie sits, eyes lost in the wall as the statement settles in her chest.

She did nothing wrong.

Then comes the noise of heels on stone.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” The camera pans to Araminta, sneering through the bars. “The little b----d is finally getting her just desserts.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Benedict, Anthony, and Genevieve Delacroix enter the frame. The latter two talking and the former unnaturally withdrawn. They pass in front of Bridgerton House.

“I insist you come in for refreshments—we have kept you the entire morning,” Antony says. It seems in their little quest he seems more at ease around Genevieve.

“Oh, I do not think it would be proper.”

“Neither would be my brother marrying an illegitimate daughter,” Anthony quips back earning a smile as they ascend the stairs. It seems he is not the only one whose ice has thawed during this encounter.

“We must find her first,” Benedict mumbles. Genevieve’s face falls.

“I cannot think of another place she could have gone…perhaps you should try the docks? She would muse about saving money and boarding a ship to America…a place where class is not so rigid.”

“America?” Anthony cries.

“I have already asked around the docks, but none are sure they have seen her.” Benedict exhales wearily. “But if she is on a boat then she will be safe…safe from all who could hurt her or failed her.”

“Benedict you have never—”

“I have failed her far too many times.” His eyes are distant; the ball, Penwood Place, the lake, the studio.

The trio start climbing the stairs.

“But if she has gone to America, what would you do?” Anthony asks, looking pained at his brother’s drawn face. Benedict rolls his shoulders as if winding himself up then gives a smile—a pale imitation of his usual grin.

“Never fear, brother, I will still be useful. I shall shower your children with presents, be their greatest conspirator for pranks and corrupt them when they turn of age—you better watch out Anthony, your children shall adore me and I will undoubtedly be the best Uncle of them all."

“You could find another—”

“No.” Benedict’s voice is determined but gentle, as they stand in front of the door. “No. There is only Sophie. I knew it two years ago, I know it now and I shall know it on my deathbed.”

“Benedict…” Anthony says, hand reaching for his shoulder. Benedict steps away.

“Please, do not—”

The green door slams open.

“We found Sophie!” Hyacinth cries, barreling into them as they go into the hall. The other ladies are following—Violet at the front. “Penelope found Sophie!”

“What?”

The crowd parts and Penelope comes forward.

“I received a couple notes from my informants–” she hands Benedict a letter. 

Benedict snatches the paper away—his entire frame trembles when he sees the words.

“There was quite the scene along the cobbles of Grosvenor Square two day ago, when a young woman was accosted by the Countess of Penwood on the grounds of the woman stealing from her. Considering the most recent scandal the countess has found herself in, this author cannot guarantee the validity of the countess’ claims. But the constable had no such quibbles when he carted the young woman off to jail…"

“That damn witch!” Genevieve cries then remembers her surroundings and curtsies, “ My apologies lords and ladies.”

“Not at all, I can agree that Lady Penwood is an utter b---,” Kate says without flinching. Meanwhile Anthony is reading the paper. In the background is Benedict pacing, running his hands through his hair, his face in anguish.  

"We still do not know which jail she could be in?” Anthony mutters. “It does not say whether they have taken her to Fleet, or Newgate or Westminster.”

“We could send three parties, one to each prison?”

“But would we have time? It has been two days, if they had sentenced her–”

“They would not hang her?”

“I would not put it past her, that woman has despised Sophie for years.”

“Will you all stop and someone tell me what we are going to do!” Benedict cries.

They all stare at Benedict who looks ready to bolt–or hyperventilate. Anthony steps forward. 

“Benedict–”

“Ant, I, I—”

Anthony grasps Benedict by the shoulder but he tries to shrug Anthony off. 

“Benedict, look at me, look at me,” Anthony commands.

Benedict does, his eyes seeking support like a child. And for once he finds support in Anthony’s eyes—not the other way around. Anthony continues, words slow but full of feeling.

“We shall rescue her; we shall free her, Benedict. And you two will be married and you will live the rest of your lives in love. I swear it on my title, and on father’s name. Do you hear me?” Benedict mumbles. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Benedict’s voice is hoarse. “Yes, I do.” “But how will we find her?”

“We know!” 

Everyone turns to find their housemaid Nadia and Rae, Penelope’s ladies maid. 

“Rae? What do you know?”

The girls rush forward.

“A tradesman down by Newgate saw a woman being taken into the prison two days ago.”

“How do you know it was Sophie?”

“She dropped this.”

Nadia hands over a messy gukwa knot, the mauve yarn fraying from age but still recognisable as if its meaning of eternity was embedded in the very strings knotted together. The viewer recognises it as the chrysanthemum knot always hung around Sophie’s waist, the one made by her mother. Similar to the one Sophie gave Benedict all those weeks ago.

Benedict’s jaw clenches. 

“We need to go to Fleet.”

“Right,” Anthony straightens, years of responding to crises galvinating his mind. “Let us fetch a carriage and free Sophie. After all, if my title means that I am a hoarder of privilege, power and wealth that was built on the backs of the oppressed—then I might as well use it for some good.” he smirks at Eloise whose mouth is open at the parroting of her words.  “Let us go.”

“Wait for me!” Violet Bridgerton calls, grabbing her purse from Mrs Wilson and walking towards the doors.

“Absolutely not,” Anthony states. “I will not have you exposed to—”

Violet brushes him off.

“Oh, Anthony, it is not as if I am a wilting flower. And this is not up for discussion.” Violet does not make a habit of using the divine right of mothers, but when she does it is felt with force. “Also, I can vouch for Sophie’s character.”

A staring match between Anthony and Violet…Violet raises her eyebrow. Anthony breaks the stare. Violet smiles and walks out, calling over her shoulder,

“Now, we must make haste!”

Benedict and Anthony share a look, Benedict nods slightly and follows his mother—still visibly distraught.

Anthony reaches back and pulls Kate in for a kiss.

“We shall be back anon.”

“Bring her home safe, my love.”

“Ofcourse. And make sure Madame Delacroix has something to eat—she has not broken her fast yet.”

“Lord Bridgerton I am quite capable—” but Anthony does not hear the seamstress as he runs out and bundles into the carriage. As soon as the door is shut Anthony, Violet and Benedict cry,

“Ride on!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We return to the prison where Araminta is standing tall and proud outside Sophie’s cell. Yet Sophie remains in her prior position, staring at the wall with her eyes unfocused as her most recent revelations continue to unfurl and take root in every cell of her being. 

Araminta frowns then strikes the bars.

“Are you listening, wench?”

Sophie slowly turns to Araminta, finally registering her presence.

“No.” Sophie says absentmindedly before turning back to the wall.

Araminta changes tack.

“You must know I could not believe it when I heard you had the audacity to return to London. Nor do I know whether to be shocked or impressed that you had somehow wormed your way into the Bridgertons’ affections. Then again you always had a proclivity to squirming your way into places you did not belong--like mother, like daughter.”

Sophie stares resolutely at the wall.

“Unfortunately for you the magistrate does not look kindly on thieves.” Sophie continues to ignore her. “The shoe clips were bad enough but he grew ever so angry when he heard how you stole my engagement ring.”

Sophie whirls around but bites her tongue upon seeing the sly smirk on Araminta’s. Sophie glares mutinously at her, which makes her smile wider.

“As you well know it is your word against mine.”

There is the beautiful saccharine sweet smile that has haunted Sophie’s childhood. But this time Sophie does not shiver, instead she crosses her arms.

“I see you have it all worked out.”

Araminta shrugs.

“Lucky for you I have pleaded clemency on your behalf so that you do not lose a head—then again I have heard all sorts of stories about wild animals in Australia.”

“A model of Christian charity,” Sophie bites out. “The justice will be so touched.”

“Indeed.” Araminta preens, revelling in her victory. Sophie stares at Araminta for a moment before finally asking that damnable question.

“Why? Why did you hate me so? I tried so hard to impress you and abide by your rules—why?”

Araminta’s smile drops, she comes close to the bars and hisses through them

“I do not hate you, I despise you. No woman should have to live with another woman’s castoffs, yet he paraded you around in my presence, educating you, clothing you, providing for you until his death. All as a ploy to punish me.”

Sophie’s brow furrows, which spurs Araminta on.

“He kept you to remind me of my failure as a wife for not giving him a son as easily as a serving wench could give him a b----d. You were my punishment, an insult and mockery I had to bear every day. You have no idea the depths of pain and humiliation you forced me into.”

Sophie can only stare, not in horror, not in sadness but…pity. For finally she can see the truth. Araminta is a girl in a cage, yet one who took her fire out on those around her and so became so much worse than a caged phoenix—for she took her fire out on an innocent child.

“You were as trapped in a cage just as I am, yet you wallowed in your pain and took it out on an innocent child.” Sophie stands. “I was a punishment? You speak as if my father cared for anything other than his pride. And you speak of pain and humiliation yet you cannot see what pain you inflicted upon me. Do you know what I have finally realised? You are not a monster, just a very sad, powerless woman who is trapped in her pain and does not know how to let it go.”

Araminta’s perfect face falls into something far uglier. She bangs her fist on the bars and Sophie jumps back, eyes wide.

“I am not trapped. I am not the one in the cage. I have the power. You deserved everything I did to you, because you are nothing. Look at yourself.” Sophie looks down at herself. “You are unloved, alone, encaged just like the filthy b----d child of a whore you have always been and will forever be.” Sophie shivers and does not look up. Araminta continues savagely. “I am the one who is free, I am the one who triumphed, I am the victor! And who are you?”

Sophie breathes heavily, closing her eyes against the words. But then we see flashes of memories.

“Who are you?”

The image of her laughing with Ginny over wine.

A shot of her chatting with her fellow servants, Nadia and John.

A shot of Sophie comforting Eloise as she weeps on her bed.

“Who are you?” Echoes in her head.

A shot of Sophie grinning while sat at tea ensconced in conversation with the Bridgertons.

A shot of her discussion with Violet about love, wallflowers and Eloise.

And finally of Benedict’s words in his studio.

“You are a woman who is kind and compassionate even after a life of hardship that would bow or break the strongest of men. You are a woman who stands by her convictions no matter how people try and sway you, no matter how many lashes you endure or even if the other road is easier. You, Sophie Beckett, are brilliant, in mind, heart and soul...”

Sophie looks up, her piercing eyes resolute.

“I am not nothing.”

Araminta’s eyes widen at the resolve in Sophie’s tone.

“I am a compassionate friend and a trusted confidante. I am a survivor.”  Sophie takes a step forward as Araminta steps back.

“I have survived destitution, loneliness and disrepute.”

Another step forward. Araminta takes another step back. 

“I have survived the fiery venom that you spat at me every day of my life and the lashes you afflicted me with your actions. Yet I have emerged with a richer soul and a far stronger spirit that you will never break. For I am loved.”

An image of her being embraced by Ginny, another of her being kissed by Benedict.

“I am wanted.”

The shot of Benedict on one knee in front of her.

“I am enough.”

Sophie stands tall, her head held high, backlit by the sunlight through the jail cell window.

“I am Baek Soo-Hye, the daughter of Si-Woo Gun, Lord of Gun, and I shall never bow nor break.”

Araminta is a couple steps away from the bars in the gloom. The shot is positioned so that the shadows of the cell’s bar are cast over Araminta. She sneers like a caged animal and goes to spring forward,

“You little—”

“Sophie!”

They halt.

“What?” Araminta turns towards the sound.

“Sophie!” The voice rips through the air.

Sophie turns to the sound, hope in her eyes.

“Benedict?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Read the rest here

Hopefully this ‘rewrite’ achieves a couple things:

A satisfying confrontation that reflects the character journey and healing Sophie undergoes in S4.

Does not justify Araminta’s backstory but shows the mindset of an abuser.

Links in with imagery around ‘cages’ and ‘masks’ that I have planned for in previous and future S4 posts.

Stress that Sophie’s identity comes from herself and the relationships she has formed–not just the one with Benedict.

Retain the chaotic comedy

Have Benedict Bridgerton getting into figurative, and literal, conflict for the love of his life.

Cute Benophie feels. Supportive Anthony feels. Violet BADASS Bridgerton feels. ALL the feels.

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests!

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4.

[adrihelle]

J'ai publié 1 104 fois en 2022

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#please i want the season 3 to be about him and sophie!

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n°5

Thank you for tagging me @seidenbros! 💜 

I never really participate to that kind of tag before because of my shyness (even on the Internet). But why not trying something new for a change?  

Fav color: violet/black

Currently reading: I’m reading a bunch of things for my master about movies, tv series and monster’s concepts. But when I don’t do my master, I’m reading the fifth volume of The Witcher. 

I live in Canada and I’m speaking French (it’s my first language), so I read some Quebec writers; currently I’m reading Roux clair naturel of Fanie Demeule. It’s about a girl that construct her entire identity on a lie; she’s not naturally a ginger. The character is obsessed to keep that secret down but she’s feeling guilty about it and she develop an identity crisis. It is beautifully written. 

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Tagging (no pressure!): @kell-be-belle @soundsfaebutokay @bridgertonland

3 notes - publié le 12 septembre 2022

n°4

Hello again, hehe. For The Horror and the Wild album ask game, 12 and 15?

For the 12: What song do you always sing along with?

I'm not going to be original, but it's definitly the song Fair. Whatever I'm doing (most likely writing my master that doesnt want to be finished) I wil stop myself and just sing peacefully the lyrics. They help me to calm myself and to believe that I will share one day a love like this with someone. It encapsulate the certainty of a tomorrow (something an anxious girl like me crave everyday).

For the 15: If you could recommend only one THATW song to your followers, what would it be?

I would certainly recommend That Unwanted Animal for the extraordinary performance of Madeleine Hyland. She have an incredible strenght and sensitivity in that song (that she have in all the songs of that album and others) but it's really remarquable in that one. Her voice is ethereal and splendid in it. And the song is really good and, in my point of vue, talks of another way of the anxiety and the depression that Joey and Madeleine talk in Farewell Wanderlust. The one coming from within that you didn't suspect was there but wait the most unexpected moment to eat you alive, destroying you and everyone you love and adore.

*Sorry for my poor writing. English is not my first language and it's been a while since i wrote in it!*

4 notes - publié le 9 septembre 2022

n°3

4. What song from Love Run do you always sing along with? for the album ask game. :)

Again, that's a tough one! I sing along all of them (or more particularly, part of them). Doing lipsync on the ''Fuck you'' in ''New York Torch song'' with a mask in a public bus is one of the best thing to do ever (you all have to try it someday). But if i have to choose one song that I always sing along, it would be Love/Run. I sing the whole eight minutes with my heart and my soul - when Joey sing the first Unemployed, my knees go weaks...

The melody and the lyrics are juste soooo fine! It's the promise for adventures, for fun, for lazy day without culpabilities, for love, for dead, for life, for everything. That the only thing worth to move, to do something, is LOVE.

4 notes - publié le 27 juin 2022

n°2

2 and 18 for the Love Run asks!

For the 2 : What song from Love Run gradually grew on you?

I would say Little Miss Why So.

I don't know really why, but at the first listening, I didn't understand the song. In fact, I didn't see where the song was in the story of these humans, what she meant for the two of them, what she was saying about them, about their relationship, about their past, present and future.

It's been only a few weeks that I really, but really listened to the lyrics and saw what that song meant for the protagonists in the vague and vast story of them that I made up (even that story change with time, with my endlessly listening of these songs).

For the 18: If you could pick one Love Run song to watch performed live, what would it be?

Oh my god! It's so difficult to choose! Like is it even possible to choose between one?

I would like to see King be performed just for that line, that I found absolutely beautifully written and sang:

The sea and its waters , every unwanted daughter (is that you're here)

Or even for the whole performance that must be to listen in live of New York Torch Song. Or even just for the comfort of listening Not Yet-Love Run in live.

Sorry, I didn't pick one song; it's just impossible to choose between all of them!

*Sorry for my poor writing. English is not my first language and it's been a while since i wrote in it!*

9 notes - publié le 9 septembre 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

His hands thightened, and the space between them diminished by several inches. ''What do you see?'' he asked.  Sophie stumbled, but she never took her eyes off his. ''My soul'', she whispered. ''I see my very soul''.

