#yes bridgerton i am looking at you bitch

[anatolienne]

hollywoods aim by putting people in western period drama is to hide -to be more precise- sugar-coat the vicious truth about western history. white people were not "accepting", they were savages and the chances of a white aristocrat woman marrying a black man his very low. western cinema has used the white saviour complex method to manipulate history itself and present it to the audience giving them a different perception of history, a perception that benefits them. hollywood is using people of color as set dressing for their activism and this method ignores the millions of people that have suffered from the imperialism of the west. since the audience can recognise white saviour complex in cinema more easily now, they have alternated it with this method. it ignores the truth. also its historically inaccurate goodnight

[frost-queen]

Tempting fate // part 6 (Reader!Featherington x Colin Bridgerton)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @bubblybrianna97 , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , 

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@blueeclipsepaperstudent, @stcrrjoon, @akilatwt , @angelitadiaz , @bloommart, @luvcexe, @klallx, @miniemonie2001 , @mrs-jjmaybank , @fallout-girl219 , @i-heart-raven-xmen, @aoi-aster , @marvelho3, @live-awkward , @solsticesage , @hemmingsleclerc

Summary: Colin remains desperate for your attention. Yet you are not so eager to give it to him. Being at the brink of despare, he might need a little help to have you just where he wants you. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10]

You adjusted the shawl laying over your elbows, your sisters walking a bit further with their husbands. Phillipa was holding a parasol for the sun on this glorious stroll. – “Y/n do keep up.” – Portia called out seeing that you had lingered behind. – “Yes mama.” – you answered, quickening up your pace to hasten yourself over to them. You came joining Prudence’s side. Her arm locked in with her husband Robert Huxley. – “What a splendid weather is it not.” – Robert pointed out cheerfully.

Receiving not much later a slap against his shoulder from Prudence. He looked confused at his own wife. – “No one wants to have this dull conversation about the weather.” – Prudence let out with a bored expression. It made you chuckle softly. Prudence took in a deep breath, preparing herself to ask you something rather delicate. – “Is there something between you and Penelope?” – she asked, her eyes gliding across to where Penelope walked with mother.

Phillipa and her husband right behind them. – “Of course not.” – you said with a delicate smile. – “Liar.” – Prudence countered having leaned closer to you. – “I must agree with my wife on this matter Y/n. There definitely feels like something in going on between the two of you.” – Robert pitched in the conversation.

Prudence turned her head to him with a smile. – “Good to see you agree with me.” – she outed. Robert chuckled. – “I always agree with you.” – he said to let her have no doubts. Prudence’s eyes twinkled with delight. Robert snuck in a kiss against her cheek. You hoped that would let them forget about Penelope and you, but it didn’t.

Prudence let go of her husband’s arm and entangled hers around yours. – “What is it? What gossipy thing has happened between the two of you?” – Prudence whispered, leading you a bit away from her husband. Robert kept a respecting distance, still wanting to be close to his wife, but not intrude.

“Nothing.” – you answered making Prudence groaned annoyed. Her head fell back as the deep groan emerged from her mouth. – “Is this about the Bridgerton’s?” – Prudence asked as you came to a stop. Staring in shock at her. Prudence’s reaction to you was to smile wickedly. – “I am no fool Y/n.” – she whispered out letting go of your arm and join her husband’s once more.

Clenching your hands, you hurried back to them. – “This has nothing to do with Colin!” – you called out. Prudence turned around to you. She opened one hand explaining. – “Penelope and Colin have been friends since forever.” – she then glanced down at her other hand that she opened up to the side. – “I was told you were at the Bridgerton household, hinting you are having more interactions with Colin now that you’ve grown up.” – she clasped her hands together with a cheeky smile.

“One and one go together.” – she finished. – “What?” – you called out confused with wide eyes. – “Oh right, you were not aware. That night you were off God knows where, I came to the Bridgerton household to come and fetch you. You weren’t there of course but it was suggested.” – Prudence explained. Prudence took her husband’s arm again to continue the stroll in the park. – “By whom?” – you wanted to know, rushing after her.

“Our very own Penelope.” – Prudence informed you, making you stop and stare. – “Keep up Y/n.” – Prudence called out having walked further. You slowly came in motion, going in a slow pace after them. Head trying to grasp the information you had just obtained.

“Y/n!” – you heard loudly, making you gasp. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Colin Bridgerton make his way over. Not wanting to talk to him, you started walking off. – “Y/n wait!” – Colin called out quickening up his pace to come nearer. – “I want to talk.” – he let out going in pursuit of you. Lifting the hem of your dress a bit up, you started running. Running away from Colin. Having no desire to hear his excuses. – “Y/n!” – Colin called not letting you off the hook.

Robert turned around having heard your name. He nudged Prudence against her chest, turning around with her to see it for herself. Prudence gasped loud, grabbing her husband tight by the wrist. Digging her nails into him from excitement and entertainment. – “Y/n! Let us talk.” – Colin told you as you ran through the leaves of a willow tree. Running up to the thick bark to hide behind it.

Colin was about to enter the shadowy part underneath the willow as well till he got stopped. – “Colin?” – turning his head Penelope Featherington approached. – “Pen.” – Colin breathed out, letting his hand drop from under the leaves he had moved to create an entrance. He bowed to her as Penelope curtsied. – “Are you alone out here?” – she asked, getting on her toes to look past him.

“My family is by the lake.” – he pointed out. Penelope saw that Colin’s attention got drawn to the willow tree. – “Colin, you must simply tell me more about your travels to Paris. Tell me all about the culture, the food and wardrobes.” – Penelope suggested with a sweet smile. She gently nudged him when he was hesitant.

Penelope lured him away from the willow, strolling further away as she listened to his stories. You removed yourself from behind the bark, somewhat relieved your sister came in. If she hadn’t stepped in, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of him that easily. Going under the leaves, you got out in the open once more.

Gaze locking on your sister Prudence and her husband a bit further away. Prudence shaking her head, arms crossed. Her husband giving you a sheepish smile. Exhaling soft, you went over to your mother. Knowing Colin wouldn’t dare to come near with her by your side, if he ever dared to attempt it once more.

Having the uneasy feeling that Colin would try something no matter what, you told Portia you were not feeling well. She allowed you to take the carriage home. With a quickened pace, you made your way up to the path where the carriage awaited. The footman opened the door for you. You set your foot on the little step, already hoisting yourself up to get in the carriage. The footman was about to close the door as you were hovering to sit down.

The door suddenly getting held open by force. Colin Bridgerton came in the door opening, panting loud. – “Y/n let us talk.” – he breathed out. – “Colin!” – you screamed out startled. You didn’t want him anywhere near the carriage so you moved forwards, grabbing the door by the open window frame. You started pulling at it, the door bumping against Colin’s back as you tried to shut it.

Colin kept holding the door, making it for you unable to lock him out. – “I need to talk to you!” – he called out in desperation. – “I do not wish to speak with you.” – you made clear, pulling harder at the frame and shoving him back so you could close the door. – “Y/n! Hear me out!” – Colin kept the door open with all his might. You screamed loud in agony as he wasn’t giving up.

Colin saw no other solution so he set his foot on the little step, hoisting himself up. You cried it out in a panic as he was about to get in the carriage with you. – “Get out!” – you ordered him, pushing hard against his chest. Colin was sturdy and easily kept his position. – “Let me talk to you!” – Colin said annoyed that you kept pushing him off. Push after push, you shoved him against his chest, not wanting him to get in the carriage.

The carriage wobbled a bit from the movement as you didn’t want to think about the prying eyes it drew in. Colin Bridgerton standing half in a carriage, legs still out as something was clearly preventing him from getting on. – “Get out!” – you repeated loud at the brink of screaming your lungs out in frustration. You gave Colin a few more hard pushes as his foot slipped on the little step. It made him loose his balance as you could easily push him out of the carriage.

He fell down on his back on the gravely road. You stuck your upper body out to grab the door, wanting to slam it shut. – “Y/n please.” – Colin begged moving himself more upright. For a moment you stared at him, before your expression contracted in anger, slamming the door firmly shut.

The carriage got in motion as Colin came up to his feet. – “Y/n wait!” – he called out running after the carriage. Some ladies snorted loud seeing how Colin was so pathetic. He couldn’t possibly catch up with the carriage, slowing down as he was out of breath. Hands on his knees, he was panting loud. Defeated he returned to his family. Anthony waited eagerly for him, pushing Benedict a bit aside to come and meet him. – “And?” – Anhtony asked curious.

Colin shook his head, lowering it. Anthony exhaled deep, moving his hands to his hips. – “Do not worry brother, we’ll find a way.” – Anthony encouraged, swinging an arm over his shoulder. – “How?” – Colin called out frustrated. – “I messed up! She’s never going to talk to me ever again!” – Colin shrugged Anthony’s arm off. – “Don’t be absurd.” – Anthony answered.

“Every opportunity she takes a run for it!” – Colin called out angrily, taking a rock as he threw it in the lake. – “Colin!” – Violet scolded him for his bad behaviour. It made Colin sigh loud, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. Letting himself fall down in the grass, he gave up. Physically drained.

There was nothing he could do against the feeling. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling guilty for ever threating you so dishonest. Thinking back about it, he knew he sure was the fool.  He did truly liked you. At that time, he didn’t think it was strong enough for marriage. Not that soon. His brother made him think deeper about what he truly felt. Yet the damage was already done.

Seeing you with that other lord the other day, truly send him over the edge. Feeling you slip through his fingers as he was losing something, he didn’t want to lose. The feeling eating at him. That night Colin couldn’t sleep. Laying awake with taunting dreams of seeing you dance with that other lord.

Having to watch from the side-line as you gaze lovingly up to him. Imagining him standing in a corner, forgotten as you got married to the lord. Imagining you waking up next to him, his arms all around you as he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to stop the feeling and stop making excuses. Best of wishes to that Bridgerton.

Dancers took each other’s hands, brushing past each other to change positions. The next ball off the season had started off. The Bridgerton’s standing collectively together. A tray of drinks moved past as Colin snatched a glass from it. Drinking almost the entire content in one breath. He needed to drink himself some confidence. Getting a moment alone with you to talk, wasn’t going to be easy.

Colin found himself more and more being drawn to the stairs where newly guests would appear. Hoping each time the door opened, it would reveal you. The patience was nerve-wrecking. Almost making him break out in a sweat. The doors opened as he anticipated the moment to see you, yet it were others. After a while it didn’t seem like you would come. A girl having found her way to Colin, chatting to him about herself.

He rather wished to speak with you, but the distraction was welcoming at such dire times. The doors opened once more. Portia Featherington stepping out. Her daughters Phillipa and Prudence with their husbands right behind her. Colin caught them in the corner of his eyes, turning his head. Penelope stood in the centre, yet his gaze was drawn to you. Standing a bit behind your sister. Eyes to the floor as he noticed you were fidgeting nervously with your fingered gloves.

Colin’s gaze remained locked on you as you descended from the stairs. Joining the others at the ball. Colin excused himself from the girl, finding a way through the crowd to get to you. Your family moved to the side to settle as your eyes widened. Staring in front of you at the nearing of Colin Bridgerton. You immediately turned around, wanting to escape him. – “Y/n.” – Colin shout-whispered, keeping his voice decently down.

Pushing lord and ladies aside to force a way through to you. – “Please Y/n.” – he begged wanting nothing more than to have you speak to him. Graveling to get your attention. He quickened up his pace nearly touching the ribbon around your waist as it slipped through his fingers. A lord walked across as he came blocking his path to you. It made him groan frustratedly that he was losing sight of you. 

You were panting, trying to stay out of Colin’s clutches. You were distracted by looking over your shoulder for a sign of him, that when you turned your gaze to the front, you gasped loud. Anthony Bridgerton standing in front of you as he came blocking your path. – “A word Miss Y/n.” – he said.

Breathing shakily, you turned a quarter to run off when you were greeted by Benedict Bridgerton. – “I have no clue.” – he stated hands open so you couldn’t pass. Backing up, you knew they were trapping you. Anthony joining his brother’s side. – “You tricked me!” – you called out. – “Apologies.” – Anthony spoke as you suddenly felt a grip on your upper arms, making you gasp loud. You got spun around, looking up to Colin’s eyes. He was panting a bit, staring yearningly at your eyes. – “Please listen.”

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[targaryenluvs]

Infatuation

pairing: simon basset x fem!reader

warnings: darkish simon? a kiss, young reader (16ish!!) pushy and possessive simon, implied fem!reader and poc!reader, not proof read

notes: idk what to do so i just rambled 😭 this is just a two parter i think. and the storyline is a bit scrambled :) WHAT THE HELL IDK WHY I GOT SO MUCH ENERGY TO WRITE THIS BUT HERES ALL THE PARTS IN ONE DAY!!!! hope you enjoyed <3

PART I

Lady Whistledown: Dearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season. Consider the household of the Baron Featherington. Three misses foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless, mama.

Far better odds might exist in the household of the widowed Viscountess Bridgerton. A shockingly prolific family, noted for its bounty of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

Or perhaps in the loving household of the Marquess of Anderton, Lord and Lady Y/L/N? With their two eldest sons, known not only for their intelligent selves and gorgeous faces, but for their stunningly bright younger sister, who is not just a pretty face.

Not only are the two families extremely close, but practically family, how very perfect, indeed!

It is only the queen's eye that matters today. A glimmer of displeasure, and a young lady's value plummets to unthinkable depths.

It has been said that, “Of all bitches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine." If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth.

My name is Lady Whistledown.

You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear reader, I certainly know you.

how on earth had you not yet read this?

one of the things you’d looked forward to besides meeting everyone had been the scandal sheets and you’d missed out on receiving one yesterday.