Julia Quinn, ‘’An Offer from a Gentlemen’’

15 notes - publié le 25 avril 2022

Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →

[eleanor-bradstreet]

I don’t deserve your patience but here I come nonetheless, tear-stained and squealing about all the gorgeous emotions you layered into this chapter. When you outlined the concept I was curious as to how it would all play out, and it took a much more poignant turn than I anticipated. I should have known better, this is YOU after all - Queen of Emotional Complexity, Partner in Angst, Deft of Pen and Quick of Wit. God I loved this. So many little moments that had me beaming or tearing up or aching as you dove deeper into the beautiful nuances of this family. Okay, okay, without being too hysterical:

Immediate screeching as the walls around our poor Anthony’s heart start to break down a bit. He’s uncomfortable with emotion. He doesn’t believe he’s deserving of happiness. He has forgotten how to let anything in with all the trauma he’s been through. A yet, despite himself, his voice speaks unbidden, confessing his love 🥹 RIGHT OUT THE GATE, I HURT!

Omg the banter between him and Violet is GOLD 😍 You are the best Violet Bridgerton writer out there. I lap up every sentence she exchanges with her kids, especially her eldest-turned-surrogate-husband Anthony. You know their relationship is the thing that made me fall in love with this universe and even in these minor exchanges, even in an AU, you remind me of that. They know each other’s flaws, they know each other’s strengths, they depend on each other and temper their love with dry wit. It’s perfect 💙

“That kid would sooner die than admit defeat.” - literally Anthony describing himself 😅

“He still had a hard time hearing those words when they were meant for him. He didn’t deserve them. Too much had happened. He failed too many people to be awarded that privilege. Especially his mother…” screaming, crying, throwing up….tearing my pillow to shreds

Heyyoooo nice canon callback to Anthony’s proclivity for sneaking farm animals into dorms 😂👏

Then seeing through Hyacinth’s eyes. Admittedly, I know so little about her not having read her book yet. But I have gathered through osmosis that she is a spitfire - fearless, blunt and something of a nightmare if you allow her to be. Honestly, it’s youngest kid syndrome, I get it 😜 And I know Anthony harbors a special love for her because he has functionally been her father. But I had never considered before now how similar in disposition they both are. How she probably learned that obstinance and stiff upper lip from watching him. How she always saw him as a source of strength 😭 fuck, who is cutting onions?!?! 

“She wouldn’t break down here. Not with someone watching. She would hold it all together until she was in private. She was a Bridgerton - weakness didn’t run in their blood. She had seen Anthony do it a hundred times. He was a master at taming his own emotions until the time was right. If he could do it, so could she.” FUCK THIS HURTS, STOP! She has seen his vulnerabilities - has seen him break down even when he probably thought no one was watching, but his tiny sister snuck her way in 😭 and even though he would want her to be strong, of course he’d never want her to learn from his example and tamp down emotions until she exploded. But this is one of the many lessons he has taught her - inadvertently. To mask feelings the way he does. It’s FUCKING HEARTBREAKING AND REAL AND THEY NEED EACH OTHER AND OMGAAAHHHHDDDDDDDD

“There was a good chance she was dying. She didn’t know how much longer she had left.” Pffft, the tween drama. Perfect 😂 

HRRRRNNNNHHHHH or whatever guttural pain sound I can make to describe how I felt when multiple people kept assuming Anthony was her father and how he never bothered to correct them 😭😭😭

The way he holds her backpack (Jansport of course 😉), the way he questions gently and is ready to meet all her needs 🥹 There is a softer Anthony ‘dad’ Bridgerton that I suspect is only shown to his two youngest sibs. Nothing like the imperious Anthony that deals with BCDE. The way he doesn’t know how to comfort her but just wants to avoid disappointing her 😭😭😭 You are so exacting with your word choice.

Then he pops off about Marcy Fisher 🤣 Absolute perfection! When you asked if Anthony would insult a tween girl, I thought he was going to be aggravated with his sister, but no - this is completely in character and completely wonderful! He would rain hellfire on anyone who upset his most precious sister - even if it was another little girl, muahahaa!

“She needed a father but she got him instead - a disappointment since she took her first breath.” There’s that word again - kicking around in Anthony’s head. Sttttooooooppppppp 😖😭

Then the mystifying stranger in the pharmacy. Ooof. Just……oooof. 🥲 

“Sometimes the authority that he carried made it hard for her to just relax. There was always that lingering fear of seeing disenchantment dull his warm eyes.” You are vicious. They are just two of a kind, aren’t they?? Interpreting each other’s concern for disappointment and disenchantment. Both locking away their feelings and convinced of their own shortcomings when really they just care about and see each other so clearly that the solution is to come together!! 😩

Awww the care package is adorable. The little bee - I cant 🥲  Thank you for including the Battenbergs! For this, I will forgive the fact that you went with roast beef Monster Munch and not pickled onion traitor

Then the watch. THE WATCH. How many ways can we break peoples’ hearts with THE WATCH??? “But then there you were, and suddenly I had a purpose. So I keep it with me as a reminder for when I get a little lost.” OH MY GODDDDDDDD This is gorgeous, and entirely in character for modern Anthony. My poor wee heart, seriously…

She climbs into his lap just like she did when she was four. 😭 See Anthony - things haven’t changed as drastically as you think. You are still very much needed and very capable of lending comfort 💜

“You know how much you love criticizing stupid people.” Bahahaha! Fucking A, I love these two 😂

Oh my GAHD that Reader is in his phone as ‘Trouble’ 🤩 *happy dance* And their saucy little exchange. These two… And Hy sniffed him out right away. Love it!

And the perfect bow to tie it all up. The eldest and youngest Bridgerton children, bundled together and snoozing contentedly as their mother looks on. A moment of tranquility when each of them have so many cascading emotions inside. They all need this 💙

Ok, just…wow. You packed so much into just a few exchanges here. And these are just the things I can talk about - you KNOW the ways you hurt me under the surface 🥲 You’re fleshing out these characters and this story expertly and I have zero doubts every chapter installment is going to captivate. Thank you for this. I’ll go cry now 💙

The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much - Part 3

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x Hyacinth Bridgerton , Anthony Bridgerton x Violet Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Summary: Modern AU - A continuation of The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much Part 1 and Part 2 . This chapter changes from Reader’s POV to Anthony’s in an effort to give us a little more insight into what’s going on with our Viscount. While Anthony grapples with the depths of his feelings for his Reader, Violet calls on Anthony for a favor. His sister needs his help.

Warnings: Not really anything to warn you about. If you are afraid of emotional growth and cheeky banter, then look away lol

Word Count: 5.1K

Author’s Note: @colettebronte is a beta - reading hero! Shout out to my Discord friends for helping me with fun ideas for this installment. I do plan to continue this story for as long as it makes sense to do so. Bear with me!

_________________________________________

Six weeks, four days, and some odd hours…

Apparently that was the length of time in which it took Anthony Bridgerton to fall in love. He knew when she awkwardly approached him in the bar that night and stumbled her way through an attempt at flirting that she was going to be important in his life. What he didn’t realize was that she would be the one to remind him of all the things that made life worth living.

She was a survivor. She fought relentlessly for her life - kicking, screaming, and clawing her way to the happiness she deserved. She was a marvel, and he constantly stood in awe of her. She made him want more than to merely exist. She made him aware of every ounce of joy he had been missing over the past year, but she also felt like his promise for a redemption of the time lost.

Keep reading

[ladysharmaa]

Cinderella story

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary:  Y/n lost her father when she was very young, being in the care of her stepmother and sisters. However, they started to treat her like a maid. Unable to attend the ball the Bridgerton family is hosting, Y/n tries to find ways to go, even if it is against the wish of her stepmother. There she meets Anthony who is in search of a wife, but will he continue to want to be with her after finding out who she is

a/n: i’m so not happy with this, anyway sorry for the long wait :/

part 1   part 2   part 3

"I do not care! I want to look for all the houses! For all the village! Through the ball! Anthony exclaimed to his family, who heard him for about 20 minutes with wide eyes and a shocked expression. The Viscount, the one who always swore he didn't want to marry, being dependent on someone, was losing his mind about a woman he didn't even know the name.

"Oh, he got it bad." Colin whistled under his breath to Benedict who tried to drown out a chuckle with his hand. Daphne, who was also next to Colin, gave him an elbow to shut up. Anyway, if Anthony heard him, he preferred to ignore him.

"And how are you going to do that, Anthony?" Violet asked, trying to stop her lips from turning up in a smile.

Her oldest son, finally finding someone to accompany him for the rest of his life, ending some worries of her. Although she never met the woman for whom her son was crazy for, when she saw them dance she remembered of her and Edmund. Love at first sight. It was as if they had become people around them, looking into each other's eyes with so much love that tears even came to her eyes.

"Exactly. It's not like you can break the door of all houses of town to find your mysterious woman. You'll have unwanted people's attention. Lady Whistledown has written about you, everyone is looking for her."

"Challenge me." he said to Eloise, looking at her with such determination that the family was in doubt if he would really do that. "I don't want another ball, another woman. I want her. Only her. As my wife, Viscountess and mother of my children. You can be sure I will do everything to find her."

And it wasn't a surprise when he did just that.

Meanwhile, Y/n was locked in her room for three days. Her stomach grunted from hunger since her stepmother only left her a bread in the morning and at night, already dry but that she ate without complain. Many would have worse than her, she kept remiding herself.

One of the things that had entertained her from the boredom of the days was remembering her night with Anthony. It was as if she could still feel his hand on her waist, the proximity between them. Y/N's breath was stuck in her throat every time she remembered and a flush appeared on her cheeks.

She still made a few short visits to the house, making it seem less of a prisoner, though it was only to clean or cook for her sisters. Time seemed to pass slowly. Every day was the same. Her body was sore from sleeping on the hard floor, now even more so since she didn't walk that much due to being confined to such a small space.

Her stepmother hadn't given her any further updates on what was happening in the village after the ball. Y/n knew she was naive to think Viscount had taken an interest in her, and little did she know how wrong she was. For at that moment, Anthony Bridgerton was knocking on every door in the village, rich or poor, looking for the girl who consumed his thoughts every moment of the day.

Finally, he reached the last houses where he could find the mystery girl. He couldn't deny that his hope was waning with every person he encountered who wasn't who he wanted, despite motivating comments from Benedict and Collin, who accompanied him (mostly to ensure he didn't do anything reckless or stupid).

He straightened his suit, knocking on the door of the Y/l/n mansion. Y/n's stepmother opened the doo, a shocked look crossing his face when he saw the Bridgertons before she masked it with a huge smile, immediately giving him a small bow.

"Lord Viscount, it is an honor to have you in my humble home. Gentleman." she added when she saw Anthony's brothers. "Oh, were are my manners. Please come in."

"Thank you, Lady Y/l/n. I apologize for showing up unannounced, but the matter is urgent. I would like to know if you have any daughters, maybe sisters? We would deeply appreciate it if we could meet them, again, the matter is urgent." Anthony explained with a small polite smile, despite having had enough of repeating the same conversation.

Furthermore, as people soon expected that he was talking about the woman he danced with at the ball, the young girls pretended to be her her, as if he would n't see their lie from her.

Obviously he would notice. They didn't have the delicacy that Y/n had, the flame in their eyes, the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. He would do anything to see that smile again. He soon accepted that she had him wrapped around her finger, as her siblings teased him without stopping since that night. But Anthony couldn't care less. He wanted her, her secrets, her imperfections, her bravery, her kindness. Everything. He wanted all parts of her.

"In fact I do have two daughters. I shall bring them here immediately."

Hope filled his chest again only to be destroyed when he saw two young women, with eccentric hairstyles who let out little squeals when they learned of Bridgerton's presence in their house. Y/n's two stepsisters competed against each other as they raced to try to be the first to get ahead of Anthony,

Collin and Benedict both chuckled as they watched the scene unfold, only to be silenced when Anthony sent them a murderous glare, raising their hands in surrender.

"Lord Bridgerton." the older sister bowed, pushing the other girl with her hip and showing the men an innocent smile. The two started to bicker between them while their mother spoke to the Bridgerton, telling them all about her 'talented' daughters.

The Viscount ran a hand over his tired face, offering the woman a smile before offering the excuse that it was time to leave, but that he was grateful for their hospitality. The three Bridgertons made their way out of the house, but stopped when they reached their horses and heard a soft voice sing the tune of a song Anthony knew by heart. The song that accompanied the dance between him and Y/n.

Y/n was taking up her time cleaning her room, the dust making her sneeze and preventing her from getting a full night's rest. She found herself humming the melody of a song, twirling as Anthony had done to her when they danced. A small smile appeared on her face, as it always did when she remembered her night with the Viscount.

She knew she shouldn't think about him, but how could she not when he looked at her like she was the only woman in the room. He made her feel so beautiful. It was a strange feeling for Y/n, being so comfortable in the presence of a man and wanting to be with him. Her mind navigated to different places as she swung around, continuing to hum the song absently. She was grateful for the breeze that entered her room due to the open window, a layer of sweat already covering her forehead.

But everything came to a stop when she heard the voice of the man who made his way to her heart. It couldn't be, she thought, That's it, I finally have gone crazy. However, she heard that voice again. Recovering from the shock, she bent down a little and walked silently to the window. She stuck her head out, trying to understand what was happening. And much to her surprise her, Anthony Bridgerton was at her house, talking with her stepmother.

"It seems you have another lady in your house." Anthony clenched his jaw, noticing how the woman opened her mouth but no words came out. He looked at the cat peeking through the half-open door, "Or have your cat learned how to sing?" he asked sarcastically.

"Lady Y/l/n, is any other lady living at your house?" Collin questioned, keeping his cool before his older brother got into trouble.

"Well, yes..." Y/n's stepmother admitted when he couldn't come up with a convincing enough excuse especially when it looked like the brothers were running out of patience. But she was quick to add, "But she is only a maid. You certainly don't want to talk to her. I was just saving your time, my lord."

"I can decide in what I will waste my time. Now, please, bring me the maid." Anthony asked, though everyone understood that it was more of a demand that the Lady could not refuse. She gave them an unsure smile, bowing before hurrying to Y/n's room.

When she heard the key in the lock, Y/n jumped away from the window, standing in the middle of the room confused as to what was happening when her stemother grabbed her elbow and dragged her down the stairs to the living room where the Bridgertons would be waiting. .

"You will keep your head down, not talk to them or reveal who you are. The Viscount Bridgerton wished to meet you, but you cannot let him know you are the one of the ball. You will not ruin the chance of one of my daughters becoming a Bridgerton, little girl. As your mother, I forbid you."

“You never were, and never will be my mother.” Y/n whispered but loud enough for her to hear, emotions laced in her voice as she fought back tears.

With a little push, Y/n walked into the living room, seeing Anthony standing a little farther away, his back to her. Her steomother couldn't be with her since Benedict and Collin blocked her entry, fake smiles on their faces as they asked her questions to engage in a conversation while Anthony talked to Y/n.

Hearing noise behind him, Anthony turned, her mouth opening in admiration at the sight of her. He found her, he was sure. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Y/n looked down, self-conscious of how bad her hair looked, just having brushed it a few days ago, her cheap blue dress full of dirt and in poor condition compared to the immaculate outfit Anthony wore.

But Anthony didn't notice any of that. He was focused on her eyes that seemed to look anywhere but him, her rosy cheeks, her plump lips. She was perfect for him.

"It's you." he whispered, taking a step forward, but stopped when he wasn't sure what to do next.

"Am I the one you danced at the ball? Yes, I am." she let out a nervous chuckle. She started walking slowly towards him who seemed to be stuck in place. "But I have no carriage. No diamonds. No fancy dresses. No parents. Will you accept me as I am. A simple country girl who loves you." she seemed to gasp as she realized the revelation she had made.

"Of course I will." he sounded breathless. "Only if you accept me as I am. A viscount who is still learning how to accept love. But I want to do it with you by my side."

Y/N smiled, gasping as he felt Anthony's hands on her waist, bringing her closer to him. Their foreheads touched, Anthony nuzzling her nose with his, savoring that moment knowing she finally had the woman he loved in his arms. Only their breaths could be heard although Y/n was sure Anthony could have her heart beating against her chest.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered, their lips almost touching. His hand caressed her cheek, smiling when he felt her nodding.

However, much to Anthony's annoyance, Y/n sisters ran to the room, bowing when they saw Y/n and the Bridgerton intimate position. "My sister. I'm sorry."

"Please forgive us." the other one added.

The girl looked at them, remembering all the moments they spent together. Y/n didn’t speak and that made clear how she standed. She intertwined her hand with Anthony's, the smile never fading from her lips.

"Shall we?" he questioned, pointing to the exit. He walked hand in hand with Y/n, unable to stop the feeling of pure delight and love that invaded his body. Meanwhile, the same happened to her Y/n and her stepmother, who begged for her not even forgiveness after Y/n would be the future Viscountess, could ruin her happiness.

"Welcome to the family, sister!" Collin exclaimed as he climbed onto his horse and Anthony helped her onto his. Loud laughter escaped her, her head tilting back slightly.

Anthony was in pure adoration, he was sure his heart was going to explode from love. He wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life and would do the impossible to make it happen. Her kindness and happiness were contagious and he couldn't wait to see their future.

He then climbed onto the horse behind Y/n and brought her closer to him, if that was even possible. He finally had her, and he would never let her go. 

2 years later

Nicholas Edmund Bridgerton was running happily in the gardens of the Bridgerton summer house, being chased by his uncles while Anthony's sisters tried to help to hide the little boy. Anthony watched their game intently from his seat, resting after his siblings had taken his place playing with his son.

Anthony admired his son, his laughter warming up his heart. He was like a copy of his mother. Kind and brave with a free spirit that he definitely acquired from Y/n. A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. Anthony turned his head, seeing his very pregnant wife behind him. Carefully, he guided her in front of him, pulling her onto his lap and immediately placing a hand on her swollen belly.

"And how are you, Viscountess Bridgerton. Did you sleep weel?" he asked with a small kiss to her lips.

"In fact I did, Viscount Bridgerton. The little one seems to only wish to sleep during the day. I guess that after you speak to her at night she gets all excited." she teased him.

"It could be a boy." he remembered her.

"I have a feeling it's a girl. Either way, they will be very loved."

"We do make pretty babies." Anthony whispered starting to kiss her her neck, tracing it with her nose, satisfied when he felt her shiver under him.

"Indeed we do, my dear husband."

"Mommy! Mommy! Daddy!" a small voice called out to them, breaking their momentum. Nick's little legs moved quickly for him to get closer to his parents and show them the flowers he'd picked. "Look, I picked them for the baby."

"They are beautiful, baby." Y/n said, letting him land them on her belly and kiss it. Tears filled her eyes which she quickly dried, mumbling how the pregnancy made her so sensitive.

Anthony brought the boy into his arms, looking at the two most important people in his life as Y/n asked their son how his day had been. They were his family, and he was so damn proud of that.

"I love you, Y/n Thank you. For everything."

"I love you, Anthony. Forever."

[newtonsheffield]

thank you for always being so kind to edwina and mary in your fics! I love them a lot, even if their show relationship is a little troubled with kate, and its great to see them just as involved in kathony's lives as the bridgertons are

Hmm I just don’t accept their show relationship as canon I guess.

They had the chance to do some really vulnerable moments with Mary and Kate and they just… didn’t. Like open that door, let us see how much Mary is truly still grieving her husband. Let us see her trying to connect back with reality. Because I honestly think that wedding was a huge wake up call for her. And we see the very second she realises that she’s missed Kate’s true feelings. She says earlier that Kate’s always longed for independence and when Anthony knees in front of her I think Mary realises that she fell for the mask. And she missed the girl underneath who was so desperate for love. And it could have been such a strong moment for them.

Stop focusing on Violet and Lady Danbury not knowing what to do because their hairbrained matchmaking scheme didn’t pay off. And show me Mary knowing exactly where to find Kate. Kneeling beside her in the closet and letting her cry against her chest.

“I’ve ruined everything, Mama.”

“No, darling, you haven’t.”

“I have! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to fall in love with him but I fell too quickly and now I don’t know what to do.”

“No one ever means to fall in love, Kate. That’s not how it works.”

“I could have stopped it though, if I was better or stronger I could have.”

“Why would you ever want to do that? I grieve Appa every day still but I would rather spend the rest of my life feeling the love I never got to share with him than never have felt it at all.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hello there, could I please request Anthony bridgerton and reader fic where hes introducing the reader to his family for the first time and shes really nervous but the family ends up loving her more than him? Thanks, I absolutely love your work!! Please dont overwork yourself darling❤ - @lespaceboi

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I had so much fun with this request, I love it so so much. I only hope you do too! Lowkey posting this early bc I’m watching the euros final tonight and I won’t have time. 

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, light angst, some worries, lots of fluff, family fluff, Anthony being cute, dialogue heavy, declarations of love.

Word count: 3.6k

Her hands shake uncontrollably as the carriage clatters through London. Taking calming breaths, (Y/N) does her best to stop her shaking hands by gripping her shawl tightly. Her maid, Jayne, looks over at her in concern. “We can always turn back, my lady,” Jayne whispers, “I’m sure Viscount Bridgerton won’t mind postponing to another day.”

(Y/N) smiles warmly at her maid; grateful for the care in her voice. However, she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer, Jayne. Anthony’s sister and her husband have travelled all the way from Scotland.”

Jayne sits back against the carriage bench, nodding her head understandingly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” She offers in comfort.

“I can only hope,” (Y/N) whispers, casting her gaze out of window and into the London streets.

She had met Anthony Bridgerton when shopping for ribbons. An unusual time and place to meet anyone, but Anthony had strolled into the shop and asked to see the best ribbons in the place as nothing would be better than the absolute best for his nieces. (Y/N) had giggled at the tone of his voice; unused to seeing such a powerful figure in such intimate settings. Her laughter had drawn his attention to which a conversation began. By the end of the Viscount’s visit to the ribbon shop, he had asked to see her again.

The visits continued in secrecy, or in as much secrecy as one could afford when holding a peerage. The relationship blossomed; what was once considered a friendship was turning romantic, and (Y/N) could not help her feelings for the Viscount. He had captured her, body and soul. She counted every blessing that Anthony felt the same.

The first glimpse of Bridgerton House steals her breath away. The red brick stands out amongst the paler buildings; Anthony’s wealth already obvious but further personified by the sheer scale of his home. The sweet scent of the violet hyacinths perfume (Y/N)’s carriage; their aroma bringing a small smile to her face as she remembers a masquerade party in Chiswick, a balcony and Anthony’s hands on her waist.

Her carriage rolls to a natural stop; (Y/N)’s heart in her throat as she tears her inquiring gaze from Bridgerton House to Jayne. Jayne smiles and squeezes her lady’s hand, a silent offer of support for the afternoon.

“They’re going to love you,” Jayne whispers, bolstering (Y/N) as best she could as the door to the carriage is opened by (Y/N)’s footman.

Now closer, Bridgerton House is much grander. The deep green iron gates pronounce the family’s wealth further. (Y/N) gulps as she takes step after step down the path to already open front door. Her steps falter slightly as she catches sight of Anthony waiting in the entrance; his hair the usual untameable mess that endears her so.

“You came,” Anthony breathes in greeting; his eyes wide with barely concealed surprise as he takes in the sight of her on his doorstep.

“I came,” (Y/N) answers just as breathlessly. Even the sight of him was enough to leave her gasping for breath; there were moments in their prolonged courtship that she couldn’t quite believe he had chosen her, that he wanted her. As Anthony stands there, his white shirt unbuttoned from the collar with his waistcoat undone, she realises that this is the most casual she had ever seen him. His outfit wasn’t proper, but she doesn’t want it to be. She wants to see him from every angle; she wants to know every Anthony there is. So far, she had found herself besotted with each and every one.

Both remain silent as Anthony offers his arm to her. (Y/N) uses the silence to quash the nerves rioting in her gut; she had never been this nervous, not when she was presented in front of the monarch for her season, and not when she danced with the Prince of Wales at his birthday celebrations two years ago. Now, however, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her.

Anthony pauses their journey. “Are you okay?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“I’m nervous,” (Y/N) confesses bashfully, “What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me so much that you end things? I’m having so much fun with you, Anthony. I don’t want this to end.”

“Hey,” Anthony whispers, taking her face in his hands, urging her to look at him, “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to love you, I know it. I’ve spoken about you so much they feel they already know you.”

“You talk about me?” (Y/N) asks, her voice small.

Anthony presses a kiss to her forehead. “Constantly. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out with how much I talk about you.”

“You’re really very sweet.”

“Only because of you,” He flirts, pushing his luck by kissing her quickly.

(Y/N) laughs softly against his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

Anthony laughs gently, pulling away from her lips but keeping hold of her hands. “I’m as nervous as you,” He confesses, “But I have you by my side to help me get through just as you have me through this too. Any time you want to go, let me know and I’ll call your carriage back round.”

“Thank you,” She whispers before Anthony continues on down the hall, his hand squeezing hers tightly.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Anthony asks, double checking, voice wavering as they stand outside the door to the drawing room. “My family can be a bit much to meet all at once.”

“We’re nothing of the sort!” A masculine voice shouts from behind the door.

A surprised laugh leaves (Y/N) lips. She covers her mouth to bring back the mask of perfect decorum, not wanting to insult a member of Anthony’s family. “I’m ready when you are,” She whispers, smiling at the eldest Bridgerton.

“Sooner rather than later,” Anthony whispers before opening the door, giving her the first glimpse at his family.

The Bridgerton brood sit around the large drawing room. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – they all mix together as they wait for Anthony and his new beau. Each all fall silent as Anthony and (Y/N) enters the room; their first glimpse of her, their first conversation with her. Anthony had spoken about her constantly but refused to let any family meet her until they were both ready.

Now that moment had arrived.

“Mother,” Anthony introduces to the silent room, “This is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) exclaims, smiling at the Bridgerton matriarch. “I’ve heard so much about you all,” She continues, casting her gaze around the room.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, dear (Y/N),” Violet announces, “Anthony has been nothing but a ball of nerves since he announced you would be joining us.”

(Y/N) nods at the matriarch, feeling herself become speechless as she takes in the sheer size of Anthony’s family. It isn’t hard to tell who the Bridgertons are among the group are; they each have the same eyes and smile. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” (Y/N) announces, repeating her earlier words, unable to keep the nerves from entering her voice this time.

“I’m Benedict,” The second eldest introduces, jumping up from his seat on the couch, holding his hand out for her to take.

“The artist!” (Y/N) gasps, “I’ve seen some of your work. You’re exceptionally talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict blushes, excusing himself with a pat to Anthony’s shoulder, a silent sign that Benedict already approves.

“Help yourself to some tea,” A younger woman exclaims in the brief silence between conversations, “I’d get up to greet you, but it would take twice as long as the conversation itself.”

“Please don’t strain yourself,” (Y/N) offers graciously, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Simon.” Daphne introduces, her hand landing on the thigh of a handsome man.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) greets, making her way to an empty seat at a nearby table. There she pours two cups of tea, one for her and one for Anthony, knowing he would be dropping by in a minute or two. The tea steeps as (Y/N) helps herself to one of the many biscuits, taking a small bite of the buttery concoction before reaching for the milk and sugar. This is a routine she has practiced many times before, knowing exactly how long to stir her tea so it wouldn’t burn the tip of her tongue with every sip.

It’s takes less than two minutes for someone to join her at the table. (Y/N) offers the young woman a polite smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eloise Bridgerton,” introduces the young woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) repeats, feeling herself already grow tired of the words.

“Are you educated, (Y/N)?” Eloise enquires; her keen blue gaze dancing over the young woman.

(Y/N) finishes her sip of tea before nodding at Anthony’s younger sister. “I am,” She answers, “I studied under a very thorough governess, and I am fluent in French and Latin, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to sit in on some lectures at Oxford and Edinburgh.”

“How?” Eloise all but demands, ignoring the stern stare of her mother as she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You must teach me your ways.”

(Y/N) represses an amused smile at Eloise’s antics. “My favourite cousin, Sylvester, was a student at both. I often annoyed him into letting me attend in secret whenever I visited.”

“Did you attend any interesting lectures?”

(Y/N) nods, happy to further indulge the brunette. “Sylvester was a student of medicine, beginning his education at Oxford before continuing on to Edinburgh where he lives now. I’ve attended a few medical lectures, but I pressured him into letting me attend a philosophical debate surrounding Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” (Y/N) shakes her head, amused at the memory, “Sylvester didn’t find that one nearly as thrilling as his medical lectures.”

“Anthony!” Eloise calls, gathering the attention of all her brothers, “I’m keeping (Y/N) for myself. You’re going to have to find a new beau, I’m afraid.”

Anthony chuckles, leaving his brothers to their own conversation. “Pray,” He begins, “Just what are the two of you talking about.”

“(Y/N)’s education. Did you know she’s sat in lectures at both Oxford and Edinburgh? I daresay I might attend a few myself.”

Anthony’s hand lands on your shoulder; a warm squeeze has you turning to meet his stare. His smile is fond; his eyes are bright with happiness. “Are you inciting further rebellion in my little sister?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) playfully scoffs, “Just letting her know that should she want to attend any lectures, I have a connection for her.”

A laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he catches sight of Eloise’s excited wiggle in her chair. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” He murmurs to (Y/N) quietly, dropping an unexpected kiss to her hair before entering a debate with Eloise, explaining why she cannot go about interrupting lectures at prestigious universities.

Leaving the siblings to their bickering, (Y/N) stands from table, wanting to stretch her legs and discover more to the drawing room. By this point in the afternoon, the appeal of company has worn off. The large family now broken off into their own conversations; Francesca and Michael remain sat close together on the couch under the window, Lady Violet remains sat by her eldest daughter – the matriarch keeping a weather eye on her pregnant daughter.

(Y/N) smiles fondly at the scene before turning to one of the many fixed bookshelves in the room; leather bound volumes line the shelves. There wasn’t much for light reading, she thinks to herself as she reads the spines. Much about the War of the Roses and the subsequent Tudor reign, not much in the way of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.

“You’re very pretty,” A young girl announces from behind (Y/N). She turns to find two girls, both no older than four or five, their hair matching pigtails, curled into ringlets.

(Y/N) kneels to their height, ignoring the pinching of her corset as she smiles at the young children. “Why thank you,” She states gratefully, “But you know what I would really like?”

“What?” The eldest of the two asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Gorgeous pigtails like yours,” (Y/N) smiles, gesturing to their hair.

Both girls break into wide smiles, already won over. “What are your names?” (Y/N) asks.

“I’m Amelia,” The eldest states proudly, “I’m five and a half.”

“I’m Belinda,” The second girl introduces, “I’m four.”

“Well it is lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) compliments, “My name is (Y/N).”

“We know,” Belinda chimes. “Uncle Tony talks about you all the time.”

“He does, does he?” She murmurs amused; catching sight of the brunette doing his best not to intervene on the conversation taking place with his nieces.

Amelia nods. “All the time!” She cries happily. “He talks about your hair, your eyes, your smile.” She breaks off, leaning towards (Y/N) to whisper in her ear. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you think?” (Y/N) questions, unable to keep the eager hope from her voice.

“I know,” Amelia nods sagely, “I heard Uncle Tony tell Mama and Papa.”

(Y/N) presses her lips together to keep the wide smile from growing across her face. She had known that Anthony felt very deeply for her though he had never uttered a word. With a quick glance in Anthony’s direction, she gestures for the two girls to come closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

Amelia and Belinda nod silently; too excited to hear what (Y/N) has to say. “It just so happens,” (Y/N) whispers to the two girls, “That I also love your Uncle Tony.”

“You do?” Belinda squeaks.

“I do,” (Y/N) nods seriously, “I love him very much.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Amelia asks; her blue eyes wide with burning curiosity.

“I think on some level he already knows, but I plan on telling him very soon.”

Both girls squeal in happiness, leaving (Y/N) behind as they run towards their parents. Daphne and Simon greet their children with open arms, wide eyed at their level of noise as they demand their voices to be heard over the hubbub of the rest of the family.

“I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me to this particular conversation,” A warm voice sounds from behind her. The way his arm slips around her waist, as if it were his home, tells (Y/N) that Anthony has found her once more.

“A secret for another day,” (Y/N) teases, turning to face the man that had captured her heart so wholly.

“Will you tell me later?” He asks, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout that has her giggling.

“Perhaps,” She whispers, leaning ever closer to the Bridgerton. “Only if you promise me something.”

“Anything,” He whispers seriously, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“I know you would,” She murmurs, “But all I’m asking for is for you to not pester your nieces over what I told them.”

“How did you know?” Anthony asks, voice glum.

(Y/N) brings a gloved hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Because I know you, my dear.”

Anthony leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to her wrist. “I like being your dear.”

“I like being yours too,” She replies earnestly. “Now, I’ve spoken to most of your siblings. Do me the honour of introducing me to Francesca, she came all the way from Scotland, it’s rude that I’ve neglected her.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anthony responds, taking her hand and leading her to the couch where Francesca sits with her husband, Michael.

The day continues in a similar fashion. Bridgerton House had never been quiet when the whole family was in attendance; raucous laughter and loving bickering filled its many corners with noise. The life and laughter of the family bringing the house to life.

As the grandfather clock ticks closer and closer to the evening, (Y/N) finds herself lamenting the fact that she must leave the Bridgerton family so soon.