“this woman seems quite powerful. you know how easily words can ruin someone’s image. it’s interesting to see a lone woman hold so much sway in just her writing. i truly do wonder who she is. any guesses?” you asked pen, daphne and el as the three of you waited for your mothers and pens sisters to catch up as you made your way to the park.

eloise smiled, “it has to be a widow! no married woman would have time for this, she’d have an estate to care for and children pulling on her every day. a widow with her own home and responsibilities. perhaps lady danbury?”

you had to giggle at the guess, knowing whistledown herself was right with you. you’d managed to meet penelope at least, so that was one person of your list. lady danbury would be next with her ball tonight, and perhaps simon as well.

“what’s so funny? i haven’t heard a guess from you!” eloise groaned as you smiled, “i have no guesses besides, pen?” penelope’s head shot up straight away from the ground, “what?” “i was going to ask if you had any.” you could see her cheeks flushing, and her breathing quicken at the idea of being caught out.

and as you all walked together through the park, you’d mistakenly enthralled yourself in conversations, going so far as to walk with your back facing others. walking backwards as to face the girls.

“look out!”

before you’d fallen you were caught, by simon.

“i, i am so sorry. i was not looking-” simon smiled, “well that’s obvious no?” he joked as he lifted you up. you straightened your dress out and smiled, “of course. forgive me your grace.” you curtsied, in the presence of the person you’d been most excited to meet, you’d forgotten all about your friends behind.

as they all met him you couldn’t even take your eyes off of him, and neither could he for you. and once lady featherington came around she wasted no time to throw her eldest daughters upon him. the misery in his eyes hurt your soul so you took it upon yourself to rectify the situation.

“your grace!” simon turned towards you, as did everyone else. “yes, lady y/n?” you smiled, “would you like to accompany me, to promenade?” simon tilted his head, pondering your question.

he couldn’t help but be taken aback, usually many girls weren’t so forward. and god were you beautiful. rather than dealing with annoying girls who wanted a title the second they saw him, he could walk with someone he actually found interesting.

“i- would love to.” he smiled as he took a step back, allowing you to walk with him. you could hear the chatter from the girls behind you as well as your mother and violet.

you’d spent so long together, walked for so long your feet ached afterwards. and you didn’t miss the longing stares from other men around, and the women for him.

and even if it had taken so much energy of yours to keep walking, you wouldn’t have given up the chance. everything he said, you replied to. every joke sent laughter rippling through you and you could not help but feel content. he was, even better then the show. and as you got to know him you felt unbelievably happy.

and so did he.

he went home with all his thoughts containing you. he found himself smiling at every memory of his time with you that day. your smiles, your laughter, your beauty, you. and he had no clue why. he’d never been this taken with someone and he found himself struggling with why.

over the season you found yourself taken with him, your family allowed you to attend balls and do as you wish but you were under no obligation to dance or do anything you did not wish to.

yet you found yourself undeniably enthusiastic every time you realised you were going to a ball because you’d see simon. you’d dance, you’d laugh and everything else because he always gave you something to look forwards to, as did you for him, he was truly an amazing friend.

and he was completely besotted with you.

much to not only anthony’s surprise but danbury as well.

and simon was so intent upon being with you.

as much as you liked him you could not help but love how you were. your family was amazing and so happy. you had amazing friends within daphne, penelope and eloise. marriage seemed so far away in your mind and your life was sweet and favourable.

lady trowbridge’s ball was, scandalous, to say the least. you couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked in, half naked dancers spinning around, and quite uptempo music for a woman in mourning.

“lady y/n, may i-” lord wellington was promptly cut off in his endeavour to dance with you by the person you’d been looking for.

“y/n?” simon called out as he made his way to you. “simon! there you are, i was wondering where you’d gone off to.” you smiled at your bestfriend as he made his way to you, nodding in acknowledgement to his friend lord wellington. you thought they were friends at least.

and so did simon, until he saw him coming after you for a dance.

“come along now.” he smiled as you also nodded at the lord, “it was nice to see you my lord.” you curtsied as simon dragged you away.

“oh my god, i thought he would never leave! he tries to dance with me every single ball yet he doesn’t take notice of my indifference towards him!” you snorted as simon laughed louder, “i did not know such an unbecoming sound could originate from such a lovely women!” you scoffed, “that is no way to talk to your best friend!” you fake cried as you wiped literal tears from your eyes, the paintings in-front taking your eye.

simons breath hitched, best friend? best friend?

is that what you thought of him as? he thought the world of you, over the time he’s gotten to know you, he held you in the highest esteem. you were everything to him and he was a mere friend for you. no, he would not have it. who else loved you as he did? wanted you as he did?

“best friend?” simon questioned as your laughter died down at his seriousness, “what?” you giggled as you tried to compose yourself. “you named me your best friend. am i nothing more to you? just a friend? you see me as an acquaintance, as a brother?”

“no i do not see you as a brother, my dear simon.” you smiled, “you are amazing. every day i wake and think of seeing you, for the time i have known you, you have been nothing short of my favourite person. i look forward to seeing you, speaking with you and dancing. arguing over who’s literature is better, who’s right and who’s wrong. i have never known someone’s company besides daphnes to never annoy me. i love you, i do but-”

“but nothing. we love each other, that is all that matters. y/n not a day goes by where i do not wish to be in your presence, to see your gorgeous face. to hear you say my name, to feel you hit me when i say something utterly scandalous. i cannot and will not imagine myself spending my life with no other women but you. you are my other half, you are the air i breathe and the only person whom i’ve ever loved as much as i do. there are not enough words to describe my love for you y/n/n. it is you who i wish to wake up with everyday, it is you who i wish to be with, you who i would start a family with. your laughter that shall echo through my halls for as long as we live. i cannot and will not fathom the idea of you not being here for me, you are made for me.” simons grip encircled your wrists as he pulled you close, his face drawing near as he met your lips.

you never imagined yourself here with simon especially. he’d been nothing short of amazing in your time here, your best friend. but here you were, kissing him.

kissing him?!

you immediately detached from him as you retained your senses and drew your hands to cover your face in shock. “i’m so- so sorry. i do not know what that was your grace.” you rambled as your heart quickened, had someone seen? how could you be so stupid!?

his eyes furrowed at your words, your grace? what was with the formalities, you were to be wed, to be together. and here you were reverting to old habits. “my love there is no need to use such proper titles.”

your head whipped up the second he stopped speaking, “simon do not say such things! endearing terms as such are for, married couples. we are not.” you whispered as you made your way towards the party, but not before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him as you collided with his chest.

he couldn’t let you go, everything, his head and his heart were screeching at him to ‘hold on tight’, to not let you go. so he did what he thought best,

lie.

“someone saw us.”

your eyes widened to the heavens as your breathing quickened again, “no. no they didn’t- they didn’t.” you shook your head as he placed his hand on your cheek to have you look at him. your eyes began to water and he felt himself tense, he hated it. he hated the idea of you being upset, but he was so close to having what he wanted so he continued.

“my dear y/n, i will treat you better then anyone ever could, deep down you know you are better off with me then any other. i love you, we will be together.” simon explained as you buried your head in his chest, you were so young, you hadn’t even properly debuted and now you were to be wed. how did you let this happen?

but a little voice piped up in your head, ‘it’s simon, your simon. the one who is always there for you. marrying him will give you a life of happiness and peace. marrying your best friend is the best thing you could ask for. you loved him when you didn’t know him truly, and now you do. be happy.’

and you wanted to be, simon was so good to you.

but you knew you weren’t ready. with marriage people would expect a child, a family. and your real life, the one back home? what would happen? would you ever go back? or would marrying him cement you in this world, forever.

“shh, you’ll be okay. i’m here, right here my love. you are my love, my heart, my infatuation.”

and you didn’t know it but you were right, the second you allowed him into your life, you were never going to go back home.

[multifandomfix]

Plague Of The Paramour — Anthony Bridgerton

Summary: You let yourself be seduced by Anthony, and with your reputation at stake, after your tryst, you make sure to steer clear of him. But Anthony Bridgerton is not an easy man to avoid.

Word Count: 589

Warnings: Fem!Reader, some angst, implied past sexual content

Any time the ton was brought together for an event, you made sure to avoid Anthony like the plague. Even catching a glimpse of him from across the way would bring to mind the images of that ill fated night you spent under his thrall.

Of course, Anthony wasn’t entirely to blame. He may have initiated your seduction, but you were no fool. You’d allowed yourself to be seduced, knowing full well what the consequences of such a thing could be. And now, you were regretting it.

The night in question was not the part you regretted, rather it was the implications it made towards your character and your chances to be wed. You understood that Anthony had not done what he’d done in preparation to make an honest woman of you. No, he’d only done what he always did, make a game out of women’s affections.

It seemed that tonight, despite the efforts made on your part, Anthony was always there, in the corners of your vision, as if he were deliberately trying to get your attention. Well, if that were the case, you surely weren’t about to make it easy for him.

In a valiant attempt to dodge the eldest Bridgerton, you filled up your dance card, leaving you precious little time to be alone during the evening, therefore giving him the smallest possible chance to steal you away. You didn’t want to speak to him. Hell, you didn’t even want to see him.

As the night progressed, you were sure your ingenuity had succeeded. Yet, when it came to the last dance of the night, your planned partner was conspicuously absent. As you searched the room for the man, it was Anthony who caught your eye, making his way towards you through the crowd. You silently cursed to yourself, knowing that running from him would only cause a scene, and that was something you definitely didn’t need.

“Lord Bridgerton,” you greeted as gracefully as you could manage.

“You are a difficult one to track down,” Anthony replied, a little out of breath from his relentless pursuit of you. “I’ve wished to speak with you all night.”

“How unfortunate that we haven’t crossed paths then,” you said, though you’d hardly meant it.

“Unfortunate indeed. I had something I wanted to ask of you.”

“If it’s a repeat performance, then you ought to look elsewhere,” you informed him. “I am not the type to make the same mistake twice.”

Your words appeared to have wounded him like a blade, as it took quite a bit of fortitude for him not to recoil at the venom in your voice. He doubted himself for a moment, but ultimately decided to continue. “I assure you that was not the question I’d intended. And though I do not have the utmost confidence in your answer, I shall ask you anyway, here and now. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The question had truly shocked you and had stopped some of the action in the room from the nearest bystanders. They, and Anthony, awaited your answer. Certainly he couldn’t mean— Had you been found out? You looked in his eyes, desperately searching for the answer to your unspoken questions.

Anthony only looked back with pure adoration, something you hadn’t expected from him. That night may have been an error in judgement, but that didn’t mean there were no feelings between you. His question tonight clarified that much. And so, determining his feelings were earnest, you knew your answer. “Yes.”

For anon

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Anthony Bridgerton: @retvenkos, @ladyrooster39, @riveranddoctorsong123, @theamazingworldofcarol, @esposamultifandom, @elorasfandomsandocs, @littlsstuff, @freyathehuntress, @m-rae23, @floresferae, @onlinecemetery, @bigbluegiants, @edit-me-prettyplease, @angelmenace, @foxherder, @bestfriend491, @astrogrande

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Karma's A Bitch Part 1 (Jamie Tartt x Reader, Enemies to Lovers)

Summary: Idealistic, hopeless romantic Y/N is the new marketing intern at AFC Richmond who instantly tops star player and major asshole Jamie Tartt's shit list for daring to stand up to him.

         Today’s my first day as a marketing intern at AFC Richmond! I really like Keeley already- she’s so nice. She was immediately welcoming to me and even listened to my rant about the newest season of Bridgerton. I think working here is going to be exciting because Jamie Tartt trains here and I’ve had sex fantasies about him ever since I saw him modeling in a champagne ad. I was ecstatic to be placed here because then that meant we can meet and interact and possibly fall in love and reenact my sex dreams.

         I can see the players coming into the building from the field. Oh my God, that means Jamie’s coming! What if he falls in love with me on sight? That wouldn’t happen probably but it’d be so romantic.

         Jamie is wearing his gray practice jersey and grey warm up jacket. He is making the drab colors work for him. 

         When he’s just about to pass me, I say, “Hey, Jamie, I’m Y/N and I just want to say-“

         He brushes right past me, shoving his water bottle into my hands. “Thanks,” he dismisses, not even turning around.

         Well. That dream’s dead now. My cheeks flush with anger and I guess my body reacts before my mind. I don’t think about how this will affect my internship or dealing with him in the future. I just want to make him pay. 

         I catch up to him, seizing his arm and blocking his path.

         His eyes narrow in annoyance. “What do you want?”

         I unscrew the bottle cap. “I used to admire you a lot, but…” I stand on my tiptoes and pour all the water from the bottle onto Jamie’s face. “Not anymore, dickhead.”

         He blinks, looking furious. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know who I am?”

         “Yes,” I say. “A terrible person who treats people like crap. Everything else doesn’t matter to me. Not how famous you are or how rich you are or how many goals you score and certainly not how hot you are!” I regret saying that last part. 

         “You think I’m hot?” he asks. Then he laughs. “What, are you mad that I’m not falling all over myself for you?”

         “You wish,” I say. “I just think you shouldn’t be rude to interns- or anyone- because you’re some big star.”

         “You’re interning here?” Jamie’s nose wrinkles as if he smells something rancid. Then he draws up. “Then let me tell you how it works around here. You learn respect, you do what I say, and if I want your fucking opinion, I’ll ask.”

         “I’m actually in the marketing department, not your personal assistant. And I’ll respect you when you learn not to be a dick,” I retort. 

         “Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” He knocks my shoulder with his before storming off.

         Today I’m handing out schedules to the players about marketing stuff. I barely make eye contact when I get to Jamie, who is chewing gum. I just shove it at him. “This is yours.”

         “Perfect,” Jamie says. “I’ve been looking for a place to put my gum.”

         “How about up your ass?” I say nastily.

         Scorn enters Jamie’s eyes. “I see you still haven’t learned respect, intern.” He takes his wet gum out of his mouth and sticks it into my hand. “Toss this in the trash for me.”