“I must take my leave,” She announces to sad cries to Amelia and Belinda, already so attached.

“So soon?” Benedict asks, frowning as he wonders when he’ll get to continues his conversation with her. So few wanted to talk about art nowadays.

(Y/N) meets Anthony’s gaze, hating how sad he looks. “I’m having dinner with my parents and their friends. An occasion I simply cannot miss, I’m afraid.”

“Do we know them?” Violet asks in an attempt to delay the inevitable. She had grown fond of the young woman over the course of the afternoon, seeing how perfectly she fit amongst her family, how she brought out the best in her eldest son.

“The St. Clair’s?” (Y/N) enquires, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. “My father has worked with Lady Danbury’s family for a long time. Gareth and I are old friends.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Violet announces, “But please visit us soon.”

“I would love to,” (Y/N) smiles, crossing the room to be by Anthony’s side.

Offering her goodbyes to the large family, (Y/N) takes Anthony’s offered arm, hooking hers through his as they descend the grand marble staircase to the foyer. “Your family are lovely,” (Y/N) compliments as she takes care not to trip over her skirts on the stairs. “You all care for each so much, it’s clear the moment you enter the room.”

“My mother and siblings are the best people I know,” Anthony murmurs, walking beside (Y/N) at a steady pace in order to delay her departure by a minute.

“I can only hope they liked me,” She worries, her teeth biting into her bottom lip in a way that has Anthony restraining himself by gripping her arm tighter.

“You were wonderful,” Anthony murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheekbone before helping her into her carriage.

“Thank you for today,” (Y/N) calls, sticking her hand from the window to prolong the contact between Anthony and herself. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye; wasn’t quite ready to leave him.

“Thank you for coming,” Anthony answers, kissing her hand before tucking it back through the window of her carriage. If they didn’t say goodbye now, they wouldn’t say goodbye at all. If she didn’t leave, he would most likely offer marriage on the pavement than somewhere proper.

Nodding to her footman, Anthony watches her carriage leave. He stands on the doorstep to Bridgerton House until her carriage is no longer in sight. Only then does he let himself release the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Weariness washes over him as he turns to face his childhood home. Inside, in his mother’s drawing room, await his family. Each one ready to give their verdict on the woman he has had the good fortune to fall in love with.

Sighing, he kicks at the ground, knowing he cannot delay this any longer.

His mother and siblings are where he left them; his mother’s drawing room. They fall silent at the sight of him; each clearly unwilling to make the leap and be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

“What do you think of (Y/N)?” Anthony asks; voice loud in the ever so silent room. He meets the eyes of each of his siblings, not missing the way Daphne leans into Simon or the way Michael reaches for Francesca’s hand. They’ve all found their love matches; it was now Anthony’s turn.

Colin takes the fall for his family, standing to face his eldest brother and titled peer. He clears his throat, fidgeting on the spot before he eventually pauses all movement, breaking into a smile to declare, “We all loved her!”

“You do?” Anthony asks, falling onto a nearby couch in shock.

Violet smiles at her eldest son. “We do. (Y/N) is a sweetheart and looks to be just as taken with you as you are with her.”

Blush begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. “I can only hope, dear mother.”

“It’s true,” Amelia chimes, her young face bright with joy. “She told Belinda and I.”

“You have found your love match, my darling boy,” Violet states warmly.

“It does help that (Y/N) is a trifle more tolerable than you, dear brother,” Benedict teases, laughter bright in his Bridgerton blue eyes.

“And so educated!” Eloise gasps, “We had an enlightening conversation about Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women.”

“She was wonderful with Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne murmurs, her hand falling protectively over her pregnant stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling that you prefer (Y/N) to me?” Anthony murmurs, mischief bright in his eyes and evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Gregory points out, “I only hope (Y/N) can keep up with your obsession with Pall Mall.”

“A worthy obsession,” Anthony argues, mind wandering to the games he could play with (Y/N).

“She’s wonderful,” Violet interrupts, a large smile on her face as she takes the final say.

Anthony smiles widely at his mother; constantly grateful for her love and care throughout his life. She had been lost after the death of his father, as had Anthony, but Anthony had never truly understood what it would feel like to lose someone you love as wholeheartedly as his mother loved his father.

Until now, that is. The mere thought of losing her sends a lance of pain through his chest, cutting short his breath and increasing his panic. Anthony shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings.

Calm enough, he faces his family once more. “I plan on proposing to (Y/N),” He announces, showing his family the ring box that has been sitting heavily in his trouser pocket all day.

“Thank goodness,” Francesca murmurs, smiling indulgently at her big brother. “I cannot wait to call her sister.”

“Indeed,” Anthony murmurs, a loving smile on his face, “I cannot wait to call her my wife.”

******

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[theawkwardterrier]

and the last age should show your heart

Summary: In which a recovered Kate is ready to settle into normal married life; her husband makes things difficult; and challenging each other does not stop with the wedding.

Read on AO3

Although he could clearly see the progress of her recovery himself, Anthony insisted on having her examined several times over by the most reputable medical men in London in order to ascertain that she was truly through with her convalescence. Kate bore this first with amusement, then with impatience, and finally with distinct ill humor.

“I do it only out of concern for you,” he emphasized the afternoon he informed her that he had made another appointment (the fifth) for tomorrow. “It’s clear that your leg can bear weight well enough, but always best to be thorough. Were we to have an incomplete understanding of the healing process and thus allow further injury, I should never forgive myself.”

Once, some version of herself would have softened at such an expression of attentiveness from him. An even earlier one than that would have been astonished that anyone except Mary or Edwina would ever have so concerned themself with her at all. Those versions, however, had been allowed the freedom not only of all the floors of the house but of the glorious outdoors as well without an overly bothersome husband admonishing at every turn to take care.

This Kate, a veteran now after months of marriage - too much of that time spent indoors if not in bed - said testily, “Then it sounds as if your concern is truly for yourself, although it is I who has found herself most inconvenienced. In fact, as you have barely believed me able to leave this bed, it strikes me that these last few months have been startlingly advantageous when it comes to indulging your more wicked tendencies - and you have little anxiety over my injured state then.”

She did not gesture to the rumpled sheets among which she sat, but he took her meaning well enough, fingers stilling on the cravat he had been retying after their (not quite) brief midday interlude together. “That is unfair, Kate,” he said, ironclad voice masking what she suspected to be actual hurt, although she did not know whether it stemmed from the insinuation that he preferred her without independence, kept captive to his whims, or that he cared little for her comfort or enjoyment when in their bed.

Neither was true, so she allowed herself only another moment of stewing before she forced her eyes to his and said, “I know. I apologize.”

“Excellent.” He finished the knot and turned to check it in the glass, face smoothed cheerful once again. “Then Mr. Josephs and I shall see you tomorrow at half three.”

She cut her growl short, merely seething as he placed a kiss on her forehead and took his leave. (Even as she fumed, she could appreciate that he held back the urge to whistle as he did so. Just as she could appreciate that whichever tailor had cut his breeches was most certainly not paid handsomely enough for it.)

They had a perfectly civil meal together that evening, and a night which one would not precisely call civil but which was certainly enjoyable all the same, and when they laughed together over breakfast, Kate felt them thawing back to their particular normalcy. However, when Mr. Josephs failed to impress as he allowed himself to be forced to stay a mere hour before declaring Kate fully healed and Anthony tried to insist on a sixth visit, she put her foot down, literally and hard and atop his. He was quite lucky that she no longer had need of a walking stick or he would have had that to contend with as well.

“No!” The word came out nearly as a snarl. “I am sorry, but regardless of your misplaced concerns, regardless of your overprotective nature, regardless of whether I fall down a dozen times in the doing of it, tomorrow I am going to put on a dress and style my hair and take tea with your mother.”

“You could—”

“At her home,” she said, and this time, even spacing and perfectly bitten off enunciation and all, it was most definitely a snarl.

All of the Bridgertons had been excellent company during her recuperation - despite his considerable efforts, Anthony could not keep her confined entirely to bed, and she was able to venture downstairs to host various pairs and groups of them over the past months even when she was not receiving most callers. Their frequent visits provided significant entertainment and what Kate only half jestingly referred to as “dispatches from the outside world.” As such, she was comfortable in the drawing room at Bridgerton House even as tea with her mother-in-law expanded to include all three of her older sisters-in-law and Daphne’s infant daughter Amelia.

In fact, she was feeling more than comfortable, she was feeling rather splendid, having the chance to be out somewhere, stretching her limbs and speaking with people, even in such a small and familiar setting. While she was aware that one day this would be her home rather than Violet’s, an idea which still intimidated her, right now it was simply somewhere different from the house where she had been trapped for months and wonderful for it.

A good quarter hour had been spent admiring each facet of Amelia as she slept in her mother’s arms, and even that was wonderful. Kate could not keep her eyes from the baby’s fingers. How tiny they were! She could hardly understand how Daphne could sit so serenely when they looked delicate enough to break at a touch. It struck her that sometime soon she might have her own child with infinitely breakable fingers for whom she would have to care; even with her injury, she and Anthony had not been doing very much to prevent such an occurrence. One might say the opposite, in fact…

She drew her mind quickly from thoughts of her husband before a blush could overcome her face, and listened instead to Violet recounting the latest trials through which Hyacinth was putting her governess. The dowager viscountess sighed at the appropriate places and her tone was all motherly despair, but Kate detected a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. Kate herself was attempting to cover a laugh by holding her cup to her mouth, hoping that none of the others would notice that she had allegedly been sipping tea for nearly a full minute.

“Would you like some more, Kate? Or perhaps a biscuit to accompany? You seem to have quite the craving for tea today.” Eloise was unfortunately too astute for either her own good or Kate’s.

“Oh, I really—”

“I would quite enjoy tea and biscuits. Thank you for offering.”

Kate’s cup came down hard onto her saucer, mirth transformed into confused suspicion. “Anthony? I had thought you were spending the day on some business with Lord Ellsworth.”

“Ah yes,” he said, literally waving a hand through the air as he walked further into the room toward them all, his brother Benedict following behind. “We concluded earlier than expected, but he mentioned something which put me in mind of some papers which I realized are in the desk in my study here.”

“Where they remain even now, despite how imperative it was that we come find them at once,” Benedict murmured. Kate had noticed that while he did not quite have Anthony’s ready control of a room or Colin’s easy charm, he was still as witty as the rest of his family, simply a bit less loud about it, particularly in company. Although not, she thought, quiet enough, based on the glare his older brother cut his way; Benedict ignored it easily, placing both hands on his mother’s shoulders from behind and bending to kiss her cheek.

Anthony, meanwhile, gave up on his brother and moved onto pestering his sister. Well, not pestering, precisely. He merely hovered implacably over the place where Francesca sat beside Kate, and his patience was rewarded when she sighed and stood so he could take her seat.

“Don’t let him bully you so,” cried Eloise.

Francesca shrugged her slim shoulders as she moved to sit at the pianoforte instead. “I don’t mind. He wants to sit beside his wife. I think it’s quite sweet, actually. Very romantic.”

“See, I’m romantic,” Anthony said, leaning over to speak softly to Kate, although he barely needed to move to do so. By her measurement, if he intended to sit this close, Francesca could well have stayed put.

“Romantic is not precisely how I would put it.”

“How would you prefer to phrase it? Charming? Besotted? A steadfast and wonderful husband?”

“Trying,” she offered through gritted teeth. “Difficult. Unnecessarily meddlesome.” She considered moving into the bit of empty space remaining on her other side, but she knew that he would only move closer, and besides, it was actually quite comfortable to feel him pressed warmly against her. Still, she gathered her irritation as she added, “I truly don’t know what you expected us to be doing in your mother’s drawing room in the middle of the afternoon which would necessitate you coming to inspect—Anthony, are you listening to me?”

“Are you certain you would not like a footstool?” he asked, ignoring her entirely in favor of frowning down at her leg, covered as it was by the fabric of her dress. “No one would object if you needed to prop your leg. It’s only family after all, and everyone wishes you to be comfortable.”

Despite it all she felt herself softening at that. “My leg is fine,” she said, tone easing like a kite when the wind slows. “But thank you for being so considerate.” And then, because she truly could not resist, she added, “In fact, it seems that all the recommendations regarding moderate activity and returning to a regular routine are doing me a world of good.”

And likely because he could not resist either, he responded, “What seems good today might turn regrettable tomorrow. Only remember then that there is no shame in admitting that you have overexerted yourself and will be more comfortable at home.” A look of nobility which undoubtedly hid a smirk came across his face. “I shall certainly not preen about it should I turn out to be right.”

She spluttered, then glared, forgetting that they were visiting, that they were surrounded by other people. Anthony had always been able to vex her into forgetting herself. “You will not be right, but for taking that tone, I am going to have Cook prepare tripe and boiled turnips every day for the next week.”

“She was my cook first,” Anthony protested, likely turned a bit childish by the thought of such fare. Kate didn’t disagree; she would need to have an alternative menu prepared for herself if she indeed made good on her threat.

“Yes, well, she likes me better.”

“She does n—”

“Your tea, Anthony.”

Violet’s pointed voice startled Kate back to awareness. Judging from the looks the rest of the Bridgertons were giving them, ranging from Benedict’s vague amusement to Eloise’s relish to Francesca’s sympathy, Kate guessed that it was not the first time her mother-in-law had attempted to draw her husband’s attention to the cup she was extending to him. Anthony, clearly better practiced at glossing over such moments, merely took his tea and sipped at it politely.

“Delicious as always, Mother,” he said, all correctness. “I’m so very glad we were both able to join you this afternoon.”

Kate narrowed her eyes, and she would have kicked him would it not have been too obvious. As it was, she simply said, “Oh, yes, it has been absolutely lovely,” and decided that she would take him further to task when they returned home.

“Well, marriage does seem to have some practicalities to recommend it if nothing else,” Penelope commented as she and Kate walked down the street to the subscription library of which they were both members. The weather had shifted from a damp gloom to an unseasonable brightness, and Kate took in the air, refreshingly cool but not chill, with relish. “Had we needed to wait for my mama or one of the maids, busy as they were assisting my sisters, we might have been forced to postpone our outing for another week at least.”

It did still surprise Kate that she was now considered a suitable chaperone - at this time last year, she would have expected herself quite a bit more likely to reach such a position simply due to age rather than via marriage. However, she knew well the desire to make one’s unwedded state a casual fact so as not to cause awkwardness for others, and she suspected that Penelope was attempting the same now.

Studiously not thinking of her argument and subsequent reconciliation with Anthony the previous night, Kate said lightly, “Yes, not needing to be accompanied everywhere is one aspect which I have found to be worthwhile,” but did not dwell further on the topic.

Nevertheless, it was clear that her marriage was on the minds of others. As Kate and Penelope entered the library, several of the other ladies inside glanced at them and then immediately began whispering to their companions. Kate was not conceited, but she had little hope that anything other than her arrival had caused the reaction: Penelope, already sliding away to examine the shelves, had managed to leave the house in a day dress of pretty pale blue muslin rather than one of her mother’s more noteworthy choices, and the tongues had scarcely ceased wagging over Kate’s hasty wedding to the very eligible Viscount Bridgerton before she had quite publicly broken her leg and all but disappeared for months.

She had some friends, and her family of course, but never having been among the fashionable set nor a particular standout in any way other than her plainness and relationship to Edwina, she was not exactly a known quantity among the ton. In a strange way, her unremarkableness had made her even more an object of fascination.

I am going to have to entertain sometime soon, she thought with dismay. Else I will never have anyone used to me.

But that would come sometime later. For now, she could simply browse the shelves in the hope of finding something new and diverting. She had already devoured Miss Austen’s latest, of course, and Mrs. Gorley’s work was not precisely to her tastes, but she did think she spied a copy of Walter Scott’s Waverley just there - it had been published months ago, but had been so popular that she hadn’t a chance to read it before now.

Elevating slightly up onto her toes, Kate reached for it, fingers grasping the spine and just beginning to pull the volume down when an altogether too familiar voice said, “Ah, I thought that was you, Kate. Here, allow me.”

Her husband’s hand, warm and broad, brushed beside hers and removed the book, bringing it down to a more comfortable height with a bow. She accepted the volume with a brief “Thank you,” glancing sharply around at everyone watching before she ground out in low tones, “You just happened to be passing, I assume?”

“Of course.” He was all innocence. “Quite the lucky coincidence, I would say.”

“Quite.” Her teeth were going to crumble in her mouth at this rate. She forced her jaw to relax and painted on a cheerful expression. “Well, thank you for the assistance. I shall see you this evening.”

“You are most welcome.” Tilting his head with the smile she was certain had charmed altogether too many women, he added, “But must I truly wait until this evening? Surely I could accompany you for the rest of your afternoon - I am already here after all, and have little else to occupy myself.”

Hitching up her own smile even as she knew that it would do nothing to deter the gossip she could fairly see floating around the two of them, she said, “I am afraid that I am already accompanied. See, Miss Featherington and I were so enjoying our time together.”

Penelope had been standing silently beside the adjoining bookshelf, clearly relying on the wisdom of animals and small children that if you stayed entirely still and quiet perhaps you would not be noticed. Her eyes widened fractionally as she realized that it had not worked and that she was in fact going to need to step over and be polite, but she did it anyway, curtsying to Anthony and greeting him. (Kate had noticed that for all of Penelope’s wallflower ways, that manner in which she, by preference or fate, tended to fade into the background, she had little trouble speaking with Anthony, intimidating as he was.)

“Wonderful to see you, Miss Featherington, as always,” he said, bowing in return. “How fortunate my wife is to have your company. I wonder if you would not mind allowing me to share in that pleasure as well?”

Had the situation been different, perhaps Kate would have sympathized with the way Penelope glanced hastily between the two of them, trying to conceal the vague panic on her face. She might have even found it amusing. As it was, she tried to communicate without words precisely how much she had been looking forward to some time without the presence of her intrusive husband.

“Well, this is meant to be the ladies’ library,” Penelope finally ventured and Kate fairly beamed.

Too soon, however. Anthony waved a hand. “Ah, do not concern yourself. I shall step out as you finish your browsing, and then we can all ride together in the park. After all, being in the barouche might offer a respite for my wife, given her injury. What a splendid idea, Miss Featherington.”

“Oh, but I—”

Penelope’s words seemed to dissolve in the air as Anthony gave another one of his charming smiles, bowed, and left, the door clicking quietly closed behind him.

“It is no matter,” Kate said before Penelope could add any sort of apology. “You did wonderfully - it is no fault of yours that he is so persistent.” She sighed. “The park will be lovely, I am sure. And I did manage to find a book before he arrived.” Turning her back on the onlookers still gawking at them, she added even more quietly, “Next time I shall simply neglect to share with him my plans for the day. He will not find me so easily then.”

Beginning to look just the slightest bit mischievous, Penelope asked, “Oh, but will he not simply begin to have you followed?”

Kate set her shoulders. “Then I shall at least lead him on a merry chase about London, and see how he enjoys that.”

“It was lovely of you to accompany me today, but may I say, Kate, how unkind you are to allow your sister to learn of your recent exploits only through Lady Whistledown.”

Edwina turned slowly on the spot to face Kate as the modiste pinned expertly at her hem. Her expression, once fully revealed, was far more playful than her disapproving tone had indicated. Kate wrinkled her nose at her, but her sister only laughed.

“The latest issue had much to say regarding the ongoing tension between yourself and your husband. The two of you are apparently engaged in ‘a battle of wits and wills.’”

“Wills and whims is perhaps more accurate.”

“Regardless, she seemed to find the affair most entertaining. Her description of the way you tried to ensure that he had an engagement for fencing with his brother while you paid calls, only to have him bring two brothers along to join you - the whole thing was quite amusing.” It truly was unfair how Edwina only looked lovelier when she put on that impish smile to tease Kate. “Considering how sharp her pen can be, it is remarkable how affectionate she remains toward the pair of you. I believe she is quite taken with you!”

“Yes, her devotion to the idea of our love match is quite remarkable.” Kate turned away to examine some ribbons, although she knew that it would not dissuade Edwina from continuing the conversation.

And indeed: “The idea of your love match?” She could practically hear the appearance of the frown. “Perhaps it was not immediate, but now...Kate, the two of you are quite mad for each other and I know you too well to be convinced otherwise.”

Kate thought of Anthony offering a dowry for Edwina, the comfort of his voice, his reliable presence during storms, the way he always made certain that his family and duties were entirely taken care of. She thought of him with his hair rumpled and boyish in the privacy of their home, how with a few words, a simple stroke of the hand, he could make her feel utterly beautiful, actually cherished in a way she never could have imagined for herself. She thought of all the times over the months of their marriage when they simply sat together, talking of events both large and inconsequential, how he listened to her opinions and how she liked to listen to his (even when they were quite clearly flawed), how she appreciated making him laugh such that the burden of his responsibilities weighed less if only for a short while. She pictured the glint in his eye as he tried to verbally best her and the one when he had decided that there had been enough words between them for the evening and he would prefer instead to rob her of the ability to speak.

She sighed. “You are not incorrect,” she said, twisting the end of a white satin ribbon so that it curled around the tip of her finger. “It is only that—I have found it surprisingly simple to be married to him, but there has been little chance for me to truly learn how to act in this new time of my life. I am a viscountess now, a wife, and I can scarcely settle into either role when I am constantly wondering when he will arrive to try to distract me from my tasks.”

“One might think that it would be easiest to learn how to be a wife when your husband is constantly beside you,” Edwina noted, although her voice was kind if not entirely filled with understanding. “However, of a more pressing nature: it seems that you need not wonder long today.”

Puzzled, Kate turned, the question of precisely what her sister was talking about already on her lips, but found that she did not need to give it voice. Through the large window in the front of the shop, it was easy to spot Anthony striding up the street, eyes fixed and grin wide.

“Allow me to guess,” Kate said as the door to the shop opened to admit him. She placed one hand on her hip, tapping her chin with the other in mock thought. “You bribed my maid into telling you where we had gone and then simply happened to be in the area?”

“Your mother told me where you were with no bribery involved,” he said cheerfully. “And it did in fact so happen that I too had business only on the next street. Now—” He glanced around at the modiste’s assistant, who had remained ducked into a curtsy at the sight of him. “Please fetch the viscountess a seat.”

“I have no need of a seat,” Kate protested.

“As we shall be going soon,” he nodded. “Very sensible of you. Once Edwina has finished, there is a new cake shop I am eager to try. I believe that they have a confection made with lemon syrup which will be much to your liking, Kate.”

His outward manner was one of simple, practiced courteousness. In reality, she knew that he was attempting once more to win his way, but she also saw the smile, which was honest and directed only at her.

“I suppose we may add such a venture to our plans,” she agreed with a sigh. If nothing else, she would at least get some cake from the arrangement.

“Not to credit myself exceedingly,” Colin said as he and Kate walked together from the drawing room at Bridgerton House. “But I daresay none of my siblings would have made quite so good a partner, so it really was a good showing on my part to introduce you to Anthony and facilitate your joining the family.” The two of them had been paired together during charades following supper, and it was no boast to say that they had absolutely trounced the others.

“Not to credit yourself exceedingly, of course,” Kate said dryly. “Particularly as that introduction was made more in the spirit of your own entertainment than it was in hopes of our future together.”

“Ah, Kate, what a blow.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

Her mouth twitched uncontrollably into a smile. “You do not deny it. I judge my aim to be true.”

“Well, I shall take the acclaim for your wedded bliss, regardless of my original intentions.”

“Yes,” she said. “Our bliss.” But her smile faded a bit and she knew that she saw.

“My brother continues to exasperate, I gather.”

“He would certainly say the same of you,” Kate said, trying to tease. It was true, but she also found that she did not particularly care for others speaking against her husband, even if they might be correct.

“Oh, he has called me much worse than exasperating. Indeed, I recall—”

“You recall what?”

Kate turned just in time to see Violet fall into step with them, smiling briefly at her daughter-in-law before she turned to her son and said keenly, “Well, what is it that you were speaking of?”

“Only the tendency of your eldest son to irritate those around him,” Colin replied smoothly. “Tell us, Mother, did his nature show while he was still in his swaddling clothes, or did it only reveal itself once he began speaking?”

“Oh, hush. He was perfect, as all my children were, you know that.” She swatted lightly at his arm, before dropping her voice and adding, “Although there are perhaps some stories I could tell…”

“I for one would enjoy hearing them,” Kate said.

“Of course you would.” Violet’s light tone shifted just the slightest bit as she added, “You know, I can certainly have a word with him if he truly is causing you trouble. A reminder of one of those stories might serve well as a warning.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder at where Anthony was coming down the hall behind them, listening intently to something that Gregory was saying even as Hyacinth bobbed at his elbow and tried to interrupt. He really would make a wonderful father someday; in certain ways, he had already been playing the part for years now. She sighed, her heart softening a bit once again, and turned back to her companions.

“Please, do not worry yourself. Truly, all is well between the two of us, and I can certainly manage the situation if need be.” She linked her arm through Violet’s, a devilish little smile touching at her lips. “However, knowing one or two of these famous stories of yours might not go amiss. They sound ever so fascinating, after all.”

“How kind of you to allow me the pleasure of a dance,” Anthony said as they waltzed together a week later at Lady Vincent’s. “I have noticed you are less than satisfied to see me of late.”

“I would be perfectly happy to see you if only you did not force me to do so quite as constantly,” Kate reminded him. “And if you continue chasing me down and making a nuisance of yourself, perhaps in future I shall dance with your brother instead. If he is not much more accomplished than you in that area, these days he at least strikes me as less vexatious.”

“Who, Benedict?” He snorted, looking to the edge of the floor where his brother was sipping extremely slowly from a glass of punch, likely to avoid his mother’s latest attempts at matchmaking. “You are misled.”

“A pity. Luckily, I was referring to Gregory.”

“I had not realized they allowed waltzing in the schoolroom.”

“Ah, well, I suppose I shall have to make do with you. Only pray remember even as I grant you that, it makes you not a jot less maddening.”

Her coiffeur for the evening involved cascading curls; they fluttered with his breath as he bent toward her and said very softly against her ear, “After this insufferable affair has come to its end and I have taken you home, I shall remind you precisely how I can madden you, and how very much you can enjoy it.”

The flush which crept from cheeks to throat to collarbone and down along her décolletage felt apparent even to her, and she could tell from the gleam in his eye that he well enjoyed watching it spread. That look of superiority could not stand, so she mastered herself, leaning in to give a whisper of her own. “Perhaps I shall deny you such an opportunity and madden you in my stead. Turnabout being fair play, after all.”

“I should like to see you try,” he said, voice still low. “It has not escaped my notice that I am not the only one in our marriage with...robust appetites.”

The music was coming to a close; there was only a moment more for them to speak this way. She had the chance for the last word, and she seized it.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton. You should have known better than to challenge me.”

Kate surveyed herself one final time with a surprising degree of satisfaction. Although Lady Bridgerton had insisted on expanding her wardrobe considerably before the wedding, there had been little opportunity to show off the modiste’s fine work; sitting in bed or around the house with her leg thrust awkwardly forward called more often for clothing in the category of old and comfortable rather than fashionable. Although Kate had never cared overmuch about how she dressed, wearing something new which suited her was a bit of a treat.

She was taking her enjoyment where she could these days. Anthony had become, if anything, more persistent in his intentions to find her wherever she went, leading her to make good on her threat not to allow him to pay her interest in a more private setting.

(Although she had obeyed only the letter rather than the spirit of his condition of faithfulness so long as she did not bar him from the bed, she had no worries on that score. He loved her, she knew that, and besides, between his usual responsibilities and his determination to chase her down at every opportunity during the day, and his attempts to seduce her all night, where would he find the time to stray?)

While her prohibition clearly seemed to have an effect on him, given the time he was investing in attempting to convince her to give over to him and the snappish manner he had taken on over the last several days when she had not, she was not finding the situation precisely easy either. As Anthony had pointed out, since their marriage, she had become accustomed to having certain needs met, and now that she was aware of those needs, it was most displeasing to have them remain unsatisfied.

“Excellent.” She jumped a bit at hearing Anthony’s voice in the doorway of their bedchamber, pretending to herself that it was merely because she had expected to have a bit more time to depart considering the appointments she knew he had scheduled today. It had nothing to do, of course, with the fact of him here in the flesh after she had been recalling that flesh so vividly to mind. “Are we going out, then?”

She ignored him, picking up the lead from the side table as she called Newton’s name sharply. Unfortunately, he simply continued to doze on the floor beside the bed. Holding back a sigh, she went over and attached him to it, which did manage to wake him. Instead of stretching and standing with any degree of dignity, however, he immediately leaped up, panting, and attempted to pull her from the room. It was only her preemptively planted feet which kept her from being towed gracelessly behind.

Although she had purposefully avoided eye contact with him, Anthony, still lounging in the doorway, said blithely, “I had been hoping to have an opportunity to take some air. A walk with the creature will be perfect.”

And that, for some reason, was it. Perhaps because it had been going on so long, or perhaps because she had spent the past several nights lying inches away but not touching him even as her fingers fairly itched to do so, or perhaps it was because Newton was behaving ridiculously, or because Anthony was insisting on joining them only to spite her (he did not even like her dog enough to use his name), or some combination of all of those factors and more, but her voice went quite deadly, coldly dignified, as she said, “My apologies, but you shall not be joining us, my lord. You shall stay here, and I will speak to you upon my return. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Luckily, his spine had gone straight with shock at hearing her tone, entirely devoid of teasing or requisite argument or begrudging capitulation; she did not think he would have moved over on his own enough for her to pass. As it was, even as she and Newton descended the stairs and departed the house, she nearly expected to be followed.

She did not expect the small pang which struck her when she realized she had not been. After all this time, she had managed to push him away and she was unsure what it might cost her.

Newton’s energy had flagged after less than an hour - the consequences of short legs, she supposed, and perhaps the interrupted nap - but she forced the two of them to stay out for a respectable interval. It had been hard-won, after all.

When she finally returned, she removed her bonnet, saw Newton settled and lapping noisily at a bowl of water, and spoke briefly to the butler and the housekeeper before she asked where her husband was and braced her feet toward his study.

She was somewhat surprised that he was still in the house, although it was entirely expected that he would withdraw from their bedroom rather than remaining there at her order like a caught child. The way he moved his pen across the page, all tightly wound fury, his choice not to look up although he surely heard her tread or her light knock - all just as she predicted. Even the way he spoke when he finally chose to wipe his pen, set his papers aside, and look at her, the ringing command of, “I will not be addressed in such a way, Kate,” was the voice of the viscount, precisely as she had known that it would be.

But she had not known she could respond similarly until she did. “Then do not require it of me, Anthony,” she said: the voice of the viscountess, although she had never before heard it from her own mouth.

He looked for a moment just as taken aback as she felt, the mask dropping briefly. It was enough to soften her, making her sigh and walk in toward him, closing the door behind herself. She leaned on the corner of his desk nearest him, hands clasped and resting against her skirts.

“Anthony,” she said, gazing down at him. “Anthony, this is becoming absurd. Will you please tell me what on earth you have been thinking of?”

He said nothing, mouth pressed mulishly inward, but he turned just the slightest bit toward her, angled his legs so that they were nearer hers, and she recognized the space he was opening. She reached down to take his hand, pressing it to her lips.

“Please.” Her words were becoming ever softer. “Please, I must know what is going through your mind. Will you tell me?”

Although she had heard him speak clearly mere moments before, when he finally began to talk, his voice was hoarse enough that he had to clear his throat once, twice, before he was finally able to be understood.

“It was your injury at first. Needing to stay close to you to reassure myself that you truly were well and would not be overcome, yes, but…” He inhaled slowly and deeply before he continued. “I am certain that no matter how long my life, I shall never forget the sight of you beneath that carriage, so still and silent.” His gaze met hers, and she saw the shine of tears there. “If such an accident could happen once, it could happen again, and I would—I could not have borne it had anything else occurred, but more than that, I could not take the chance that I might be away from you when it did. What if you needed me and I was off looking at accounts, or taking care of some foolish errand, or sitting about playing cards, or doing anything but all that I could to help you? So I made certain that I would be near you as often as I could.”

“Anthony—” she started, but now that he had begun speaking he could not seem to stop himself.

“I know the extreme unlikeliness of you breaking another limb while trying on gloves or sitting taking tea or what have you, but I could not take the chance. And beyond that...I know you have doubts regarding my foreshortened life. Nevertheless, your advice was to ensure that whenever my time comes, I would be without regret. And aside from neglecting the continued well-being of my family and tenants, the thing I would regret the most is not spending enough time with you.”

His hand, which lay so naturally in hers that she had nearly forgotten she was holding it, tightened as he faced her. “It took me too long to understand that I loved you, and longer still to realize that you have become my favorite person to spend time with. Having you at home for all of those months made it terribly easy for me to become accustomed to being around you for hours or days at a time, and even that might not have satisfied me. Truly, I am not certain that ninety years beside you would be enough.”