`        What an entitled prick. “In the trash? Sure.” I press his chewed gum into his forehead. By now the whole team is watching. “Is here good?” I taunt. 

         A lot of the other players start laughing. I bet Jamie’s been an ass to all of them at least once, and they love seeing him brought down a peg.

         He looks furious, using the paper his schedule is on to scrape gum off his face. And then he gets right up in mine. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you to stay in your place?” he growls.

         “Maybe this all wouldn’t be happening if you were a nice person. Just a thought. Oh, and you have an interview at 3 tomorrow.” I start to walk away, but Jamie grabs the back of my shirt. 

         “I could make your life really miserable around here if I wanted to,” Jamie says. 

         “Sure, gum-face. Sure,” I say. I leave him seething behind me. 

         This morning I get an email that I have to be in the interview room 25 minutes earlier to “prep Jamie on talking points.”

When I pull open the door of the interview room, I’m showered from head to toe with whipped cream from a bucket hanging over the door. When I wipe my eyes, I see Jamie with a big bucket in his hand.

“You did this,” I spew.

He shrugs. “I thought you needed a makeover,” he says, emptying the bucket’s contents over my head. Which turn out to be feathers. Many, multicolored feathers that because of the whipped cream, stick everywhere. My hair, my face, and all over my body. 

“Jamie!” I shriek furiously while he just looks smug. “Are you out of your mind?”

“What?” He feigns innocence. “I thought Americans liked this.”

“Okay, Jamie, what is your problem with me?” I demand. “Is it because I’m the only person ever to stand up to you?”

“You think you can talk to me and treat me however you want. You tried to embarrass me in front of my teammates today. You need to get it through your thick skull that you’re just some lowly American intern, and I’m the star player. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“You are so arrogant,” I say. “It’s no wonder your teammates don’t like you.”

“Think I give a shit?” Jamie scoffs. “They all know I’m the best.” He smirks. “And so will that reporter coming.”

My eyes widen. “Oh yeah, the reporter’s coming. Jamie, I guarantee you’ll blow them away.”

He looks confused at this, and I use this moment to tackle him to the floor. “What the fuck?” he demands angrily. Whipped cream is seeping into his jeans and shirt, and some of my feathers are transferring onto his clothes. 

“Well, Jamie, karma’s a bitch, and she’s with you right now,” I say.

He glares at me. “You stupid twat. You ruined my outfit for my interview!”

“You ruined mine first!” I shoot back. “Like you say, you’re so much more important than me. Maybe you’ll make this look the new trend.”

“Piss off,” Jamie says, his eyes blazing. 

“You ensured that I would get embarrassed on the Tube today. Thought I’d return the favor,” I spit.

“This is a national magazine,” Jamie says through clenched teeth. “It’s not the same and you know it. I’ll get you back for this.”

I scowl. “As if this prank wasn’t entirely your fault. But fine. You want a war? You’ve got one.”

A/N: Hi guys!!! I wrote this after getting super pissed off (in a good way) after reading a snippet of another Jamie Tartt fanfic on here, so I used like 3 lines from there to inspire this story and put my own unique spin on it. Also yes I had Y/N quote that song Jojo Siwa made famous and Brit Smith ~bodied~. She's such a girlboss, and I love seeing her put Jamie in his place. I also love writing slow burns!!

[drowninginblox]

POLIN WEDDING RAMBLE

Since I’m seeing so much POLIN ON MY FUCKING DASH- I would like to raise awareness over the fact that even the wedding was so color-coded.

I highly encourage all of you to go back to the wedding and just, admire, the costuming.

Literally all of the Bridgerton side of the church is in blues/ blue greys aside from lady DanBerry since she is so confident in her self that she wears her signature magenta alongside the Bridgerton blue gray. Almost to say “yes I am my own person, but I also am so ruptured with this family that I am family to them.”

Meanwhile, all of the featherington side is ruptured in yellows and greens and emerges between the twos that it shows how distinct the two families are and if it wasn’t for Colin and Penn this union would otherwise never happen. it is specifically these two join a seemingly lifetime long chase on the feathering part to truly be a part of high society even though they are strangers within themselves.

You can go as far as the first season the first time we see the house they are reveling in the Bridgerton just as everyone else is. And granted they still are aside from Penn. The whole family is. But it is through and through subtle calling them out via lady whistle down that they have finally found a sense of humility. This is also also also say that they have a long way to go but still redemption is there if they choose to go after it.

All because he was a woman that realized what she didn’t want and look at the Bridgerton and said I aspire to be like you and I am going to do everything I physically can to either be that or have a shadow of that. And that bitch won.

[choster33]

Bridgerton S3 Episode 4 Reaction

So I finally watched the last episode of Part 1 and it was everything I wanted it to be! It was so steamy and full of Colin angst. I am going to write and react about what I saw so if you want to read on!

First off, the rest of the Featheringtons are trash. They're hilarious, but horrible sisters and mother to Penelope. I will one day write an essay about the trauma that Pen has gone through and etc. because ugh. Now on to Lord Debling who is adorable with his plant present.

Yes a nod to Penelope sitting at that settee and enjoying the view of Bridgerton House aka where her love Colin is at. I think she isn't leading Lord Debling on here, she genuinely is getting tired of being in the corner, playing what if and ready for a real relationship. She's not in love with Lord Debling, but ready to accept something real over her years of fantasizing over Colin for nothing.

I agree with people who wrote that the scene that Colin is rereading his journal, he's going over what Penelope has read so that he knows what she read and enjoyed and what would be going through her mind. Lady Bridgerton for sure knows that Colin is in love with Penelope! She knows he's in love and he couldn't take his eyes off of Penelope. And she's no idiot, the boy is acting love sick and she can smell that a mile away.

Tillie Arnold is an amusement, but not endgame.

Is it just me or is Lord Anderson not that funny or charming? I don't mind him courting Violet or anything to do with his person, but I don't get it. Maybe I'm taking cues from Lady Danbury who is an impeccable judge of character, but I'm meh about him.

LOL! I love Queen Charlotte and Brimsley! The step another pace backwards comment was gold. "You read me too well."

Awww look at Francesca's little face! She likes John so much! They just get each other and the two actors portray that so well. The joy they have when together, the unspoken silences, and the chemistry they have is evident and I like them!

Lord Samadani is portrayed perfectly as well- he is handsome and dashing and everything that a traditional girl would have wanted. But not what Francesca wants.

Aw, poor Cressida. I never thought I would think or say that, but here we are. The writers have reframed her into a victim of the ton and has tried to free her from the trope of Mean Blonde Bitch.

Oh, Pen it's so obvious you're staring at Colin. Even Lord Debling can tell something's up. I really like Lord Debling, I think he's so cute! I know he's not endgame, but he's doing everything right so far. Asking her how he would secure her hand and putting out feelers of her reaction to a proposal.

Oho the infamous prostitute scene! Yes, he seems incredibly disinterested. Of course his enthusiasm is elsewhere it's with Penelope! I don't mind this scene so much because it just heightens Colin's disinterest with any woman except for Penelope.

Ha! I love how Francesca just accosted Lord Kilmartin! She knows what she wants and it's this man! They are so cute and awkward and adorable! Francesca wants love, but doesn't want to or know how to play games like Daphne did. They are the on the spectrum romance I didn't know I wanted or needed.

Ooh more Cressida backstory and it is grim. Her family and house are so cold. Yeesh. No wonder she is who she is and does what she does. Eloise is sweet to come by and check up on Cressida, she's a good friend. Her father seems like a pill.

I like the Mondrich's and understand them having class/adjustment issues about suddenly becoming part of the ton. It's good to have some contrast and real people part of the main story, but I also don't understand Will's determination to not see how it looks for him to be serving as bartender. With that act he seemingly doesn't understand the whole have/have not system the ton is based on. Wake up, Will!

These assholes. I never liked these puffed up men of the ton who parade about as rakes, but are more likely just assholes who've slept with a girl or two, who they've most likely had to pay. I'm not a prude or judgmental, but I am with Colin and would be sick of them too.

Penelope being wary of her engagement with Lord Debling makes sense. The girl has been in love with Colin Bridgerton for years and still is and so it would be hard for her to just throw that all away and go with Lord Debling, whom she is not in love with. She's not opposed to him, but also waiting for true love.

Ha! We get more love sick and pining Colin! It's sad to see him like this, but also sweet poetic justice for all the years Penelope was pining alone for him. Lady Bridgerton is such a good mother! She knows Colin like the back of her hand and I love the part where she talks about armor. She knows he's been playing a part lately and wants him to be his Cinnamon Roll self.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she mentions Penelope and getting a proposal! That minx! She's sharp and sly and knows exactly what to say to get a response from her children. Lol.

The ballet was gorgeous! That hair piece OMG it was stunning! I like the Queen, but no Francesca will not end up with Lord Samadani!

The ballet sequence is interesting because of Penelope's reaction to it. The ballet is a romance story and Penelope is wrapped up in it. Other people are admiring the artistry and appreciating the dancers, but Penelope is swept up in it. Which proves that a loveless marriage will not do for her.

See, back to Lord Anderson and I get why he would like Violet, but not why she would like him back. They are reading friends to me than late in life love match. I just don't see instant chemistry or anything.

Tillie is beautiful and amusing, but eventually Benedict is going to chafe at the hiding things and lack of romance. Clearly Tillie is her own woman and not needing a man, which will turn Benedict off eventually I believe.

I actually like the Cressida and Eloise relationship. What am I saying? But I do! I think it's cute. Cressida is in sore need of a friend to soften her and Eloise needs one that listens to her.

Yes! Colin thinking back to that one day and the glass and the looks and the comments about eyes. They were so close and comfortable with each other because they were friends before feelings and etc got in the way.

More Francesca and John and they are very cute. She's abrupt with him at first because she thinks he doesn't like her, but lights up when she sees his gesture. This man gets her to her very soul and it's very cute. Lemonade isn't going to cut it man! She has someone who reads her very soul! The queen's face lol!

Excuse me! Colin is here for a purpose, boys, out of the way!

Oof, you were being honest, but way to fumble the ball Lord Debling. He knows that Penelope loves romance and romance novels and couldn't throw her a bone about one day being in love. Maybe that's what it is and wasn't meant to be, but oof.

Here comes unhinged Colin and I love it! I have been spoiled by this from all over and here it is! Yes walking right up to a dancing couple like that quite scandalous! This is going to be good.

Eros and Psyche indeed! Cressida can be a cow at times, but she's right here. Everything she's putting out here is right. They are old friends, but something is going on between them and directly across the street of that window Penelope's obsessed with. She gives Lord Debling all the answers and clues to put the pieces together.

I feel for Penelope because she feels like Lord Debling is her one and only shot at a husband, but Lord Debling is not a fool and has figured out about her and Colin. He's not wrong and the two of them would not have been a good match, but I feel bad for Penelope.

Colin running down this carriage, yes very unhinged behavior indeed! The boy is lovestruck! Those eyes when he says he cannot leave her alone! They are so in love and the total opposite reaction we see from him with the prostitutes. He is all emotion, all heart on his sleeve and I love to see it.

They're getting it on, they're doing it! Eeek, squee, all the feels! That moment after they start kissing where they look at each other to see if this is real and yes, yes it is! Then they get back into it hot and heavy. He's going for more and she gives the nod of consent. Yes, let's do this Colin! I've been spoiled about the fingering but it is hot! Yes Go get it girl!

Aww that moment of laughter between the two so cute! I've seen other posts on this and it's a moment where they are two old friends and giggling together and that is the nature of their romance and relationship and I agree. It's utterly adorable.

Ok!!! Ugh now I know why so many people can't wait for part 2. Fortunately for me, it's only a couple more days and I can't wait!!!! We're going to have Lady Whistledown drama, Eloise drama, a lot of Polin sex, and a marriage! I can't wait I can't wait!

[candywife333]

Better Have My Money

[TEASER]

-SLATED TO RELEASE IN DECEMBER

chubby caretaker reader x CEO jungkook

"You gold digger, how dare you seduce my grandfather with your feminine wiles? How did you do it with that fat ass? Must've blindfolded my poor grandpa".

I turned around, almost wheezing with laughter still stuck in my lungs, "Hey, don't call me a gold digger dude. That is insulting to me. They say diamonds are a girl's best friend. Why would I settle for something as cheap as gold? And why do you think I seduced your grandpa. I was just his caretaker bro, that's it."

Jungkook bit out, enraged with his eyes blazing, "Then why the hell did he write you in the fucking will you bitch? He left half of his net worth to you"?!!! The dude grabbed the collar of my starch white Ralph Lauren polo, "Do you even comprehend what you have done"?!!

I pushed the dude's hand off , "Dude stop trying to choke me. This is a premium polo, do you know that? I have to return it back to the store next week. You intend on accusing me of things I didn't do and now you want me to have the misfortune of not getting a refund". My eyes got misty as I whimpered out," What type of demon are you? Trying to make the poor poorer I see. You utter rascal".

He looked like steam was coming out of his eyes as he shouted, "How dare you call me a rascal!!! You whorish vixen"!! I thought I would get offended but I was really impressed by his vocabulary. I shook his sleeve, "Dude, do you read historical romance or something? Like the Bridgertons or Outlander. Because your vocabulary is hella impressive. You must've memorized the entire SAT vocabulary list". I waved my hands to silence him. "Forget it. Just listen to me for a second. If you want to get me off this mythical will you speak of, you will have to silence me with either the power of your pocket or the power of the P".

He stared at me quizzically, as though he were confused. I smiled placatingly, "Look, it is very simple. Either you pay me a direct cash deposit of 75 percent of whatever I was promised by your grandfather, or you pay me in sex".

His jaw dropped open, so open that a few cockroaches could fly in if he let them. He seemed to choke on his own spit, coughing till he solemnly sputtered out, "Number one is not on the table. What the hell do you mean by sex"?!!!

I assessed him, with a twitch of one of my eyebrows, "It's an age old profession bro. If I really must explain it", I sat down on a bench and explained , "you must voraciously plunder my depths so to speak". He gulped as he gawked at me with something similar to disgust, "Plunder your depths? You mean that I am supposed to fuck your lardy ass to get rid of you".

I smiled , nodding enthusiastically ," I wouldn't put it in such an uncouth, uncultured manner. To put it in a more sophisticated manner, you must ravage me passionately". He continued to look more confused, so I sighed and clarified with gravity, "To put it more precisely, I want to rattle your snake, la chupa your cabra, or even better, hanky your panky". He gasped in horror, eyes widening as though he had seen a ghost. " But essentially, yes, you must tup me with your very long member for approximately a month". With an astonished face he menacingly bit out, "And how would you know that it is very long you trollop"?

My eyes glinted in the sun as I chirped out sunnily, "Those pants fit you very well Sir, if you must know. And after having consumed enough erotica for years, I can tell you one thing". I winked obnoxiously as I eyed his pants, " My estimation skills never have failed me".

[dylansprayberrys1x1]

looking for 1x1 partners !

life has calmed down a bit for me so i'm putting this out there again. if we talked before but didn't really get anywhere but are still interested, feel free to relike this and i will rekindle our conversation.

hey ! i'm 23 so 18+ partners only ! looking for partners to rp either oc x oc, marvel ( canons, preferably 616 comics but i can do mcu too ), bridgerton, gossip girl, dc ( anything but comics unless you're okay with me taking creative liberties ) and multifandom interactions.

i love anything angsty, slice of life, fluffy, you name it i'm probably game. i do have some hard limits but again it's all in the source link

some things to note:

please for the love of god, read my carrd. it is in the source. yes it is long. yes it oddly specific. but this is because i have been burned one too many times by people, have had my time and energy wasted. so please do read it as my limits and expectations are stated. no issues if you don't align with them.

please ensure you can match those expectations. no hard feelings if you don't.

please be communicative and excited ! you don't need to talk to me 24/7 but i don't want to be the only one that drives our interactions or gives all our plotting ideas. please don't do multiple one word response. social anxiety is a bitch i know all too well but i can't handle multiple one word/emoji responses. i don't know how to respond to multiple of those types of messages and nothing kills my enthusiasm faster than that trust me.. i want our energies to match you know otherwise my muse for the rp plummets.

i am not always available to rp even if i'm online. i will try to be quick and you will get at least one reply a day at the minimum unless it's a long thread.

i am on discord and tend to use that exclusively these days. honestly you're better off getting my discord username and then talking there haha.

interested ? like this post and i will reach out to you. please only like this if you're serious. i am barely on tumblr so i don't want to waste time.

[number-0-iz]

Live thoughts of Bridgerton

Season 3, episode 1

Colin getting dressed in the carriage lmao

He is definitely better looking but I still don't think he's all that hot. Sorry not sorry. Maybe I'll change my mind.

Ah yes big ass feathers

SIGN LANGUAGE CHARACTER YES.

I love that. I don't speak ASL (also mainly cause English isn't my first language) but it is so cool.

The queen be bored lmao.

Charlotte as fierce as ever.

SINCE WHEN IS ELOISE INVOLVED WITH SEASONAL STYLES?

Me the whole time Fran was walking: don't fall don't fall don't fall

WHAT'S WRONG

Player Colin is...a little weird lma

ANOTHER ONE OF PEN'S SISTER FOUND A HUSBAND OH I'M SO HAPPY FOR HER.

NOW IT'S PEN'S TURN!

Oh shit the sister doesn't seem to like him 😭

Rip aunt Petunia, she seemed cool.

Oh u feel like the truth from last season will come out about the Featheringtons.

ELOISE SEEING PEN ELOISE SEEING PEN

Ugh friendship with Cressida? Eloise?

This is probably why she suddenly keeps up with seasonal styles?

God I hope they didn't change her too much or that she didn't lose herself.

I am not even 15 minutes in.

At least Violet seems to know something is up with Eloise.

"Tender young ladies." 😭

Damn all of the flirting jesus

CRESSIDA'S MOTHER IS SUCH A BITCH

Damn Portia has it all planned out huh

PEN AND COLIN MEET UP OOP

OOH HOW SHARP

I too would take a deep breath like that if I had to share a carriage with Portia

I AM A SUCKER FOR BOWS

"NO! Outside. Where our mother can't see." He says with a grin.

Lmao I love this man.

ELOISE IS READING EMMA

Please don't tell me Eloise has given up on being keen to learn and intellectual and a feminist

Because if she has, I will throw my phone at the wall.

"I lost the battle and I have no appetite for the war. I've joined the winning side."

So you mean to tell me that you have truly given up on your principles Eloise?

I wish Eloise would listen to Pen and they would be friends again.

"She was a very cold lady."

"She is colder now, I'm afraid."

AYE YO WHAT THE FUCK 😭

That was so savage.

Please let Mondrich and his family get a lot of cash as an inheritance.

A TITLE GOR MONDRICH'S SON?!

THIS IS EVEN BETTER 😭

They deserve it

NEWTON COCKBLOCKING KANTHONY LMAO

Aww their hands.

Ah another fantastic ball of Lady Danbury.

Oh Kate looks beautiful!!

PRETTY PEN IN A PRETTY DRESS

Aww Mr. Finch is so proud of his sister in law. Greenest flag.

UGH NOT A CONTESSA

I got distracted by Instagram reels when I went to look for the playlist of classical music covers used in the new season.

OH PEN US SO AWKWARD MY SWEETIE

Oh awkward Eloise

Ugh rude men

KANTHONY DANCE

PEN AND FRAN FRIENDSHIP

Oh Debling seems interesting.

NOT CRESSIDA STANDING ON PEN'S PRETTY DRESS! WHAT A BITCH.

And Eloise tried to apologise and Pen ran away 😭

OH THE SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW

"I overheard you." OOOOH

OH MIGHT THE FEATHERINGTONS LOSE EVERYTHING.

Cressida is a bitch. Eloise should not approve and be angry.

Oh sensitive Cressida? Damn.

How did I only now notice that Kate is left handed lol

COLIN VISITS

"BUT FRIENDS DON'T LOOK AT EACH ITHER THE WAY YOU DO."

Oh no not Penelope's scathing Whistledown letter

This'll be bad

GO MONDRICH FAM

Footman: Lord Kent. *proceeds to bow* welcome to your new home.

The kid: aye yo what the fuck

"I will never forgive her." Oh Colin if only you knew.

Well that was quite something! I really liked this episode if I am being honest! God I already wanna turn back to my season 2 Bridgerton AU with my OC that I made a few years ago but never posted. Am I going to watch episode 2 rn? Yes because I cannot wait. Will I leave yet another long reaction list like this one? Probably not cause I want to get a handle on my phone usage. But maybe another time! Until then!

[eviltiddyprodnz]

Queen Charlotte : A Bridgerton Story Review

SPOILERS !!!! watch out bae <333

honestly, ngl I watched this show only because of the chemistry in the teaser. like the wall scene encouraged me to watch it. Bridgerton is always a little hit and miss for me in a I could not finish season 1 for the life of me but watched the next one like 8 times.

It felt a little too fast paced and people began pissing me off from episode 1 but I reminded myself it was a historical show. Although her brother just signing her away and then saying 'shut up, it's already done' made me so mad ??? like let her react ??? even further down the episodes even when he's concerned, he's like oops sorry, already done now like bitch ??? 😭😭😭 so just #uselesss and annoying !!! I am sorry his little burst @ her got me because she didn't even have time to react !!!

The wall scene comes and I'm practically ready to jump but then to me it felt like the show was going 80 kms/min I was like woah woah woah, why is he saying all the right things... this is just moving too fast. (i want to gloat about being right about being suspicious but the way all i knew i was it felt shady, still had no idea what was coming fr 😭)

they were so cute and tender :'(((( ! like this is what the show kept doing to me till we got George POV. I kept on thinking we were just skipping conversations or moving too fast or just going at it because chemistry !!! but one thing about me, i'll see a romance show through and i'm kinda glad.

the show moves too quickly in the first 3 episodes for me, especially if you're binging it like me. a part of me is glad like yes babe! keep kissing each other (their chemistry is insane!) but the other part is like ??? you're not even going to talk about things. like initially i was even mad that he got to decide when they saw each other and got to be with her with a small ass apology. (the pov episode does so much for us as an audience but my girl was #robbed of many explanations)

they look great together!!! like even when she heard his outburst from the door and thought that he married her and is miserable. you could see both of them really liked each other which is why you keep waiting for an explanation, although i was wondering since they dropped each other's hands QUICKLY post coronation did the king not find it weird that she suddenly is angry ??? maybe i'll catch things on a rewatch. like he's ready and has moved in with her !!! but is not curious that she's visibly angry ???

i also will use this post to say everytime someone is not there in the morning after scenes with their partner, a part of me dies !!! unless they have gone to bring you food, you better be cuddling mate !

i for some reason called Brimsley and Renoylds little romance, i just felt vibes and yet I yelped happily when they started making out while wondering what is wrong with the king lmaooo. #real and also the actual power couple of the show! their interactions made the show worthwhile and i love how both of them were ready to risk all sorts of conduct because of how much they cared for these bozos. trust me their hands slowly touching each other had me waiting breathless because for a second i thought they were about to break up 😭 i wanted to see them grow old together

back to the king and queen shenanigans, honestly i thought that the king had just grown forgetful or just had old people problems in the og show so i was actually surprised when he ran out of the house looking for Venus.

episode 4 is we get George's pov and honestly for a bit my stubborn ass was still not ready to hear explanations till I saw him crumble into his mom's arms and it broke my heart. :( (i do not know what the illness is so i am not going to assume or probably read other posts and learn but it feels like anxiety is always a trigger for it and i felt like leaping in like a protective mother everytime someone put him in that situation)

the actor is so good with tender eyes, like the way he looked at her made me wipe out all of the memories of the earlier 3 episodes and go awwww you love her. that doctor was shady from the jump and just kept on getting worse, like the way i wanted to actually k!ll him. like he actually seemed to be enjoying the torture he was doling out on this poor man... with the obsessive need to tame him like WHEN I CATCH YOU ! (nasty ass loser, like when he spoke about taming the wolf i just knew he was not okay...) practically used the shaving routine as a way to threaten the king! loserrrr

i love that her calling that small dog a deformed bunny is what makes the king laugh (which is a relief to see post doc torture) and is what brings him out of this, and he's like fuck this shit! i'm seeing my wife. both the actors are so gorgeous...

also i am a sucker !!! for POVS and this one came with explanations so i was even a bigger sucker

Renoylds just placing a hand on the king's shoulder did more than what the dumbass doc's aggressive slaps or methods could do...

one night with the queen, one dance with the queen and the king was like i'm all healed up he's just like me !!! he was so in love lmao

then he has the episode and the queen handles it well, but he wakes up alone

the queen was fully right for asking questions but once again like the first heard the conversation through the doors, instead of even slight miscommunication, we get no communication. btw, she's pregnant too (which starts the venus panic in the first place) , blessings ! she actually begins to show a full bump and btw this is where i think the timeline fully goes helter skelter for me because did he just leave her for months and worse did he get TORTURED FOR MONTHS???

my girl is about to leave and a lot happens and i'm running out of word limit so i'll save that for another post but a chat with lady danbury #mygirl pushes the queen into the king's place and she rescues him. I NEEDED THAT BAD like you do not understand for a second i was convinced that the doctor would break him and the queen and the king would never even be able to say i love you, like i thought he'd somehow freeze in that moment right there (it is stupid but like i was actually afraid)

she saves him, they tell each other they love her and like i'm ready to go to war for them atp, they are so tender in the way they hug and you can see relief in his eyes, in her eyes and you let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

i love how she lets him heal but more in how she takes care of him when she can feel panic rise and his hands shake and how he calms listening to his voice ( take that nasty violent ass doctor)

the way they lied under the bed and he was afraid he would never be fully there for her and understood if she wanted to leave and she said fuch that! i love you and you're just george, just george to me <3

anyway, i feel a wave of sleep coming because i intelligently watched this at 2 am and it is 6 now but the last two episodes were me just awwing at the screen watching him trust her and himself and be happy with her. i'm so happy he got to share that with her

the children, lady danbury and violet thing I'll get onto later

the scene where the king's mom tells the queen that he's happy because of her is so sweet because it is reminiscent of the dance scene where she also realised he was happy happy.

i love how he swoops his arms around her !!! he's happy and safe <333

also this is where the timeline shakes me up because my girl is already pregnant??? AGAIN??? i feel like he helped her deliver their first baby in the same episode LMAOOOO

anyway text limit warning but yeah i liked it

[frost-queen]

Riding experience (Reader & Bridgerton Siblings)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn , @cherrysxuya , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @niktwazny303

The horse neighed loud when you entered the barn. The stable boy finishing up the last of securing the saddle. You moved towards the horse, wanting to touch it as it moved his head up. Shushing her, he calmed his head allowing you to lay your hand on his nose. – “It’s alright boy.” – you said letting your forehead touch his head. There was commotion behind you, making you look away.

The commotion getting louder with footsteps. With wide eyes, you watched as most of your siblings entered the barn all discussing. Anthony clearly in a heated discussion with Daphne. Eloise joining in from behind as Benedict forced himself into the conversation as well. Colin and Francesca trying not to get between the heat.

“What is the matter?” – you asked moving your hands to your hips. Anthony broke free from his discussion, walking up to you. – “I’ll tell you what’s the matter.” – he started with his scolding voice. – “You going unchaperoned!” – he outed with a point of his finger accusingly at you.