Emotion seemed, for a moment, to eclipse her ability to speak. She had the feeling that anyone might have reacted thus to such a declaration of love, but she was only just finding out what it was to be loved, that it was possible for her to be desired. She had spent her life up until the last months believing that if she did not remain a spinster altogether, her prospects were limited to those desperate for any sort of wife. Hearing these words from someone who loved her truly and especially was quite overwhelming.

Even knowing that it would not be truly comfortable for either of them, she could not help herself: she relinquished his hand and settled herself in his lap, pressing her forehead into the space between his jaw and throat as they both breathed together. He did not seem to mind the discomfort, holding her tightly.

When she had finally mastered herself, she said, still a bit shakily but making the best of it, “I must say that I don’t know that spending every moment of the next ninety years together is truly practical.”

She seemed to be able to nearly feel his answering smile. “Perhaps not, but one cannot make such a statement before making the attempt.” And then the smile was gone again from his voice, although she hoped not far. “I know that my mother wishes often that my father could be there to experience life beside her. For the larger moments, of course - when Hyacinth was born, and seeing my brothers off to school and to university, and for all the courtships and marriages and births to come - but for all the little in-betweens as well. I never—” He cleared his throat once again. “I do not want to reach the end of my life, whenever that may be, without knowing that I experienced you smiling at me, or handing me cups of tea just the way I like them, or telling me about whatever you have read lately absolutely as many times as I could.”

“What about hearing me play the flute as many times as you could?” she asked, holding back a sniffle. He really was quite sweet sometimes - as sweet as he was irritating, which meant abominably so.

Close as she was, she felt the wince even as he checked it a second later. “And hearing you play the flute, of course.”

“Then I shall be certain to play for you this very evening.” He did not respond but she resisted prodding him into agreement, choosing instead to say gently, “You know, I’m quite honored that you took my advice with such seriousness, but I wonder if you have forgotten the other part of it. Spending all this time worrying over regrets rather than settling into the wonder of each day...We are trying to build a life, and I want you to have a chance to revel in the array of it rather than attempting to hoard memories by volume."

“You think perhaps that I shall miss the forest for the trees? That in turning greedy for as many tiny moments as I can have, I shall forget to enjoy our life together as a whole?”

“Just so,” she said, relaxing further against him. "Not to mention the practicality of it all. Even if you were with me all day long from the time that you awoke - and I fear I would turn murderess in such a circumstance - but even so, there would be some second that your back was turned, some word or gesture that you missed. And besides, one day there might be more than us two in our family and I should hope that you would want to collect some fatherly experiences as well. Considering how much time you have spent only trying to follow me about…”

“How I should manage with a child or more I cannot think." Resting his cheek on the crown of her head, he sighed against her. "Must you be so impossibly sensible all the time?"

"Yes, I absolutely must," she said solemnly, although she was quite glad to hear his own good sense finally reasserting itself. "However, indulgent wife that I am, I shall make you a bargain: you might not be able to see me all the time, but we may arrange some—" She held up a finger for emphasis before he could get any ideas. "Some outings together during the day, and perhaps find some mutual activity to partake in. And we shall spend every evening that we are able together."

"I still will not have my fill of you."

"Perhaps. And perhaps I never would of you. But whether ten years or thirty or ninety together, we can make each day have been enough."

He groaned, leaning back as much as he was able. The chair at his desk truly was not intended to hold two fully grown adults. "Some healthy debate is one thing, but I dislike truly arguing with you: today was more than enough."

"Really?" She had begun tracing the buttons of his waistcoat, just lightly. "It is only afternoon. I can think of certain activities to occupy us for some time yet."

Before she truly registered the motion, she had been lifted into the air, his stride easy and purposeful as he carried her across the room.

"Have I told you lately how much I appreciate your mind? You really do have some marvelous ideas."

"And what if I had meant we should spend the rest of the day playing chess? Or visiting your mother?" she said, although she knew he could hear the joy in her voice.

"I could convince you otherwise," he said. "Believe me."

She did. Not that it would do to tell him, but she would not have taken very much convincing at all.

No one was overly surprised when Kate delivered a baby midway through the next year. In fact, if she heard Simon correctly as she passed his study at Hastings House before they announced her condition, there had been some playful questioning over whether Anthony understood the precise mechanics of things.

“Considering the amount of time you spend together, one would think the newest Bridgerton would have appeared already,” her brother-in-law had laughed.

If it had been one of his own brothers speaking, Kate suspected that the remark would have earned a swift smack upside the head, but as it was, her husband only replied, his voice like a hand on the hilt of a sword, “Remember that is my wife you are speaking of. And I’ll have you know that I could easily spend quite a bit more time with her, new Bridgerton or no.”

“Well.” Kate could not see past the cracked door into the room proper, but there was enough surprise in his voice to picture the Duke of Hastings with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Apparently that is your wife we are speaking of.”

And despite the foolish masculinity of their conversation, it had made her smile.

She smiled quite a lot these days. Not so much when Edmund was being born, painful as it was, but in the months afterward, even with the baby so very small and fretful, she could not help herself as they settled into being a family.

In the past, she had considered the idea of waking with a smile to be the stuff of daydreams and silly novels, but no longer, and as she typically greeted the day wrapped in her husband’s embrace, she felt that she could be forgiven for the sentimentality. They always managed to have at least a few moments speaking together in the mornings before Anthony had to be up for some appointment or Kate needed to be off to meet her mother or sister, or her mother- or sisters-in-law. (Sometimes it was more than a few moments filled not precisely with speaking, which Kate found to be a rather delightful way to start a day.)

Afternoons found them often apart, although not as often as most married couples: few wives had promises of the favor of their company for a midday walk solicited so frequently, and most husbands avoided tea with the ladies like the plague rather than arranging to be welcomed to it. Seeing him appear in the doorway was always cause for a smile - although she did admit that it turned devious on the occasions that he realized too late that she was entertaining certain members of the ton who he typically preferred to avoid. It always suited her to have an ally, and as he was the one insisting on being present, he would have to take the bad along with the good.

In the evenings, so long as they had no other engagements, they would sit together after eating and share tales of what they had seen and done while apart during the day. He was well known for a most impertinent and absolutely entertaining impersonation of Lord Liverpool, but refused to allow her to show off to his family her impressions of the ladies of society - apparently it would give Eloise and Hyacinth ideas.

As if those two could not come up with ideas perfectly well on their own, and would regardless of any influence, but she let him have his fantasies.

Eloise herself took a seat between Anthony and Kate one morning as some of the family sat together in the drawing room at Violet’s new home. Kate, although she was now capably assuming the role of viscountess in true, had been a bit relieved that when her mother-in-law left Bridgerton House, the center of the family had shifted with her; she did love them all, but she was fairly unaccustomed to people turning up and going in and out at all hours. Violet was not even currently at home - she had gone calling and left her children with the run of the place. Not, in Kate’s opinion, a completely sound decision, considering the particular children involved.

Eloise, for example, had not actually sat between her brother and sister-in-law, but had more accurately placed herself practically atop the two of them: had Anthony not begrudgingly shifted over, Kate might have had to balance a grown woman in her lap along with her baby son. Leaning over, Eloise cooed at Edmund, who only smacked his lips together and yawned before dozing off again.

“How lucky you are, Kate, that he is still so small and sweet.”

Kate recalled how three nights past he had kept the house up until the wee hours and nearly had the nurse in tears. “Oh, I believe he is on his company behavior for you.”

“There will come a time where he has no company behavior,” Eloise predicted, nodding sagely. “He will forget all of your good instruction and simply stomp about. Or perhaps mope. He might take after Benedict - he was a mopey sort.”

At the sound of his name, the brother in question looked over from where he had been gazing absently through the window and pulled a face at his sister, although he ended up grinning a bit when she gave one right back to him. Kate was glad to see it; he had been unusually quiet over the past month or two.

“Luckily,” Eloise continued, “he will be at school by then, for the most part, and scolding him will be someone else’s concern.” Turning toward Anthony, she asked, “I wonder, however, how you plan to keep yourself occupied for the foreseeable future.”

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony said, in that familiar ‘your mind is completely confounding, Eloise’ voice.

“Well, Kate will be spending the next years child-rearing, and running Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall, and playing hostess, and—” She waved a hand. “Viscountessing. So will you be taking up a hobby to occupy yourself until your children are grown? Fishing, perhaps, or gambling on horse races? Oh, I have it: you shall write poetry.”

Kate suppressed a snort while Anthony visibly gathered himself. “If you will recall,” he started with stiff patience, “I have my own responsibilities as well. And there is no reason for Kate to raise the children by herself - Mother and Father were partners in that as in everything, and we shall be as well.”

They had spoken of this before, but Kate could not help but bend her face toward the baby and pretend to adjust his cap. Each time she had heard him mention this, the delight of the thought nearly overwhelmed her.

When she looked up, Anthony was staring past Eloise and right at her. “And besides,” he said, barely for anyone but Kate. “I believe my time will be quite consumed otherwise, and well spent for it.”

“I would tend to concur,” she said, knowing that he was not referring to the music lessons he had recently begun, or even activities of a more personal sort. But before he could crow the victory for having gained her agreement, she smiled at him and waited, knowing that he would be unable to keep himself from smiling back.

[nastasyafilippovnas]

Imagine: Kate shows up, is absolutely amazing, realises Anthony is a mess of a man and is like “nah” and marries next seasons version of Prince Fredrich and Anthony tells violet to leave him alone and marries Siena, like he is obviously meant too, and everyone lives happily ever after.

That would be amazing. <3 also, I got really inspired after this ask, lol, but in an angsty way, so, let's just say this is in the beginning of this imaginary s02, before we can get to the everyone lives happily ever after: 

"why are you wasting both of our time when you so clearly wish you were with someone else?”, anthony & kate talking, santhony, kate/oc, wc. 1.2k (ao3 link)

After their dance, Lord Bridgerton escorted her to one of the quietest corners of the ballroom, a private place for them to talk to while still in plain view of the ton. Kate supposed that, to anyone watching, they would seem rather intimate. In fact, she could almost see the pleased smiles on her mama and the Dowager Viscountess’ faces, as they imagined planning another wedding at the end of the season. She resisted the urge to groan in discontentment, for it would be most unladylike. 

Kate wasn’t completely opposed to marriage and the Viscount was certainly a fine catch, but he was so dull and proper the whole time. He knew nothing of India and he didn’t seem interesting in learning about her country or even herself. That is, besides what was necessary to ascertain that she would be an adequate wife.

If she were to marry, surely, there were better, more exciting prospects to be found amongst London’s society. Someone charming, travelled, eager to explore new lands, who would treat her as his equal. Someone… not unlike Captain Ellingsworth, whom she met on her travel from India to England. She had enjoyed their conversations on the deck of the ship immensely, as the Captain told her about his travels and she shared stories of her country and culture. But the Captain never once mentioned marriage, and, besides, her papa would never consent to such a union, to a second son, that earned his living in the navy. 

Papa would not satisfy himself with anything less than a titled firstborn, like Lord Bridgerton, who had not said a word to her after escorting her from the dance floor and shoving a glass of water in her hand.

Kate looked back at him, ready to complain about his treatment, only to realize his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a woman dressed in a sinfully (for the British, anyway) deep red laced gown was surrounded by a group of gentlemen.

Miss Rosso was undoubtedly the best soprano Kate had ever heard in her life. She had sang a couple of arias in the beginning of the ball, before the dancing had started, and was now receiving accolades from her adoring fans. A young one had even offered a bouquet of flowers and pledged his undying love to her, to the others’ amusement. Kate would’ve loved to meet her, to ask where she found the inspiration to sing with such passion, but it wouldn’t be proper for a young, unmarried lady such as herself to entertain such company. 

The Viscount, she noticed, also seemed incapable to take his eyes away from her. It was so glaringly obvious that Kate wondered how it had taken her so long to see it. He had asked her to dance as soon as Miss Rosso’s performance had come to an end, his movements both purposeful and stiff, as if he was forcing himself to do it, as if he had something to prove to someone. And she prided herself on being observant, really!

Kate took a sip from her water glass and decided to act accordingly to what she, personally, always felt was her best quality: blunt honesty.

“You know, why are you wasting both of our time when you so clearly wish you were with someone else?” 

He looked back at her quickly, confusion and guilty marring his sharp features, and she pointed discreetly with her head back to the other side of the room.

Lord Bridgerton followed the movement with his eyes and - because she had ben waiting for it this time - Kate saw as an expression of pain and longing crossed his face before the Viscount’s mask of indifference was back into place.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, turning back to look her in the eye. “I'm perfectly happy where I am.”

Kate raised one her eyebrows - a move she had copied from her late grandmother -, the skepticism obvious in her features. “I assure you, Miss Sharma, Miss Rosso and I are merely old acquaintances.” He paused and looked back across the room towards the woman they were discussing. The crowd of admirers around Miss Rosso seemed to have increased, if that was at all possible. Kate could see now that some of the older women, widows with nothing to fear for their reputation such as Lady Cowper and Lady Danbury, had also joined their circle. She was watching the crowd so intently, wondering if any of the ladies would be persuaded to introduce her to Miss Rosso, that she almost missed the viscount’s next words.

“She has made her decision about me a long time ago.” He muttered, more to himself than to her, she supposed.

Her mother would’ve told her to pretend she didn’t hear such confession, one that clearly spoke of a prior and scandalous attachment. 

But Kate never much heeded her mother’s advices.

“Is that so?” She enquired, forcing him to turn around and look at her. She didn’t know if the frown on his face was because she was daring to question him about his words or because she had forced him to pay attention to her, instead of looking across the room, to the one he wanted most. It didn’t much matter either way, she thought. “I find that most interesting.”

“Why is it interesting?” Lord Bridgerton asked, more out of politeness than anything else, she supposed. The British tried to keep their manners even amidst heartbreak.

Kate smiled softly. “When you’re not looking at, she is always looking at you, with that same expression of regret you have. It’s like a mirror. And her eyes followed you across the room the whole time we were dancing.” He closed his eyes during her speech, as if her words were unbearable. But there was so much Kate had noticed tonight, she couldn’t stop the words from coming. “When we waltzed, she…”

“That's enough.” He interrupted her sharply. “Thank you, Miss Sharma, but I think I shall retire for the evening." 

“But she…you…” For the first time, Kate didn’t know what to say. She might not have thought this whole think through. She had thought he would have been happy to know his affections were corresponded.

“I don’t know how it works on the eastern corners of the Empire,” Anthony said, and for the first time, Kate thought she heard a hint of curiosity in his voice, about a faraway land where their fates might’ve been different, “but here in London, there are no happy endings for rakes and prima donnas.”

“I don’t understand…you could…” She started saying, but Anthony was already shaking his head, closing the subject behind them. She had thought he had put on the Viscount mask on before, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the resolution he supported now. He looked like a completely different man and the change disturbed her. 

“I shall call on you and your sister tomorrow, if you will let me. We can go promenade if the weather is good.” He said, dropping a kiss to her gloved hand.

She didn’t consent to the visit, as she should have. She didn't felt the kiss he placed on her hand either. Instead, out of their own volition, her eyes travelled across the room, locking on a pair of light brown ones that were full of anguish. No one noticed her pain. Around her, they all smiled, dazzled by her talent and beauty, but, as Anthony left, Kate swore she saw the soprano shed a tear.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

I wonder what it’s like to be loved by you // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Is this the season where he finally realises?

A/N: I LOVE BENEDICT. I love him so much. What do I have to do to get a Benedict? Title is from Shawn Mendes - Wonder. I had so much fun writing this fic, I can’t wait to write more for the Bridgerton fandom! I truly hope you all like it, let me know what you think please?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and drink, fluff, pining, mutual pining, dancing, balls, obliviousness, friends to lovers, she/her pronouns, a lot of history - I am a historian after all and this is the regency era.

Word count: 4.8k

Lady Danbury never spared any expense on the balls she held every season. She knew full well that many a match could be made that night so there was not only pressure from the ton, but also a responsibility that this ball must outdo all others thrown before – by herself and other matriarchs in society.

A feat she always managed to achieve, the elder thinks to herself as she watches your eyes widen upon entering the ornately decorated room. Looking you up and down, she approves of your outfit – a dark blue dress punctuated with silver jewellery, hair twisted into an updo with only a few strands hanging loose to frame your face. From her spot across the ballroom, Lady Danbury wonders how you hadn’t married yet.

As the band strikes up, Lady Danbury walks into the fray, greeting her guests with a smile. All the while, she keeps a trained eye on you, wondering who on earth had captured your heart but had not noticed.