“Anthony you are exaggerating.” – Daphne interfered. – “It is just a ride to Lady Danbury.” – she finished stating her point. Anthony turned in shock at her. – “I do not care if it were to the queen. Y/n does not ride alone!” – he insisted upon. – “It is but a small ride. Y/n will be at Lady Danbury before you have finished complaining.” – Eloise pitched in defending your maturity.

You gave her a smile liking how she tried, but with Anthony it was never easy. – “Anything could happen!” – Anthony called out gesturing at you. – “Like what?” – Francesca asked curiously. Anthony turned his head sharply to her. – “Like… like…” – he began feeling himself get angered. – “She could be robbed!” – he outed as Benedict laughed loud.

Anthony bloated his cheeks at that. – “A tree could fall on her. Loose her way.” – Anthony continued to give example after example. – “I think you read too much.” – Colin chuckled out. – “Why am I the only one caring for Y/n’s safety!” – he shouted  making the horses neigh loud. – “Oh hush Anthony, you are startling the poor creatures.” – Daphne said soothingly petting one.

“Brothers, sisters I will be alright.” – you reassured them. – “I’ll send word once I have arrived at Lady Danbury’s.” – you offered to please your brother. – “Absolutely not!” – Anthony made clear. He grabbed the reins of the stable boy that was leading your horse out of the stall. – “You shall be chaperoned.” – he said with a determined nod. You furrowed your brows a bit. – “You are all going?” – you questioned half in shock.

“Yes.” – Anthony said, turning his posture to the stable boy. Signalling him to ready more horses. The stable boy hurried back to saddle up the horses. – “Why?” – you asked confused. – “I am chaperoning you.” – he declared. Daphne moved herself in front of Anthony to speak up. – “And I am not leaving you alone with him.” – Daphne said, receiving a glare from Anthony.

“Benedict will chaperone Daphne.” – he explained, pointing at them. – “Eloise insisted to go along if Benedict went so Colin is joining to chaperone Eloise.” – he went on making you stare at your brother. – “Francesca will ride with me as well, she wanted to join out of curiosity.” – Anthony finished.

 “That is ridiculous.” – you let out at his most stupid explanation ever. – “You are ridiculous.” – you then said. – “We are coming and that is final!” – he insisted upon. You took the reins from him, leading your horse out of the stables. One by one your siblings received their horse. Outside you hoisted yourself up in the saddle. Waiting for Anthony to join your side. – “After you.” – you sarcastically said with a gesture.

“With you sister.” – Anthony replied with a smirk. Rolling your eyes, you signalled your horse to walk. Anthony riding beside you, with Francesca at his other side. Daphne and Benedict right behind you. Then Eloise and Colin. – “Isn’t this wonderful.” – Benedict teased. – “Family bonding.” – he scrunched his nose, putting on the most ridiculous teasing smile. Eloise snorted loud knowing just how serious he was about that. Very little.

Anthony looked over his shoulder, giving him a good glare. – “I didn’t ask for all of you to come.” – you said with a sigh. – “Oh, but we wanted too dear sister.” – Colin called out from the back. – “You sure there weren’t any alternative motives for you all to accompany me. Certainly you Eloise!” – you shot your sister a glare, knowing she was never too keen on riding a horse.

Eloise pulled her shoulders up. Her horse’s head whipped up when she neighed, sending an expression of terror on her face. It made you laugh loud. – “Are you enjoying yourself Francesca?” – Anthony asked, ignoring all around him. Francesca hummed shyly, sitting in quiet. You groaned loud at the pace you were going. – “Honestly are we expected to arrive at Lady Danbury’s by tomorrow?” – you called out. – “Yes, Anthony were are in a haste.” – Daphne interfered. 

“We?” – you asked curiously. Daphne cleared her throat. – “I meant you of course.” – she gestured at you. – “We shall pick up the pace.” – Anthony said kicking his horse. You all did the same, as the horse trotted. A pace faster than simply walking. It still wasn’t fast enough as it made you sigh. You would’ve been at Lady Danbury’s faster if it wasn’t for them slowing you down.

In the open fields the formations had changed a bit. Not a straight line anymore, more a group. Colin was riding with Daphne and Eloise. Benedict somewhere in the middle, watching the trees. Anthony never left your side as you practically remained the same. Francesca had slowed down, finding herself somewhere amongst the others.

She was riding closer to the trees. She gasped spotting a squirrel up in a tree. It ran fast up the tree bark. The squirrel ran into the top of the tree, ruffling it up. A few birds that had been nesting there flew up, startled. The birds flew everywhere for an escape. One bird flew rather low, passing right in front of Francesca’s horse. Her horse neighed loud, hooves up as Francesca screamed loud. The hooves thumping loudly on the ground. – “Fran!” – Benedict called out as he horse decided to take a run for it.

Galloping off as Francesca clamped onto the reins for dear life. You signalled your horse to go faster, going after her. – “Y/n!” – Anthony called out, ordering his horse to follow. Francesca cried it out, having lowered herself closer to the saddle out of fear. – “Hold on Fran!” – you shouted loud, kicking your horse for it to go faster. Your horse was puffing loud, galloping to catch up with her. You were panting, focusing on your sister.

Behind you, you could hear your siblings shout. Your horse neared hers as you forced it to ride with her. Riding near her, you dared to let go of the reins with one hand. Attempting to grab a hold of hers. The first time you failed, missing the rein by a few inches. Grabbing your own reins again, you ordered your horse to get even closer. For a second time you tried it, taking a hold of her reins.

You clenched your hand around it, urging your horse to slow down so it would make her horse follow. Both of you were going to fast, making it harder for your horse to suddenly go slowing down. Francesca was crying, wanting to get off. – “Y/n!” – Anthony called out riding up to you. – “Let go of the reins!” – he ordered. Francesca’s horse gave a notch, kicking it up. You felt a strong pull on the hand, clutching onto her reins.

The sudden movement made you launch forwards, losing your grip on your own horse. Your horse stopped, lowering his head aggressively. You called it out when you got flung over the horse’s head a few meters further. Anthony rode his horse forwards, coming to a stop right before you. His horse went up, kicking his hooves up to stop your horse from riding over you. Your horse came to a sudden stop as Anthony’s horse set his hooves back down.

Benedict rode past you to Francesca. He managed to grab her horse and slow her down. Coming to a full stop, Francesca got off, crying loudly. Daphne jumped off her horse to meet her half-way, wrapping her arms around her. – “Y/n!” – Anthony had gotten off his horse, rushing up to you. – “Are you hurt sister?” – he asked with panic in his voice. Eloise and Colin came as well. – “I think I’m fine…” – you told him, feeling your limbs.

Nothing seemed broken. Perhaps a few bruises would pop up, but nothing serious. Anthony sighed relieved, wrapping his arms around you. – “I was so worried.” – he breathed out. – “I’m fine.” – you reassured your other siblings. – “And that is why no one leaves unchaperoned!” – Anthony called out, having the need to lecture you all anyways.

You punched his armpit, groaning from the soreness in your arm. It made him look worriedly at you. – “I’m fine!” – you reassured him for the thousand time. – “I’m not riding that anymore!” – Francesca called out, pointing harshly at her horse. – “You will ride with me.” – Colin suggested. – “I’ll take her horse too.” – he added. Daphne helped Francesca over to Colin.

“I shall leave with Y/n to Lady Danbury’s. You all return home and take care of Francesca.” – Anthony said helping you up. Benedict wanted to join as well, but Anthony found his place with the others. He couldn’t leave his three sisters alone in the care of Colin. There needed at least be two men. Anthony helped you on your horse. Together you calmly rode over to Lady Danbury, where you received the upmost warm welcome.  

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[fayes-fics]

Did I hear the words AMA Night?

So, my friend, I know you've seen the Bridgerton S3 trailer. What are your thoughts on the glimpses of A & B that we got? And what about Violet who was briefly chatting to an Older Gentleman. Do you think she's getting her garden tended to in this upcoming season? And finally, there's our girl Eloise. Are you feeling as wtf about her apparent friendship with Cressida "crazy gowns and hair" Cowper as I am?

Hi lovely!! 🫶

Bwhahaha love the entrance there 😎 your gif choices are always perfect!

So I LOVED the A & B synchronized head tilt. Also the Benedict sass? Just yessssssssssss there’s my golden funny boy. 🤌 Get that roasting in, baby. 😍

I’m excited for Violet to have her garden tended. She’s a lady of a certain age and lemme tell you NEEDS MUST BE MET. I hope her garden is throughly tended and just a riot of blooming. 😉 She deserves it. The man in the trailer looked v handsome so GO VIOLET 🎉 Also the comedic potential of the horror amongst her kids about their mum getting some?!? PURE COMEDY GOLD 🥇

Eloise and Cressida. Urghh yuck no. I mean I know she’s having a teenage strop that her bestie was lying to her… but really?! That bitch?! The one she claimed she’d rather die than befriend?! I can only assume it’s a plot device to bring the Cowper world closer to the Bridgertons, cos I think there’s a chance that influences S4. Also yes WTF is Cressida wearing in the teaser. She looks like she murdered a Muppet.

Anyway thank you for your fun ask my dear. I’d love to know your thoughts! 😁🧡🧡

[catastrxblues]

ok some quick bridgerton season one thoughts !!!

(everyone look AWAY. this will actually feel as if it was written by someone who has lost her sanity, which i mean, not far off, but you know)

first and foremost though, benedict bridgerton, hi love <3

i love eloise so much. there is no word for it. she is my new comfort character, and i will support all of her wrongs actually yes i will.

i've been screaming about this one for the past hour but POLIN. penelope and colin. them. i am screaming. i cannot breathe. my soul has left my body and it has not come back yet. i live vicariously and exclusively through them. i love them so much. i apologize for the person i will become when their season comes out, i will be the most annoying and insufferable person. sorry in advance.

(also unfortunately i stupidly decided to watch the bridgerton season 2 trailer before actually finishing this first season, so the whole pen as lady whistledown surprise had actually already been ruined for me before i got there 😔)

anthony bridgerton, i have my eyes on you for season 2. you have BETTER be as good as others have told me, i will NOT have anything less.

ok, time to talk about them. honestly, daphne and simon became SO much less interesting for me at the second half of the show. Now i know there are people who were never actually invested in them at all, and thought of them as boring and bland, but look, i'm a basic hopeless romantic bitch okay so i actually ate that first half of the season UP. But what was up with the second half 😭 go girl give us nothing. They went downhill, down the rabbit hole, into the depth of the abyss. and *that scene* (you know what scene i'm talking about)??? i didn't find the development well-written nor satisfying at the very least, but well what can i do. they could be cute sometimes i guess as long as they stay like AT LEAST 20 cm apart from each other.

anyway bye, i need to revise my physics material </3

[redpool]

ECLIPSE

RILEY MY BABY

RILEY MY LOVE

how do you expect me to be mad at that?

his neck, oh my god

yuckies

ew stop

I don't want to see that.

she said no.

SLAY CHARLIE

YES, CALL OUT YOUR CODEPENDANT DAUGHTER!!!

I mean yeah, but like why are you pushing this so much?

no shit

Jesus fucking Christ.

ANGELA MY LOVE

don't be a bitch

see what I mean! new hair style every movie.

codependant

RUN EMMETT RUN

GO JAZ GO

oooo Emmett v Paul

why are you acting like I give a hoot about Jacob?

smh

EMBRY!!!!!

GASP LEAH MY LOVE

shut up

leave her alone JaCoB

oh god Seth is 15

for fucks sake

oop

eyeroll

RILEY

RILEY MY LOVE

what's that crest on his bracelet?

the brown/black eyes make me uncomfortable

god, i need to learn the fur colours

lol

'doesn't he own a shirt?'

please stop.

HURL

BABY SETH!!!!

LEAH MY LOVE

EMBRY MY LOVE

PAUL MY LOVE

I want to hear more of the tribe's stories, they're more interesting than this stupid love story.

fucks sake Riley

shes only a baby

what the fuck

ew

oh shit.

pfft

scoffs

dude

stop telling her how she feels.

eyeroll

hurl

barf

DUDE

lol

Em

Rose, my love.

Rose, my baby.

*jaw clench*

ah ok, so she didn't drink from them she just killed them.

RILEY!!!

DEMETRI!!!

JANE!!!!

ALEC!!!

FELIX!!!

RILEY!!!

go Jess!

ANGELA MY BABY!!!!

EMBRY!!!!

you can't apologize for forcing a kiss on someone

oh my fucking god

i'm going to shoot my self

BABIES!!!

MONTAGE!!!!

HA

ew, stop flirting

lol

this scene gets me every time, she's petting Taylor in a green suit

Jasper backstory!

BaTtLe ScArS

why are we just letting him get away with that

We really need to have a chat about the whole confederate soldier thing

ew

aw Jaz

awe

awe

oh my god

woah

how can you not see that this relationship is not normal?

*snort*

oh my fucking god, don't you start.

exactly FUCK LOVE TRIANGLES

polyamory is a thing you know

brOTP

ew

i'm gonna go get water, and not pause the movie

he said no

HE. SAID. NO.

oh my god.

glasses are coming off.

i am blind

don't you get mad at him, he said no.

oh, my fucking god.

oh, my god, Edward Cullen on Bridgerton.

look at him, he's so happy!

little Ry-Ry why can't you see that you're being manipulated?

stop, stopping in the middle of your sentances.

yeah, it really looks like it

lovely

oh my god

he's only a baby.

good one

I'll give you that one, it was funny

shut up

eyeroll

I fucking hate you

oh my god, just date both of them

now kiss

just kiss already jeez

SETHY MY BABY!!!

eyeroll

oop

exactly

tbh i feel really bad right now (for jacob)

ew, never mind

you are literally engaged; you've been engaged for like 2 days and you're already cheating oh him??

what the actual fuck

no fucking shit

"I don't know what happened.' YOU LITERALLY FUCKING ASKED HIM TO KISS YOU?!?!

woah

punch him so hard his head came off, that was so cool

thx Jake

whos that? was that Paul? WHO IS THE GREY WOLF!?!?!?

i swear Riley, if you hurt that baby, i'll forgeet that i like you.

oh, she remembered the Tribe's story

LEAH NO

hey Jane

Paul, Embry, Leah, Seth my loves

sorry i stopped paying attention, i was learning the wolves fur colours.

not everything is about you Edweird

[vanishedinvain]

𝐈 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓

—𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 × 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ch. ii. of perfect all-american bitch // previous chapter - next chapter

chapter summary: benedict might be getting dragged across the cobblestones right now, but at least his captor is an angel.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni. character death in a flashback, gun violence, blood (so much blood), getting blackout drunk, marijuana usage, sexual content (brief m/f/f threesome), mention of vomit, we're starting to put the "bitch" in "perfect all-american bitch"

author's note: wc: 19k+ (i gotta stop fucking writing like i'm actually making an ep of bton). so yes it did take me until they announced s4 as benedict's season to pull me out from the dead to finish this chapter. but this one's a doozy, strap in everyone 🫡 also trying out something new with the layout what do we thinkkkkk?

It was a week out from the Queen’s ball, and the whole Bridgerton family was gathered in the drawing room. The modiste was running through the details of all the dresses they’d had commissioned, much to Daphne’s and their mother’s excitement and Eloise’s disinterest. Gregory and Hyacinth were locked in a battle of wits over chess.

Benedict was sitting on the settee going over the newspaper, rays of sunlight shining through the window and illuminating his reading. He’d taken to sitting by windows and peering through them over the past two weeks, especially while in the east wing of the house. 

For no particular reason.

Eloise remained seated with her book while Daphne and their mother gushed over the dresses. She tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She was in more of a mood this morning than usual, which was most certainly not helped by her drowsiness. 

Daphne held up one of the dresses, the fabric bejeweled to the heavens and in the signature Bridgerton blue, against her body for her mother’s assessment.

“Oh!” Violet exclaimed, “Madame Delacroix, you have certainly outdone yourself this time.”

“Merci, Lady Bridgerton. I try my best.”

Violet picked up the bill from the box that ferried the dresses over, frowning as she read it. “Have you lowered your prices? I could have sworn we paid more last season.”

Genevieve gave a polite laugh. “Just a discount to celebrate the bloom of the season!”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

“Trust me, the pleasure was all mine.” Genevieve caught Benedict’s eyes over his newspaper, her tone toeing the line of innuendo. Benedict winked at her, enjoying the lightness he got from harmless flirting.

And then he saw Daphne looking between them back and forth, her eyes widening as she put the pieces together. He suddenly found his tea to be very interesting, chugging it down hastily as his ears grew red.

“I am only glad I managed to get these done before the ball tonight,” Genevieve said offhandedly, but the entire room came to a standstill. 

Daphne and Violet exchanged tense looks. Eloise seemed to freeze mid-page turn. She had a far-away look in her eyes as if she were not in the room anymore. 

“What ball?” Hyacinth asked, noticing the sudden silence. 

Violet cleared her throat. “The Danbury Ball, dearest…We were not invited.”

Genevieve recognized her error now. She had not thought through the logic of why the Bridgertons and Lady Danbury were not on speaking terms. “Oh, I see. My apologies for the mistake.” She looked at Benedict, slightly panicked that she’d just insulted his family. 

“No matter, right?” Benedict said, throwing his friend a rope to safety, “These will work perfectly for the Queen’s Ball next week. Thank you for your speedy turn-around, Madame Delacroix.”

Violet and Daphne chorused thank-yous to Genevieve, who looked quite grateful for the swift rescue. She went to pack her supplies and stack up the empty boxes while Violet preened over the dresses some more. 

“Eloise, do stand up please. I’d like to see this on you.”

There was some latency between Violet speaking and the words making it through Eloise’s ears. She was stuck in that unreachable part of her brain, the part that stole her sleep. 

“Eloise?”

Violet was holding up a champagne colored dress, with small, evenly dispersed crystals as opposed to Daphne’s which had larger crystals concentrated at the waistline. She gestured for Eloise to stand up and hold it against herself, which she did reluctantly.

“You will look splendid, Eloise.”

“I shall look like every other young lady, Mama,” Eloise muttered, “Like a shaking leaf with too many jewels on.”

“There is no reason to be nervous,” Violet said, trying to reassure Eloise, but her daughter’s patience was short this morning. “This was the very color Daphne wore at her first ball last season.”

“And we should like to repeat last season?”

It was out of Eloise’s mouth before she could stop herself, her mouth stuck in a small O-shape as she surprised even herself with her callousness. She kept her eyes trained on the floor to avoid looking at Daphne, whose expression was pained. 

Eloise then looked at Benedict, hoping to find a way out. Though their relationship had been strained and bent out of shape, it was not broken, and she still looked to him on instinct for help. 

Benedict just sighed, not angry, but disappointed. Out of all of the Bridgertons, Daphne was most often the target of Eloise’s snark, even if it was indirect this time. They were fundamentally different people with fundamentally different values, and they were bound to butt heads.

But this was out of line. 

Benedict folded up his newspaper, deciding not to add fuel to the fire by admonishing Eloise when their mother would certainly do that anyway, but not helping her dodge the consequences either.

“Madame Delacroix, thank you for your time. Allow me to escort you out,” Benedict offered, helping her carry a few boxes.

“Merci, my lord,” Genevieve said nervously. She curtsied to his family, and walked briskly out the door, wanting to be far, far away from the mess. Benedict followed closely behind, giving Eloise one last look.

Benedict spoke up once they were out of earshot. “I truly mean it, Gen. Thank you for getting the dresses done and charging us below your asking rate.”

“This is the only time, Lord Bridgerton,” she warned sternly, but without any signs of true irritation.

“I know, I know,” he nodded, face scrunched in embarrassment that he even asked for such a favor in the first place. “To tell you the truth, I’m still getting a handle on our finances. And we sent an extra sum for Anthony’s birthday, so things are tight this month.”

Genevieve chuckled. “Yes, Siena did mention that.”

Benedict paused when they got to the door, and turned to look at her. “Siena writes to you?”

“Oui, bien sûr,” Genevieve replied, as if that were a given. Benedict supposed it was for her and Siena. It took a true friend to put herself in danger to help the other skip town. 

“Right,” Benedict said, mood souring, but not towards Gen, “How silly of me to ask.”

Genevieve felt rather sorry for him, but knew it was not her place to push. While she considered Benedict her friend, they did not turn to each other for shoulders to cry on. A romp in the sheets? A shared drink? Genevieve could not think of better company. But she had her business and Benedict had his…everything else to tend to, so neither of them were in any position to give the other emotional relief.

So Genevieve provided the only kind of support she knew. She grabbed the bill from her jacket pocket and a pencil, and scribbled something down. “Lord Bridgerton, there is a fête tonight after the Danbury Ball. At Mr. Granville’s.”

This piqued Benedict’s interest. He took the bill from her hand. It was an address and a time. “Is there? Are you going?”

“Oui, and you should come, too. I heard you were spotted at one of these parties once, and then never again.”

Benedict chuckled ruefully. “He stopped inviting me.”

“Because you kept brushing him off, and he took the hint. Not because you are unwelcome,” Genevieve insisted.

Benedict sighed. Of course he wanted to go. If he were not head of the family, a family that evidently still had many jagged edges, he would have gone without a worry. Instead, he just sat on the fence, wondering if he deserved to indulge himself in this way. “Perhaps. We shall see.”

Genevieve smiled. “I will take what I can get. Adieu, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Adieu.”

He opened the door for her, passed her the boxes, and bid her farewell. He stood in the threshold, his finger tapping on the bill absentmindedly. He chanced a look up at the window of the next door residence.

Nothing. Again.

He hadn’t seen much of Dovie for the past week. She was likely busy with wedding preparations. As the sister of the bride, she undoubtedly had many responsibilities. He wondered if she was going to the Danbury Ball. What she would wear. Who she’d dance with.

Then he tore his eyes away. Just another indulgence he could not have.

The carriage rocked back and forth as it carried the L/N family, the Duke of Brighton, and his sister to the Danbury Ball. Y/N was in a foul mood already. She’d been made to get ready for the ball at the duke’s residence instead of her own with her friends to present a united front upon arrival. Their families were to be joined together in holy matrimony in a matter of months, after all.

Kill me now.

“I do hope you will not be scowling the entirety of the evening, Y/N,” Mrs. L/N said quietly, though within the confined space, everybody heard anyway.

“Then, I should be given something to smile about,” she snarked back.

“The Queen will be in attendance, you must—” “Comport myself, I know. You need not remind me, Lady Danbury’s cane is a far more effective deterrent than any chastising from either of you,” she replied, gesturing between her mother and her sister.

The duke cleared his throat. “You are a lady of the ton now, so perhaps you may find a suitor. There will surely be many eligible men of good standing since nearly everyone attends at least the first ball.”

Y/N burst out in a short fit of laughter. Olivia shot daggers at her with her eyes, so she covered up with a cough. “We shall see, Your Grace.”

The idea of marrying an English nobleman was preposterous. Olivia may have found a match with one of them, but Y/N never saw eye-to-eye with the duke or any of his friends when the band traveled over to America. They were polite enough, but perhaps a bit too polite. They never seemed to say what they meant plainly, dressing all their words in flowery language until their true intentions were indecipherable. 

Staying in Mayfair only proved that the duke and his friends were on the friendlier side. Everybody had been cold to the Doves the day they set foot on British soil for being untitled and nouveau riche. How could any of them, boisterous and lively as they were, possibly find fulfillment with one of these unfeeling aristocrats?

Olivia was once a wild child, but that all went away when she met the duke. Y/N would not be tamed so easily.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver knocked on the door to indicate that they had arrived. The duke got out first, helping the ladies down. Y/N froze when she looked up at the venue, so lost in its grandeur that Lady Vivian had to tap her to get out of the way.

The ball was at a conservatory, which was made entirely of glass barring structural necessities. Just from the outside, one could see the amber glow of countless candles weaving, winding greenery along the columns and spandrels.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Lady Vivian asked from behind.

“Yes, quite. I do not believe I have ever seen so many flowers gathered in one place.” Truthfully, she only appreciated flowers as much as she appreciated other beautiful things like a sunset or a well-placed ribbon. But looking at the bursts of color that sprouted from floor to ceiling, she could see how they could capture one’s special attention. 

“What is Miss L/N’s favorite flower? I should know these things for the wedding bouquets,” Lady Vivian remarked. If she noticed Y/N seething, she did not comment. 

“Lilies. The white variety.” 

“Oh my!” Lady Vivian replied. If she had pearls, she’d be clutching them. “Those are mourning flowers. We cannot have them at a wedding, even if they are her favorite.”

“Then why did you even ask?” Y/N snapped.

Lady Vivian was momentarily caught off-guard before glaring right back at Y/N. Whatever she was going to say was cut off by her fake, plastered smile when she noticed the carriage of the Doves arriving. 

Y/N let out a sigh of relief seeing her friends again though. She ran up and hugged Mina as soon as she set foot on the ground, the other girl letting out an oof upon impact. 

“Ugh, I missed you all!” Y/N proclaimed dramatically.

“Oh Christ, we were apart for six hours maximum,” Mina pointed out. Her dress was a soft lavender with a sheer jogakbo overlay in deep indigo with puffy shoulders, big and bold like the peacock she was nicknamed for. 

“I already felt touched in the head after but one hour at the Brighton estate. I would rather be repeating my Latin lessons with Harry,” Y/N muttered for Mina’s ears only, and the girls shared a giggle.

They began walking towards the venue. Bronwyn, Estrella, and Olivia stayed in step with each other, huddled over a deck of miniatures, shuffling and studying them with great detail. Surely, neither Bronwyn and Estrella were joining the marriage mart in earnest, right? Y/N caught up to them to listen in on the conversation.

“Lord Kallel?” Bronwyn asked, having stopped at a photo of a man with deep-set eyes and the truly most insane set of mutton chops they’d ever seen.

“Not bad,” replied Olivia, “He is only a baron, but on the wealthier end to be sure.”

Next. “Lord Tao?”

“Aiming higher, he is a marquess.”

Bronwyn hummed, intrigued. She took his picture off the top, and handed it to Olivia for safekeeping. Oh God, she was serious.

“Lord Bridgerton?”

Y/N was not particularly taken by any of the eligible suitors thus far—they sort of all blurred together into a moving picture of frowns and scowls—but she did a double take on Lord Bridgerton’s photo.

That was the man from the garden. The one who ripped up Whistledown and smiled at her. She wanted to grab the card to inspect him closer, but forced herself to remain cool.

“Absolutely not,” Olivia stated grimly, “The Bridgertons are still reeling from their scandal last season. I must have forgotten to take out his photo. They will not be in attendance tonight.”

Y/N cleared her throat. “They are our neighbors, right?” she asked, trying not to sound too curious.

Unfortunately, Olivia caught on, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yes, they are next door to us.”

“What’s their story?”

“Did you not read the Whistledown before you tore it up a fortnight ago? About Viscount Bridgerton—or I guess he would be just Anthony now. He was stripped of his title.”

“What was his transgression? Tripping on a morning stroll?” Y/N quipped flippantly.

“Anthony Bridgerton killed the Duke of Hastings, Lady Danbury’s godson, in a duel,” Olivia stated, dropping the information like an anvil. She looked rather self-satisfied when she saw the surprise on her sister’s face, finally being the one to shock her into silence instead of the other way around for once.

“This man,” she continued, grabbing Lord Bridgerton’s card, “is his brother. The new viscount. Whether or not he is a good viscount remains to be seen.”