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

No matter how hard he tried, the charcoal would not wash from his fingers. Having scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, Benedict could only offer you a smile of apology as you not only noted his lateness but the state of his hands.

“It’s very fortunate that you are a talented artist,” You comment with a teasing smile.

Benedict reaches for your hand, dropping a kiss to the back of it before answering. “I class myself as very fortunate to have a friend like you who understands how easy it is to get lost in a sketch or a painting.”

You roll your eyes, careful not to let anyone else but Benedict see your act of impropriety. He smirks, unable to help himself.

“You’re a shameful flatterer, Benedict.”

“Some might even call me a ‘rake’,” He replies, his tone teasing.

“I shall save that for when you’ve really annoyed me.”

He laughs; a loud chuckle that draws the attention of those closest to you. Most notably, Benedict’s mother, Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury.

Benedict clears his throat; cheeks flushed not only from the attention but from the knowledge that his mother would soon be making her way over to him. He adored his mother; was grateful for her every day, but he could happily admit he could live without the meddling in his love life. He grabs your gloved hand once more; kissing the back of it in parting before asking, “Save me a dance on your card?”

“Always,” You answer, watching his back as he stalks away. Benedict narrowly avoids being collared by his mother, an act to which you find yourself smiling at.

With thoughts of Benedict in mind, you wander around the outskirts of the ballroom, your dark blue skirts swishing pleasantly under foot. You pause only to grab a lemonade from the table, sipping happily at the cold drink.

You catch sight of the brunette that had stolen your heart dancing with Penelope Featherington and though you know there is no romance there, your heart is unable to stop the hurt that lashes through it. Schooling your face into a mask of polite delight, you force yourself to turn away from the sight of the man you had so readily given your heart to dancing with someone else.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” A raspy voice asks from behind you.

Your lemonade splashes slightly as you turn to face your interrogator. “Eloise!” You laugh, smiling too wide to be comfortable, “Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise’s shrewd blue eyes narrow slightly as she takes in your dismissal. She waves her hand in the general direction of Benedict though you knew exactly where he was – could feel his location thrumming in your veins.

“Don’t play coy, (Y/N). It doesn’t become you. Now, how long have you been in love with Benedict?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? How long had you loved Benedict? Thinking back on it, you’re sure that you’ve always loved him. Your family had been good friends with the Bridgerton family for as long as you could remember. Your mother was always having tea with Violet and you were always thrust upon the eight siblings without much worry. Your friendship with Benedict had started in earnest when you had complimented his art skills, bringing up how you liked to draw too. From there, a close friendship was forged.

By your twentieth year on this earth, you realised that your feelings for the second Bridgerton were no longer platonic… that you craved something more. Falling for Benedict Bridgerton felt inevitable almost; that your heart was destined to be his whether he knew it or not.

Sighing heavily, you see no point in lying to the second eldest Bridgerton girl. “For as long as I can remember,” You admit, rushing to add on, “But he doesn’t know so please don’t tell him!”

Eloise’s eyes widen at your confession, not only shocked that you readily admitted your feelings for her elder brother, but for how long you have harboured them. “Is that why you have not yet married?” She demands, “Because you loved him?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. Their wife in love with another man – it doesn’t exactly set stable foundations for a long, prosperous marriage and…”

“And…” Eloise prompts, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. If her mother could hear her now, she would surely receive a scolding.

You ball your hands into fists before letting them drop to your sides; letting them hang there like the constant hope you have for Benedict.

“And I still hope he’ll notice I’m here. That I have been here all along,” You voice cracks on the admission causing a pang of upset to flash through Eloise. She’d reach out to comfort you, but it would only draw attention from the many mothers circling and no doubt, Lady Whistledown.

“(Y/N)…” Eloise begins but you hold a single hand up to stop her before she starts. With a strained smile, you reassure her. “It’s fine, Eloise. I accept it with every season that passes that it is unlikely he shall ever return my feelings.”

“Then he is a fool,” Eloise states plaining, sending a glare in the direction of her beloved brother. She had no qualms admitting that Benedict was indeed her favourite sibling, but he had his moments where he vexed her beyond belief.

“Who is a fool?” A voice questions to the right of you. Benedict.

Freezing in place, you cast a helpless look at Eloise, begging her silently to take control of this situation. Eloise smiles and nods imperceptibly. She turns towards her brother, hooking her arm through yours as she declares, “The men that have not offered their hand to (Y/N) yet. They’re all fools, aren’t they dear brother.”

Benedict casts his gaze towards you; his eyes scanning your face for what, he does not know. “Fools,” He agrees quietly though he is heard perfectly over the music. “Would you care to dance?” He asks, wanting you to himself for a little while. As much as he loved his younger sister, she was a keen observer, and he wasn’t ready for her to figure out his feelings just yet. Not when he hadn’t admitted them to you.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand, bidding goodbye to Eloise for now. The brunette shakes her head as the both of you walk away. Oblivious, she thinks to herself, completely oblivious.

As the music strikes up once more, it becomes obvious that the next dance is a waltz, requiring the closeness of your partner. It was only years ago that this dance had scandalised the ton for its closeness – now, it was required at every ball, many married couples savouring the intimacy.

Benedict’s hand settles on the small of your back as his other grips your hand. Your hand rests comfortably on his shoulder as he begins to lead you through the steps you have known since your youth.

Music around you fades as do the other couples. The only two people in the room are Benedict and yourself. The feel of his hand on your back and the look in his eyes; it’s enough to have you accept your fate then and there. It’s enough for you to admit that you have been ruined for any and all men; finding yourself in love with the man who holds you so tenderly and has always held you in high regard. Is this it? You ask yourself, is this what it feels like to be loved by him? To feel like the only one in the world. If it is, you’ll take it with open hands.

Your eyes do not leave his as Benedict leads you through the rises and falls of the dance. His hand remains a steady presence on your lower back; the feeling just enough to distract you from the crowd now watching you and instead, leading you to wonder what his hands would feel like elsewhere on your body.

As the music falls into another song; this one more upbeat, Benedict drops his hands, letting you free. He hadn’t wanted to; had wanted to pull you from the ballroom, to confess the feelings that have haunted him for years and to ask you to be his for better or for worse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he bows and smiles, reaches for your hand to kiss it and then lets himself breathe as he turns and walks away.

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

Dear Reader,

Though there is much to report from Lady Danbury’s ball last night – the fashion, the food, the décor – This Author wants to focus on one moment in particular.

Now, Dear Reader, whilst you may wonder the importance of such a moment, remember that it is one’s job to observe all. That is why I want to bring attention to Mr. Benedict Bridgerton who found himself extremely popular last night, dancing with many eligible women and delighting them with his talents.

However, Dear Reader, this is not the moment I want to focus on.

No. Instead, I want to bring attention to the heart most likely suffering in silence as Mr. Bridgerton continues to charm the ton.

As you all know, I am not one to beat around the proverbial bush and hide identities, but for the sake of the woman who has found herself in love with the second eldest Bridgerton for as long she can remember, I shall endeavour to keep her name a secret.

Know, however, that This Author’s sympathies lie with you.

To love another unrequitedly is a dear shame.

----------

The gossip sheet is scrunched to a ball in your hands. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from falling down your face. As if you didn’t know your love was unrequited; as if you didn’t know you had all but doomed yourself to being a spinster as you wait for a man who did not know you loved him.

Lady Whistledown knew your secret, and your identity. As a result, the whole ton knew your secret but whatever morals the author possesses, she had not revealed your identity.

Summoning the carriage, you ask to be taken to Bridgerton House where you can speak to Eloise in confidence and ask for her advice on what she might do. Deep down, you had to know whether Benedict had read the paper too.

It doesn’t take long for Eloise to find you in the tea room; a cup of tea in your hands but readily ignored as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Her brown hair tied up in her usual bun, her eyes hold the pity you didn’t want to see or hear as of this moment.

“I didn’t know she was listening, I swear,” Eloise promises, sitting by your side and reaching for your hand.

“I know,” You comfort, “You would never tell a soul.”

“At least she didn’t reveal your identity,” Eloise chirps, trying to find a silver lining.

“Yet she has revealed my secret to the entirety of London society,” You sigh. Removing your hand from Eloise’s, you press your palm to your forehead, feeling overwhelmingly tired and desperate for the day to be over already. “Does he know?”

Eloise chews on her bottom lip, deciding whether to answer you. “He has read it,” She admits,  but rushes to add, “He doesn’t know it’s you! He doesn’t have a clue really. He’s angrier at himself for not noticing anything was amiss.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You whisper, feeling helpless.

“For now,” Eloise states, “We do nothing.”

---------

Your heels sink into the soft carpet as you wander down the stairs, pausing only to check you have everything. Your mind remains elsewhere as you check your bag out of habit, the conversation with Eloise, the latest gossip sheet, your feelings for Benedict. They circle around your mind, leaving you dizzy in their wake as you try to make sense of them all, try to find your next step in and amongst the mess.

“(Y/N),” Benedict greets, hurrying down the final few stairs, pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“I came to drop in on Eloise. I wanted to thank her for last night; she was an ear when I needed someone to listen.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asks, voice taking on a concerned note as he reaches out for you.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand in return. “For now, everything is okay.”

Benedict clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, but please come to me next time. I want to help if I can.”

“I will,” You promise, your eyes now scanning over his fine clothes. “Where are you off to?”

“An art exhibition at Somerset House. They’re showing some Holbein’s from the Royal collection.”

“Holbein’s?” You ask, shocked at the name falling from Benedict’s mouth.

He nods, just as excited. It was a rare thing indeed to have Holbein’s on display; they were usually kept in whatever royal residence they found themselves in; hidden away from the public eye. Art was the very foundation of your friendship; having seen so many of his sketches as a young boy and watching them develop into surer lines and confident strokes. Benedict was an exceptionally talented artist – something he would say about yourself. Benedict was the only person to see such work; the watercolours in your sketchpad leaving him breathless as you bring life to the inanimate.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks before he can talk himself out of it. He had barely seen you all season; you had closed in yourself, as if accepting a fate that you did not want. Benedict would do what he could to ensure your happiness for a little bit longer.

“Unchaperoned?”

A faint blush rises on Benedict’s cheeks as he realises what he has asked of you. “I shall ask Eloise to accompany us,” He suggests, turning to face the direction in which you had just come, “Did she mention any plans to you?”

You shake your head to which Benedict leases a sigh of relief. “I’ll go ask her now. I’m sure she won’t mind… much.”

Laughing quietly, you wait patiently in the entryway of Bridgerton House. The house in London so often felt like a second home to you; spending so much of childhood summers here when your mother would take tea with the Bridgerton matriarch. As you grew into your teens, you would begin to visit the house with just your maid, calling on the family for social niceties. The friendship with Benedict and Eloise only solidified your standing in the close family unit.

Eloise’s voice brings you back to the present. She walks down the stairs, accompanied by her brother. Taking one look at you, waiting patiently for the both of them, Eloise gets a mischievous look in her eye. It isn’t a look that leaves you in comfort, but rather leaves you wondering just what she has planned for the art exhibition.  

“Eloise has so graciously accepted to join us,” Benedict announces, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Eloise smiles: a smile that sets Benedict’s nerves on edge. He would owe her for this, that much he knew. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, brother.”

Benedict resists the urge to groan; he’s in deep shit for this.

“Thank you, Eloise,” You murmur with a smile. Something in Eloise softens at your tone as if she would be unable to deny you this time with Benedict when it was their mother’s mission to see him married off this very season.

“Of course,” Eloise allows, glancing between you and Benedict – noting the longing in both sets of eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to the door and where the carriages waits just beyond it. “Shall we?”

--------

“He wasn’t a handsome monarch, was he?” Eloise murmurs quietly, staring up at the grand portrait of the fearsome king who preferred executing his wives rather than loving them.

The walls of Somerset House have become dedicated to the eyes of the past. Past monarchs and relatives decorate the walls; their eyes following each attendant, as if curious to see how society is progressing less than three hundred years after the death of the artist.

Benedict chuckles; the very sound raising goosebumps across your skin. You barely repress the shiver the sound elicits. Trying your best to listen as the siblings argue about the reign of this particular monarch – the pros and the cons to what he did for the very country he ruled over for decades.

“Oh!” Eloise gasps, interrupting the argument and loosening her grip on your arm, she waves frantically at Penelope Featherington. “Would you mind terribly if I go say hello?”

“Not at all,” You laugh.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay with Benedict?”

The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes at his little sister. “Off with you,” He dismisses, “I’ll escort (Y/N) – someone who actually appreciates the art.”

Eloise laughs as she turns away, but you do not miss the wink she sends in your direction. It hits you all at once; her mischievous look before you all left the house. She had concocted this plan in her head; accepting to accompany you as a rouse to get you and Benedict alone.

You didn’t know whether to appreciate her genius or hide her favourite book.

Jumping at the sound of someone clearing their throat, you focus your attention on Benedict. He watches you with an amused look, and it’s then that you realise that he has stood beside you waiting with his arm out for a minute or so whilst you glared after his younger sister. Taking his arm, you rid yourself of any thoughts of violence against Eloise. Instead, focusing on the man beside you.

“How are you?” You ask, hand resting gently on Benedict’s forearm.

“Do you mean in general or after today’s publication?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“In general, I am quite well. I have a wonderful lady on my arm, and I am in the presence of excellent art work. However, after today’s publication, I must admit I am rather angry.”

“Oh?” You sound, trying hard not to let his words affect you so much but they rattle around your mind on repeat, committing themselves where they will last for an eternity.

“I’ve never been the focus of the gossip paper and now after one ball, I am. I don’t think I like the attention.”

“I don’t believe that for one second, Benedict Bridgerton.”

He pauses, smiling widely down at you. His eyes light up with the smile and your heart begins to pound at the sight of it. “Alright, I do like the attention,” He concedes, “But what I don’t like are the looks I’m getting from all mothers.”

“Why?”

“They all look like I’m about to break their daughter’s heart.”

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things,” You reassure, tightening your grip on his arm.

“I don’t think I am,” He states, nodding politely at Lady Whitelaw who in turn glares at the younger man. He turns his gaze to you as if to say, see?

You turn your face away from him, trying your best to hide the smile and laugh that threatens to break free. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Benedict guesses, a smile in his own voice.

“I’m not,” You promise, schooling your face into a mask of indifference, focusing on the closest sketch to you. A graphite sketch of Anne Boleyn; marking her beauty only years before her death.

“You are,” Benedict argues, standing beside you, admiring the same sketch. Throwing him a knowing smile, you turn your attentions to rest of the exhibition, unable to hide your awe at just what is being shown to the public.

The art is incredible; your watercolours barely compare to what is being shown in Somerset House. He would disagree in a heartbeat, but Benedict could come close to producing something of this calibre. He had shown his portraits of his mother and brothers; Anthony making the perfect candidate for a painting.

You come to a natural stop in front of a portrait of a young women. A young queen, in fact. This particular queen had never got to reign in the manner that she was capable, dying after giving birth the king’s heir. His one true love, the king had called her after he death.

“She’s beautiful,” You whisper, admiring not only the artistry but also the focus on the painting.

Benedict watches you admiring the portrait painted so carefully by Holbein. Though the portrait is indeed beautiful, Benedict finds himself agreeing that they do not hold a candle to you. As he watches you lift a single hand, trying to dampen the urge to run your fingers over the brush strokes, he thinks to himself that there would be no artist on this earth that would be so talented to capture your beauty.

His breath comes faster; his heart rate increases. He recognises the symptoms; he’s only experienced such signs before. He had been eighteen then; barely a man but man enough to accept that he had fallen in love with his best friend. Years later, here he was, experiencing such feelings once more. Once more, he wonders what it would be like to be loved by you. He cannot help but hope that the mystery woman in the society papers is you.

-------

Dear Reader,

It seems that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton reads my paper!

He was overheard at the Somerset House Holbein exhibition, complaining to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) about my last column in which I criticised his treatment of the lady in love with him.

All I have to say on the matter is this:

Mr. Bridgerton, for every complaint you offer, you break her heart further. Stop now before you do irreparable damage.

-----

“What does she mean ‘break her heart further’? I’ve been trying to figure out who it is so I can put a stop to it!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know who it is, Benedict,” You argue, placing your teacup on the table, “But rather the fact that you unknowingly hurt whoever it is that is in love with you.”

“Do my feelings not matter?” He demands, throwing the damned paper onto the table. Benedict runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I’m sorry,” He apologises, “I should not have taken that tone with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re forgiven,” You laugh, “I’ve heard you say a lot worse.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Leaning forward on your chair, you wring your hands together, working up the nerve. “What feelings haven’t they taken into account?”