She tossed the card behind them, floating behind in their wake. “Even if he does show face at other balls, it is not in our best interest to associate with him.”

Y/N was rarely shaken; she preferred to do the shaking. But she had to admit that this reveal sent her reeling a bit. So this was why that man—Lord Bridgerton—seemed so drained. What an awful tragedy to reckon with. Everything he knew about his path in life was gone in an instant, as fast as a bullet.

She and Olivia had been at odds for quite some time, but if her sister disappeared the next morning, Y/N would burn everything and everyone in her path in coping with the loss. 

The whole party had come up to the entrance, a tunnel shrouded in black fabric leading into the main dome. They were signaled by the ushers to step behind the curtain and into the tunnel.

There were still flowers and greenery within the tunnel, but they were far moodier. Black dahlias, serpentine vines, roses with the thorns uncut crept along the floor up to the ceiling, and wrapped around the candlesticks. They illuminated two long tables spanning the length of the tunnel on opposite sides. One held white masks decorated in pearls and crystals, almost like teardrops, and dance cards. The other held black masks with a feather of the same color sticking up on one side, and pencils.

“What circle of hell have we stumbled into?” Y/N asked in a whisper, rather disconcerted.

A man in a black mask entered from the other side of the tunnel, and Olivia shushed her.

“Good evening, ladies. Your Grace,” the man greeted, bowing to the duke standing behind the ladies. “Welcome to the Danbury Masquerade Ball! To your right, you will see white masks and dance cards for the ladies. To your left are black masks and pencils for the men. Here are the rules for tonight.” He gestured to the signs above each of the tables.

Do not give out your true name. Your aliases are written on the inside of the masks. 

When the final dance is announced, find the partner that was your best match.

After the final dance, you may remove your masks and give your true names.

They all picked up their masks, adjusting them on their faces, the ladies affixing the dance cards to their wrists. 

“Enjoy your evening,” the man said, “and good luck.”

“How useful are those miniatures now?” Y/N whispered to Bronwyn, who elbowed the younger girl’s side.

“We must secure a new lady’s maid for Eloise, now that she is out.” Benedict told Jackson, the estate manager, as they made their way into his study, “Ensure she is even more strong-willed than the last.”

Her last one walked out crying.

Jackson nodded, and put down a stack of papers as Benedict took his seat.

“What are those?”

“Accounts requiring your signature, my lord.”

Benedict’s long night just got longer. “Right, thank you.”

He started reading as Jackson opened the door to leave.

“Lady Bridgerton.”

Benedict looked up, and it was his mother coming into the doorway as Jackson left. “Good evening, Mother.”

“Good evening, Benedict. I just wanted to drop this off.” She handed over a piece of parchment, and he skimmed it briefly. 

Miss Goring - proficient on the harp and pianoforte

Miss Umelo - knows a great deal about art

“Mother, what is this?” Benedict asked, though he had a very strong suspicion what this was about . 

“Oh, just a list of eligible ladies for this season. In case you were interested at all,” Violet told him, feigning nonchalance.

Yes. The whole marriage thing. Benedict would be eight and twenty come July, still younger than Anthony was before he whisked away to France. His eldest brother was certainly in no rush to get married at that age, gallivanting with Siena for most of his leisure time. 

“Thank you for your…” Benedict began slowly, setting the paper down at the corner of his desk, “interest in my prospects, but perhaps it might be better to get Daphne wedded off first.”

“Who said both might not happen this season? One does not choose when love should strike, it simply does.”

“Love? You are holding out hope that I will find love?” Benedict asked in disbelief.

Violet frowned. “I know you will find love. We all must do so one day.”

Much like his mother, Benedict was a romantic once, in his artistic influences and his love life. The rules that fixed advantageous matches were in direct contradiction to romance and fulfillment, hence why he went outside of society for emotional and intellectual connections, even if they never turned serious.

But that was then. As much as his mother wished for him to have love in his life, there was no skirting around the fact that his wife would be the new viscountess and the mother of the next Viscount Bridgerton. It was far more important to secure the line with a woman of excellent breeding and character, even if Benedict felt little affection for her. His father was lucky to find both the love of his life and the most suitable viscountess in the same person, but they were the exception, not the rule.

These were a few thoughts amongst many he could’ve voiced, but he feared they would only break his mother’s heart. So he went with, “I will look at the list before the Queen’s Ball. Good night, Mother.”

Violet was taken aback slightly. As much as Benedict had begun to shield parts of himself from the world, there were simply some that she could still read like a book. He had something more to say, but the more she pried, the more he would clam up. He was unfortunately learning all the wrong lessons from Anthony.

Violet waited until she reached the threshold to turn around and tell him one last thing. “Just so you know. The right woman will accept the fortunes and misfortunes of your life, and love you all the same. Lord knows your father wasn’t perfect, but we were perfect together. Good night, dearest.”

She was gone before he could say anything back.

Benedict picked up the list again with a sigh. None of the Bridgerton children ever had to worry about pressure from their mother to marry just for the sake of it; that was the upside to her being obsessed with epic love stories. While his mother was trying to nudge him in that direction, she would never shove unless he was head-over-heels, puppy-dog-eyed, reciting-bad-poetry in love with someone.

But Benedict was not so sure it was possible anymore. Any one of these young women would be perfectly suitable as the new viscountess, but could he really fall in love with any of them? Was he simply too beaten down, his heart still too full of grief, to feel anything bordering on romantic or passionate? Or perhaps, the universe would be doubly cruel and let him fall in love only to be rejected because his deficiencies were too obvious. Who could love damaged goods?

He moved the list of ladies to the bottommost drawer, trying to lock it and his self-loathing away for long enough to focus on the papers, when he noticed what was underneath his mother’s list.

The bill Genevieve gave him, with the address and time of Henry Granville’s party.

He checked his pocket watch. The ball would likely end in about half an hour, allowing Granville and any attendees of the ball to freshen up and slip into something more comfortable before heading to his studio.

He thought about the last party of Granville’s that he went to. The night took an awful turn, but it began beautifully. He felt intellectually fulfilled discussing the merits of various artistic movements of eras past, meeting people who had traveled all over, a far cry from the bounds of Grosvenor Square. 

He was essentially given the freedom to draw or paint what he liked. Granville liked what he drew, even if Benedict didn’t himself; he felt a bit guilty now about shutting out someone who was once a gateway into a vibrant, liberating world.

The season was already well underway, even if the Bridgertons would be getting a late start. He had never steered his sisters through a season before, and he can’t imagine it would allow him much leisure time once they were well and truly in the thick of it. Not to mention, once he got married, his wife would not appreciate him disappearing into late hours of the night to play out some fantasy of a different life.

The ball was going about as well as Y/N could’ve expected. She had danced about three times over the course of the night, and they all went like this: 

First, a man would notice she had no partner and come over to put his alias for the night on her dance card. Then, they would dance for a few bars, wordlessly swaying and spinning to the string ensemble. Finally, he would ask her a question, and she would just watch the smile melt off his face as she answered and her accent was made known. They were too polite to leave her jilted mid-song on the dance floor, but conversation fizzled out quite quickly after she revealed herself.

She felt neutral towards the men who rejected her, but it hurt all the same to be rejected. Last season was middling; she did not make an utter fool of herself but did not excel either. The comparison to her sister did not help. Both sisters were well-read, multilingual, danced perfectly well, and properly educated. But Olivia knew and understood etiquette like it was born in her. She always knew what to say and when to say it. One could not say the same about Y/N.

Even across an entire ocean from their home country, everybody could see what was missing in the younger of the two.

This trip was supposed to allow her some respite, a chance to live before getting thrown in the vipers’ pit again. She was supposed to come back refreshed, and most importantly, better. But now, she was stuck at the lemonade table, with the walls and the flowers and the wallflowers. 

“If it isn’t Penelope Featherington. Back in a dress the color of a putrid citrus fruit,” said a voice a few paces away. 

It was a tall, blonde woman with buns and twists in her hair that stretched high enough to reach God, even if her sour attitude suggested she may never reach Him herself. Her dress, a clash of soft pink and bright fuschia, had one or two or ten too many adornments on it. She was speaking to a red-haired girl who was, unfortunately, in a too-bright yellow dress that did nothing for her complexion.

“Just leave me alone, Cressida,” Penelope gritted out.

She knew nothing about these girls and their relationship nor did she actually really care to decipher it, but she saw an opportunity to be a hero, to save Penelope from the clutches of this bully. 

Cressida continued with her cruelty. “I suppose in the same way one cannot gild the lily, one cannot gild insipid wallflowers either.”

“That hardly makes sense as an insult,” Y/N spat out, surprising both girls who hadn’t been aware she was listening. “‘Gild the lily’ means that you are painting something already beautiful with gold, so it’s actually a compliment,” she continued, “And it is a common misquotation. The line goes, ‘To gild refined gold, to paint the lily.’ Nobody is gilding the lily.”

It came out of her mouth in one blurt before she could stop herself, like Cressida’s ignorance had yanked it out from the depths of her soul. She just couldn’t stand someone being both rude and stupid.

“Oh, one of the Americans. You think you’re so clever, hm?”

“I am actually.” She took a step towards Cressida, challenging her and boxing out Penelope, who had retreated back to the wall.

“Have you ever heard of the story of Icarus?” Cressida asked condescendingly, “I ask instead of assuming since I do not know how Americans are educated, let alone ones of your…status.”

“I do not believe I know the status of which you speak, considering we are one and the same economically. So yes, I did receive a proper education, and I’ve retained it better than some people in this room.”

“Well, good. Then, you will understand what I mean when I say that you best not fly too close to the sun with those wax wings, little dove. You might find yourself falling back down to whatever backwater slum you crawled out of.” Cressida sneered.

Y/N could take the more mature path, and walk away. She had been heeding Olivia’s warning all night about not causing a scene. But where was the fun in that?

“Thank you for the sage advice,” she started off, passive aggressively, “Have you ever heard of the story of the three blind mice? Perhaps they would make fairer maids, and improve that nest you call hair.”

Penelope choked on her lemonade, and Cressida opened her mouth to rebut, but Y/N was not yet finished. 

“Though I’m sure no rodent, seeing or otherwise, could help you hide your uncanny resemblance to a common bitch.”

Cressida gasped and then her face pinched in anger like she’d eaten something sour, but Y/N did not stay to hear what else she had to say because it would surely be nothing of importance.

She rushed out of the scene she’d caused, and up the closest flight of stairs. Her face felt hot, palms sweating in her satin gloves. She was angry—angry at Cressida for trying to make her feel small, angry at everything and everyone that led her to be at this ball at all. 

But she also felt strangely exhilarated. It was cathartic to let Cressida just have it. Olivia might get mad, but what else was new? She could say and do what she wanted, and no one in New York would hear about it until months later. 

What if she grabbed some cake by the fistful? Drank champagne from the bottle and let the fizzy liquid spill all over her dress? Shed all her clothes and run into a lake? There was a restlessness coursing through her body, a pleasant tingling feeling in her limbs that contrasted the ennui she felt for the past fortnight.

There were a handful of stragglers milling about the interior balcony that overlooked the atrium, but for the most part Y/N had a great deal of space to herself up here, and a high vantage point to view the entire scene.

“Miss Edwina is certainly charming the whole room, is she not?” said a voice from below.

“Yes, I suppose she is,” replied another voice, “Though, there is another serious contender for this season’s diamond. The one in the teal and red dress.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. No, it couldn’t be, she thought. She ducked behind one of the pillars, so that neither of them would look up to see her eavesdropping. She slowly stuck her head out, ready to pull it back at a moment’s notice.

Below her was the Queen’s perch, sitting high and mighty above all her subjects. It was quite funny to Y/N that she was technically higher than the Queen at the moment. Beside her was Lady Danbury, cane in one hand, handheld mask in the other.

Looking out into the dance floor, couples were spinning around the conservatory, large swaths of silk and organza twirling about. There were also some bubbles forming on the outskirts. They were mostly mamas keeping close eyes on their daughters, or established friend groups finding each other in the sea of masks. 

However, there were two groups on opposite sides of the floor of one woman and four or five men vying for her attention.

One was a young lady with rich brown skin that popped against her pink dress, hair in a tightly curled updo. She was fielding each man’s question with the poise and ease that reminded Y/N of her sister.

The other was indeed in a teal and red dress as the Queen described. She was visibly more nervous than the previous girl, fidgeting with her gloves and dance card, but still held herself high amongst the hopeful suitors. The rich jewel tone complimented her dark skin, and her long, thin braids were twisted back away from her face. 

The pop of red, which was more of a maroon, was only one layer hidden under the other layers of azure silk. When she spun around on the dance floor tonight and red was revealed, it would be the most exquisite surprise that would put these other debutantes to shame.

Or at least, that is what Y/N said to—

“Miss Estrella Alcantara. One of the American girls,” said Lady Danbury.

“My, my,” replied the Queen, “She does acquit herself very well. Unlike some of her cohorts.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. A girl climbs out of a window one time, and it is all she is known for.

“You know, I was quite surprised when you granted the Duke of Brighton’s request to have the Americans join the season. Especially when I was already bringing my own special guests.”

“Now Lady Danbury, I am just as surprised as you are that these new money girls have someone of such lovely countenance in their midst,” the Queen reassured, “I mean, did you not see the younger L/N girl accost Cressida Cowper just now? That is all they are good for: a show.”

“Hm, so Your Majesty simply wishes to be entertained?”

“After the…tragic ending of last season, we needed a spectacle. Something garish to ogle, or for Whistledown to wield her pen at. They are my pawns, and I shall use them to usher in a rousing opening. As for Miss Edwina and Miss Estrella, whoever sparkles the most shall be the one I extend my favor to in exchange for a brilliant endgame.”

“Fair play, Your Majesty. I do relish a challenge.”