“Lady Whistledown,” He spits the name with derision, “Hasn’t taken into account that I may not have noticed someone in love with me because I am in love with someone myself.”

It’s as if the chair is pulled out from under you; your stomach dips and flips as the world crashes around you and Benedict is none the wiser. He’s none the wiser to the palpable shift that has taken place. Instead, he’s sat down across from, looking utterly defeated.

“Does she know?” You ask after a moment of silence, using the time to pull yourself back together, to compile it all and put it away for later.

Benedict shakes his head; eyes sad as he watches you. “Why haven’t you told her?” You ask, unable to stop the questions now they’re on the tip of your tongue.

“I suppose for the same reason she hasn’t told me. Fear maybe?”

“Fear of what? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

“Fear of rejection. Fear of humiliation. Fear of ruining a friendship,” He lists off, counting the reasons on his fingers, holding them up for you to see.

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time,” He answers honestly, and you wonder whether the crack your heart makes was audible to the whole of the ton.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Eventually.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the teacup instead of him, readying yourself to offer up your broken heart. To confess that the two most recent society papers have been about you; have shown your heart to the whole of London.

“It’s me,” You confess quietly, voice no louder than a whisper but he hears you all the same.

Benedict’s head whips towards you. Had this been another situation, it would have been funny, but the look on his face… “What?” He whispers, shocked.

“It’s me,” You announce; louder this time, ready to lay your heart out on the floor for him to break entirely. “It’s me, Benedict. Lady Whistledown must have overheard Eloise and myself talking at Lady Danbury’s ball the other night. She had caught me watching you dance and asked me outright. I couldn’t deny it. I’ve been in love with you for years, Benedict. For as long as I can remember.”

“For as long as you can remember?”

You nod, wringing your hands together once more. “I didn’t realise until I turned twenty, just what my feelings meant. I think I’ve always been in love with you, Benedict.”

Benedict remains silent; eyes wide, hands slack as they rest on his thighs. He looks like he doesn't believe the very words leaving your mouth; as if he is unworthy of the love you offer him so willingly. 

“Say something, please,” You plead, “I know it isn’t proper for the woman to announce her feelings for the man, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Not when it is the focus for Lady Whistledown to sell more copies of her paper.”

“I didn’t know,” He whispers after a prolonged silence.

“You weren’t to know. You don’t have to feel the same, Benedict.”

“I do as it happens.”

“What?”

“I do feel the same,” Benedict clarifies, standing from his chair, “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen.”

You sniffle slightly; emotional from hearing the words you have longed to hear for years. The words that have haunted your dreams; had you rushing from sleep, so you didn’t let yourself believe an alternate reality.

“You do?”

Benedict nods, “I do. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” You reply, standing from your chair, reaching for him – not wanting anymore space between the two of you.

He dips his head, pausing mere millimetres away from your lips. The question burns in his eyes; desperate to know whether he can kiss you after so long waiting. Your nod is barely imperceptible but it’s nod, nonetheless.

Slowly, almost wanting to savour every moment, Benedict presses his lips to yours. Reaching up, you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against you after having waited so long, after having dreamed of this moment for too long.

He tastes like tea and his hands bring to life the butterflies in your stomach as they wander the path of your back, settling on your lower back, dipping you slightly. Benedict groans softly at the feel of you lined up against him. If he had known heaven was this close, he would not have waited this long.

Benedict breaks the kiss; not out of need of air, but to stop himself from taking this too far when you feel like heaven pressed against him. You smile widely, kissing his jaw lovingly before starting to laugh lightly. Benedict’s hands on your waist tighten possessively as he joins you in laughter.

Briefly, he wonders whether this is what it feels like to be loved by you.

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​

[newtonsheffield]

Hello! Hope you're safe. Covid is getting worse in India and we're stuck up here and desperately hoping to get those in need of help some resources.

Your account is so soothing!! Can you pls write something like a double date between kate and Anthony and daph and Simon? And how their wives end up teasing them and luring them in bed? Bcs I can completely imagine the wives doing this lol. No pressure, love you

Hello!

I am safe and thank you so much for your well wishes! Australia has been very lucky with COVID, and I live in a small farming community in the Queensland Hinterlands (just off the great barrier reef actually!) and while we did have some Cases last year, they were all from people recently returned from overseas, and we were lucky enough not to have any community transmission! I’m so sorry your country is suffering at the moment, working in healthcare I’m astutely aware of how important resources like masks are and honestly, this world is a complete mess. And I hope you get the help you need soon. 

I’m so glad you find these little posts soothing. And if this is the only way I can help you, then how can I refuse? I very nearly made this a Spicy Sunday post, But I’m trying to keep those posts for requests that specifically request to be kept for Spicy Sundays because I don’t wanna defile anyone’s innocent post! So this is more of a precursor to Spicy Sunday I suppose.

Someone else was also curious about an idea like this

Anon Asked: Could we see Kate and Anthony going on a double date with Daphne and Simon? Maybe Kate finds it hilarious how protective Anthony still is over Daphne, even though she’s a married adult. I’d love to see even more of how they all interact together!

Kate really couldn’t say when this little game with Daphne had started. Maybe it was after a few drinks in Violet Bridgerton kitchen one night, maybe it was a little game to tease Anthony because really, how ridiculous was it that Anthony was still this protective of his adult sister who was practically married? Even if it was a little sweet. It had been a lovely dinner, as it always was, But as soon as dessert was cleared the game started, those were the rules. So this is how Kate found herself, her hand firmly on her boyfriend’s upper thigh, sat across the table from his sister and her fiancé, Who was currently smirking wildly as Anthony scowled at Simon’s hand wrapped tightly around her waist. 

Damnit, Anthony was barely paying attention tonight at all. She was never going to win.  “I don’t know that we stand much of a chance this year, Tottenham have a good team, and Man City and U are always in the mix I suppose.” Simon was saying clearly unperturbed by Daphne’s efforts tonight as well. A small victory, Kate supposed. Anthony hummed next to her, his hand settling over hers, keeping it in place. Kate could barely hold back her smirk, Daphne’s eyes flashed to hers. Irritated, as she rested her chin on Simon’s shoulder.   “Well, Chelsea always seems to make the best of it. I’m sure you’ll do alright.” Anthony was saying evenly, shifting in his seat just a little. Kate shifted just a little closer to him, Anthony shifted his hand from hers to wrap around her shoulders subconsciously. Another little victory. 

Kate let out a breathy little laugh, humming lightly, as Anthony shifted in his seat at the noise “I wouldn’t trust his opinion Simon. On our first date he told me he was more of a rugby fan, no idea about football apparently.” Kate said teasingly, running her finger’s through Anthony’s hair lightly as he turned towards her, indignation and betrayal on his face. Anthony scoffed, barely noticing that Daphne was now pressed tightly against Simon’s side. Simon who was watching Anthony with a mix of surprise and disgust.  “I told you that in confidence, Miss Sheffield. Is this where your loyalty is? Tragic” Anthony said, with such a handsome smirk on his face as he leaned even closer to her, so she could feel the heat of his body. And she went in for the kill. “Well perhaps you’ll have to punish me then, Mr Bridgerton.” A smirk on her own lips, as silence fell across the table. Daphne’s mouth falling open at the brazen play from the corner of her eye. Anthony cleared his throat turning towards his sister. “Well, lovely evening, but Kate and I had better head... no not head, go. Just go. Early start tomorrow. Simon. Daph.” He rambled quickly, Standing abruptly, ignoring Simon’s smirk and Daphne’s irritated look. Snatched Kate’s hand and tugged her from the table. 

“I believe this is the third time in a row I’ve gotten Anthony to crack first. Better luck next time Daph.” Kate smirked as she went. And as Anthony swept her from the restaurant she heard Daphne Bridgerton’s irritated voice say.

“For god’s sake Simon, you are absolutely useless!” 

Hope this helps!            

[nastasyafilippovnas]

2 prompts. he / she will never be you, and I would rather do difficult with you than easy with someone else. For santhony

Thanks for the prompts! I chose to do the second, hope you like it! <3

santhony + “I would rather do difficult with you than easy with someone else”, set during 1.08, after Siena agrees to go with the ball with Anthony, wc. 1.9k (ao3)

She checked the time on Anthony’s pocket watch on the bedside table and groaned. Siena swore the damned thing moved faster than any normal watch. By this rate, she was going to be terribly late and wouldn't have any time for a quick warm-up before her performance tonight. 

The man to blame for her lateness stirred behind her and proceeded to place light kisses on her shoulder, his hands around her waist pulling their bodies closer, his front against her back. 

“I am not done with you yet.” He said, his mouth moving up, trailing kisses from her shoulder up to her neck and sucking on the spot just below her ear that he knew drove her crazy.

Siena couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. 

“We can’t.” Her protest came out weaker than she would’ve liked. They had spent most of the afternoon in bed, and she still felt hunger for his touch, his warmth next to her. She had tried giving him up, but the time apart hadn’t helped at all. She wondered if there would ever be a time where she would be immune to him. It seemed unlikely. “I must get ready for my performance.”

His kisses stopped immediately, though his mouth still hovered on her neck and she could feel his breath caressing her skin as he spoke. “I thought you would get someone to cover for you. How will you be performing if we’re going to the ball?”

Siena bit her lip. He got her there. 

“Well, I thought I would do my show and meet you at the ball later.” 

Anthony frowned, though she couldn’t see it. What she proposed wasn’t unheard of. The ton’s parties were known for extending well into the evening and many people in fact attended the opera or the theater first before arriving fashionably late at whatever ball they had also be invited to. But it wasn’t what Anthony had in mind when he invited her to go with him. He was planning to meet her at her door, with the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find - he had never given her flowers before, not even to congratulate her on her performances, and he knew she would understand the importance of the gesture. They would ride on his carriage (during which he would have to contain himself to not kiss her and ruin her dress) and enter the ball together, arm in arm, so there wouldn’t be any mistakes about the current status of relationship. Then proceed to dance the night away. Just the two of them. In no part of his scenario, he expected to spend spend half of his evening sulking in a corner and waiting for her to finish her performance. And there was the way she had said it…

“But you’re still coming, right?”

“Of course!” Her voice was too high and her answer came too quickly. She realized it at the same time Anthony turned her around so he could see her face.

“Siena…” 

She tried turning back and getting out of the bed, but Anthony was faster, his hand on her chin, keeping her in place and their eyes locked. “No, don’t do that. Don’t turn away from me, Siena. Tell me…what’s going on?”

She hated when Anthony went soft on her. It made it so much harder to be logical and practical. But she knew she had to.

“Maybe going to the ball wouldn’t be the best idea.” 

“I told you, no one will say a thing.” He answered confidently, smiling at her.

Siena sat properly in the bed, his hands falling from her face to her thigh as she started speaking. 

“And I said, not to you. Not directly. But are you ready for all the gossip and the whispers? For the men commenting about how they had me, with my legs open in my dressing room?” Before Anthony could even think of defending her honor, she added, “And it will be true! In some cases at least. Are you ready for that? And the women, your mother and your sisters…maybe they won’t say anything to you. But they will say it to me.” 

Anthony sighed. Siena had always been the most pragmatical out of the two of them, his brave soprano who still didn’t call him by his first name despite sharing his bed for the last two years. And, as always, she wasn’t wrong to have concerns. He wanted them to have their happy ending. It wouldn’t be as easy, or as painless, as he had initially told her, but it would be worth it. Of that, he was certain.

“Is that what you’re worried about? The gossip?"

She bit her lip. It wasn’t. Not exactly. Being the talk of the ton would be nothing new - she was the most notorious opera singer in London, after all -, and it would have been worth it. If she had been certain of the outcome, that is. 

She wasn’t.  

“You can change your mind, my lord. At anytime.” Before Anthony could contest, she continued, “You did it already! You promised you would always take care of me! And you changed your mind.” Regret quickly crossed his face and Siena could feel the tears forming in her eyes at the reminder of that morning, when he had tossed her aside as if she had been nothing more than an inconvenience. It wouldn’t do to start crying now. She was stronger than that.

“Right now, you’re happy we’re back together and you think we can overcome anything. What’s going to happen when everyone you know and respects turns against us?” 

“You're right.” Anthony answered quickly and Siena couldn’t hide her surprise. She had wanted him to come to his senses and agree with her, of course she did. His idea had been utter foolishness after all, born out of the high of being in each other’s arms once more. But she had expected him to at least put up a fight. It was okay, though. It only confirmed she had been right all along. She wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t.

“Of course I am. So we can forget ever going public…”

“You're right that it won’t be as easy as I said.” He interrupted her. “Me being a viscount…my sister being a duchess…none of that will stop the talk of the ton. In fact, my mother might be the one to most strongly oppose us being together.” Anthony couldn’t hide his grimace. His mother’s reaction to his choice was the one thing he had tried to avoid thinking about at all costs. Violet Bridgerton wouldn’t give up just because he and Siena went to the Hastings’ ball together. As a matter of fact, it might only serve as further motivation on her relentless pursuit of a suitable bride for her first-born. He could count on Benedict to be on his side (his brother was pursuing Siena’s closest friend, after all) and Eloise’s curious nature would endear Siena to her, he hoped. But what about Colin? Would his brother be accepting of their relationship, when Anthony had so adamantly opposed his engagement to Miss Thompson? And Daphne and Simon, would they come to his aid as he expected, or would they worry about their own status first? Simon only referred to Siena as his mistress and Daphne wanted nothing more than to be a proper lady of the ton. Maybe neither of them wouldn’t be willing drag the Hastings' name into another scandal just for Anthony’s sake. His own family might not offer the support he craved, though he hoped they would come to understand his decision. He couldn’t keep hurting his own heart in the name of duty and honor. “It won’t be easy. But, Siena, I would rather do difficult with you than easy with someone else.” 

She shook her head. “You don’t mean that, my lord. You can’t mean that.”

Anthony let out a small laugh of incredulity, “Can’t I? And may I ask, why not?”

Siena opened and closed her mouth, at loss for words. Before she could come up with an answer, though, Anthony's hands enveloped her waist and he pulled her back to the bed and on top of him, kissing her quickly in the mouth. Surprised, it took her a moment to respond, but he was already pulling away, though his arms remained around her, his hands positioned low on her back.

“I know what this is.” He said, smiling at her. “You're scared. Scared I’m going to leave again, break things off once more and let you deal with these people’s snide comments on your own. That I’m going to see you the same way they do and I’ll turn away.” Her brown eyes looked at him with surprise and she wondered if she was indeed so transparent or if he just knew her that well. Sometimes she dreamed of the life she and Anthony could have together. More often than not, these dreams turned sour as the Anthony in them realized she would never be more than a lowly opera singer, only good for entertaining him at night between the sheets. 

“One day you will.” She murmured softly against his chest.

“No, no, never.” He protested, holding her face up, and hoping she could see the truth in his eyes and in his voice. “Siena, I wish you could see yourself as I do. The most talent, incredible, funny, smart woman I’ve ever met. There’s no one but you. Not for me. I’m sorry that I hurt you and made you ever doubt that.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and Anthony saw a single tear escape as she sighed, her hands on his chest shaking for a moment. “You make it so hard for me to do the right thing.” 

He kissed her cheek where the tear had dried before turning towards her mouth and kissing her again, hard and desperate. 

“I want you to do the right thing for us. For us and no one else.” His hand was in her hair, their heads as close together as they could without touching. “Choose us, Siena.” 

It sounded so simple when he said it. He made her believe anything was possible. But she knew this thing between them was fragile, powerful and uncontainable, yes, but fragile. It had been broken and mended together by sheer force of will, and any strong push could shatter it for good. If they wanted it survive and flourish, then they first had to protect it. 

“I can’t go to the ball with you. Not tonight.” She saw the disappointment flash through his eyes and be replaced by a mask of cold indifference as he nodded in understanding, already starting to pull away from her. 

“But I am not going to the opera either”, she quickly added and Anthony looked at her in confusion.

“I thought…maybe we could stay in tonight? We can have dinner with your brother and Genevieve later.” 

Siena looked at him expectantly.

A compromise, that’s what she proposed. Maybe they weren’t ready for the harsh light of day and the deep cutting remarks of society, but it didn’t mean they would never be. In the mean time, they could allow a little light in as they grew stronger in the dark.

“I suppose…Benedict and Madame Delacroix shall make for a decent conversation.” He answered and the smile Siena gave him was so bright it was almost blinding. “As long as you’re by my side, my lady.” 

And, because he knew she would, Anthony kissed her before she could voice her protest over his choice of endearment.