Y/N pulled her head back, and leaned against the pillar. She had been playing into the Queen’s hand all along. This was it. This was the game Olivia insisted that they all must play, and in her attempts to refuse entry, she had subsequently found herself among the Queen’s most valuable players.

She poked her head out again, seeing Estrella on the dance floor. She spun elegantly, red and teal fabric haloing out, with some man who could never measure up. Estrella had bloomed beautifully since her first season when her dresses were cheaply made and she stared at the ground more often than meeting anyone’s eyes. 

It would’ve made Y/N most proud to see her Duckling this confident in New York instead of here, under the watchful eye of the Queen. If Her Majesty decided to curse Estrella with her favor, she’d have to bend to her every whim. God, what if she had to marry whoever the Queen set forth for her? Estrella would have to move to London.

No, no, no, this simply would not do. They would not play into the Queen’s hand. She would not get any show at all. 

The sound of two men laughing echoed and grew in volume from a hallway. They walked into Y/N’s line of vision, two gentlemen with their masks off. One of them was lithe and dandyish with sideburns that stretched down to his chin, and the other was older with gray hairs beginning to creep in.

“Are you still hosting a party tonight, Granville?”

“Yes, Wetherby. I should really get going if I am to set up before the guests begin arriving.”

The two men pulled the masks down over their faces again when Y/N approached them, seemingly out of thin air from their perspective.

“Excuse me,” she said, “There is a party happening?”

The men looked at a loss for words, having been all but ambushed.

“That conversation was not meant for your ears,” said the older gentleman, Granville, “It is also most improper to be up here unchaperoned with two strange men.”

“Well, I did not think you were strange until you called yourself such.”

The other man, Wetherby, tried to stifle his laughter before schooling his face into something more serious. “I can handle this,” he said to Granville. He turned back to Y/N. “The last dance is going to start in ten minutes or so. How about I put myself on your dance card?” Wetherby gave her a crooked smile. 

“I’d like that about as much as I’d like to climb onto this railing right now,” she replied, grabbing said railing.

For a moment, she wanted to kick herself. Insulting this man—Wetherby— was not the way to get an invitation, even if he deserved it for thinking she could be placated so easily.

To her surprise, however, he was laughing. “Oh, let us not make a habit of perching from great heights.” 

Granville sighed, far less amused than his friend. “Listen, I know you think of yourself as some sort of rebel, but trust me, this party is not suitable for young ladies of your station. I shall bid you goodnight.”

The two gentlemen turned and started walking away. Y/N racked her brain quickly for anything that might turn the tides in her favor. As she followed the men halfway down the stairs, she did manage to think of one thing. She’d been hoping to keep it for herself, but…

“What if I could offer something that will heighten the festivities? Something that has not made its way, at least in abundance, to English soil yet?”

Mr. Granville stopped, and slowly turned around. “I’m listening.”

Y/N smiled smugly. “Have you ever heard of cannabis?”

Mina and Will were easy enough to convince; they’d been dancing with only each other the whole night, which was a borderline scandal to the ton, so they were ready for a change of scenery. They agreed to go find a carriage, and meet at the far west side of the building to be as discreet as possible.

Estrella and Bronwyn were surprisingly more challenging to persuade.

Estrella and her partner had just come off of the dance floor, breathless and giggling, much to Y/N’s confusion.

“Duckie, there you are!” she exclaimed.

“Dovie! This is Lord Russo,” Estrella replied, gesturing to the man beside her, a slight fellow with tan skin and strong eyebrows. 

“I am technically Yellow Pony for tonight, but I’m sure one could forgive my forgetfulness for the rules when dancing with a beautiful young lady such as Miss Estrella.” He was beaming down at her. Then, he seemed to remember himself and turned back to Y/N. “You must be Miss Y/N. Pleased to make your acquaintance—”

“Charmed,” Y/N deadpanned, confusing Lord Russo. “Duckie, I must speak with you in private.”

Estrella hesitantly curtsied to Lord Russo, who gave her a forlorn look as Y/N directed Estrella to an alcove.

She then explained what had occurred. How she ran upstairs, and managed to score the Doves an invite to an exclusive artists’ party with all the libations they’d grown accustomed to back home, but without risk of rumors spreading among the eligible bachelors of New York, the ones that actually mattered. 

She’d left out the conversation she had overheard between the Queen and Lady Danbury, about how Estrella was in the running to be the season’s diamond. “Diamond” was far too gracious of a title for what it truly meant; Estrella, in her naivete, might mistake it for something to be sought after. And if Olivia caught wind of that, she would push Estrella into vying for the Queen’s favor and whatever rich dunderhead Her Majesty would have her marry.

Y/N already lost one sister, and she would not lose another.

“We must leave now if we are to catch the party at its peak.”

Estrella’s smile faltered. “Now? Before the last dance?”

“Yes…Is there a problem?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, trying to prod Estrella into elaborating.

“I only wished to be able to have the last dance with Lord Russo.”

The older girl nodded, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “The last dance is quite a statement. I did not realize he had made such an impression on you.”

Estrella fidgeted with the edges of her dance card, worrying the parchment down. “Do you not think it wise to save the last dance for him?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly make that decision for you,” she insisted, not meeting Estrella’s wide, pleading eyes.

“...I do really like Lord Russo.”

“He seems like a perfectly…fine man. If a bit of a charmer,” she remarked, making what would usually be a compliment into a thinly-veiled jab at his character with just her tone.

“I suppose so. And I’ll miss the party.”

“Yes, there will be other suitors, and there will be other parties. I trust you’ll come to your own conclusions. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Y/N said, removing herself from the alcove. Her words were carefully chosen, but her tone lacked the warmth or softness she usually used towards Estrella, leaving the younger girl in a lurch.

She approached Bronwyn, who was also with a man unfortunately, with the same proposition. She was met with a similar resistance, so she regarded Bronwyn the same way she regarded Estrella; with thinly-veiled judgments about her suitor, and leaving her wanting more.

As Y/N walked away, Bronwyn said, “You cannot sway me with a withering look. I’m not Duckie.”

She turned around. Bronwyn looked at her shrewdly; she knew when her strings were being pulled.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Y/N.

Slowly, Bronwyn closed the distance between them, never breaking eye contact. “It means that no matter how passive-aggressive you are about me participating in the social season in earnest, I am staying. Not all of us have brothers to take over the family business or duchesses for sisters.”

Y/N clenched and unclenched her fist. She’d been caught out. Bronwyn loved her like a sister, but she was not entirely convinced that Y/N was genuinely ignorant of the reverence Estrella held for her as she certainly had no qualms about using it to her advantage.

The younger girl sighed, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t argue her way out of this one. “Will you please at least be our alibi?” Bronwyn scoffed, but she continued. “If Dove asks, just tell her that I caught a chill and the girls and Will were kind enough to see me home. Please?”

Bronwyn tapped her foot as she weighed up her options. “Fine. You owe me.”

“Thank you! Have fun with…”

“Lord Emery.”

“Yes, him.”

The two parted ways, with Bronwyn headed off with Lord Emery and Y/N off to meet with Mina and Will. As she headed out, she passed the main entrance, curtains left half-open. Something caught her eye, and caused her to double back.

There was a single black mask still left on one of the tables. As bothersome as her own mask was, she had to admit they were quite fun. Perhaps Harry would like to play with them.

She snatched the mask off the table and scurried away. She moved quickly, scouting the area to see if anyone had caught her. Unfortunately, while she was facing the other way, she felt something tug at the back of her dress. She stumbled, tumbling forward into a nearby tree, and dropping the mask.

It was Cressida with a smug smile and her heel dug into the ripped fabric of the dress.

For once, Y/N said and did nothing, except shoot daggers at the girl. She would be going to a party. She would be having fun with people who actually enjoyed her company, and Cressida would be stuck here.

She picked up the mask. Several beads and a whole feather had been knocked off in the scuffle, but she didn’t have time to do anything about that. Penelope, ever quiet, attempted to come off the wall to say something, but she hesitated, and Y/N brushed right past her.

She rushed out of the side entrance into the inky night, accidentally clashing shoulders with a lady in a silver dress in her haste. She muttered an apology and continued walking briskly past the woman when she spoke up.

“For what it’s worth, she had it coming.”

Y/N turned around to face her. Upon closer inspection, the skirt of her dress had a pattern of tessellated, glittering rhombi. Her waistline was adorned with crystals in the pattern of bursting suns. And though the top half of her face was obscured by the mask, it did not hide her olive skin, shiny jet black hair, and half-smile.

“I’m sorry, I do not know who or what you speak of,” Y/N replied.

“What you said to Cressida earlier,” the woman clarified, “I typically do not endorse such cutting words, but she was the one who approached Penelope. Someone was going to put her in her place soon enough. I’m only sorry that your dress was one of the casualties.”

Y/N let out a huff of a laugh. She was glad someone noticed her good deed. Being the hero was beginning to feel thankless. “I imagine I’ll be in Whistledown come morning. I haven’t the faintest idea who anyone is.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of where she just came from. “Just watch her turn out to be a princess.”

“Ha! A princess she is not, don’t you worry.”

Y/N cocked her head to one side. She mirrored the woman’s position, leaning against the glass wall of the conservatory, concealed by the bevy of plants inside. She could still see that blonde chit through the gaps of the Monstera plant in front of them. “I take it you know her.”

The woman sighed heavily. “My stepsister.”

“Christ, you poor thing.”

She shrugged. “Cressida is actually the kindest person in the whole family, if you can believe it. Her mother only allowed me to attend this ball tonight because my face would be covered and they would not have to answer for my existence. Who knows how many more I shall be allowed to attend this season?”

“She should choke on rocks then,” Y/N spat out without really thinking.

The woman’s mouth was parted in shock, and if she hadn’t been wearing a mask, Y/N was sure she’d see her eyebrows raised, too. “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“Which is why I said it for you.”

There was a pause in which Y/N thought she’d managed to offend someone by accident this time, but then the woman laughed. “You’re really something. What’s your name?”

“Y/N L/N. The loud, annoying American,” she replied in an exaggerated English accent before she realized she should probably not poke fun at the first kind English debutante she’s met. 

The woman did not take offense, thankfully, and even let out a laugh. “Mind your R’s, Miss Y/N,” she volleyed back.

“I’ll keep that in mind. What about you? What’s your name?”

Peculiarly, she seemed like she was wrestling with what answer to give. “Sophia Cowper. On paper, at least.” She muttered that last part.

“What is the name you call yourself in your mind? In your heart?”

“Sophie Beckett. Beckett was my mother’s name—my real mother.” She smiled when she spoke about her mother, the warmth spreading to relax her posture and let down her guard.

“It suits you. You may call me Dovie then; that is the name in my heart.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

They stood in companionable silence, looking out into the vast gardens that put the bevy of greenery inside to shame. The flames of the torches that lined the path swayed in flashes of yellow and orange.

“So, Sophie Beckett. Why are you hiding out here?”

Sophie sighed. “I’m growing rather weary. This is going to sound stupid or—or fanciful, but…I thought I was going to meet someone tonight.”

Her face grew wistful as she turned back to peering through the glass walls, watching bodies whirl around through the gaps of large leaves. 

“My grandmother read me love stories when I was little. I hardly remember the specifics, I was so young. But for as long as I could remember I was convinced that some knight in shining armor or a prince would come in to save me from my circumstances.”

“Do you still believe in such tales?” Y/N asked. 

“I suppose time will tell,” Sophie replied. “Maybe I was not meant to meet the love of my life tonight. Perhaps tonight was reserved for new friendships.”

The two exchanged smiles, grateful for the unexpected camaraderie they’d found in each other within the short time they spent outside. 

The string ensemble were beginning to take their seats again, re-tuning and preparing for the last dance.

Sophie stood up straight, smoothing out her skirt. “I should get back in there. It was good to meet you, Dovie.”

“Likewise.”

And with that, Sophie left.

“Dovie!” Estrella shouted, coming toward her from an exit on the opposite end of the conservatory, “I thought you’d left without me!”

Y/N stood up straight, and played it cool. “I’m waiting for Will and Peaky to find a carriage for us. I thought you decided to dance with Lord…uh…”

“Lord Russo,” Estrella supplied, “And I decided that I will go to the party tonight.” She grabbed Y/N’s hands. “I can always find a suitable match another time. Perhaps back home.”

Benedict knocked on the door of Henry Granville’s studio, trying to push away the feeling of déjà vu.

Much like that night, Granville opened the door with a drink in his hand and a look of surprise on his face.

“Mr.—Lord Bridgerton. After all this time, I certainly was not expecting you.”

“I heard about this…” Benedict trailed off. He wasn’t entirely sure he belonged in this space anymore. Did he ever really? “I, um, I do not wish to intrude—”

“Nonsense! Get in here, make yourself at home,” Granville insisted, pulling Benedict out of the cold evening air. Benedict was the last person Granville expected to turn up tonight, but he was truly always welcome.

Benedict took in the lively studio as Granville directed him towards the back where he was last time with the easels and the models. It was a lot more crowded than the last time he was here, a proper party instead of a—how did Granville word it?—gathering of like-minded souls. 

There were more disciplines being practiced apart from painting or sketching. Some people brought their musical instruments. Some were dancing, all eyes closed and fluid limbs, a far cry from a quadrille. Forgotten bottles of liquor were strewn throughout the place. People were using the candles to light up their cigarettes. Multiple couples were half-dressed in an amorous embrace just right there in the hallway. 

“Look who actually showed up,” came a voice from the shadows. Genevieve emerged with a smoking pipe in hand and a flirtatious smile.

“Ah! I take it you two know each other,” Granville said.

“Yes, we became…acquainted last year,” Benedict informed, already feeling more at ease with her around. Smuggling two people out of the country had a funny way of quickly building a companionship, a companionship that turned into a physical stress reliever. 

Granville picked up on the subtext. “Then, I will entrust Genevieve to get you comfortable. I would stay and chat some more, but—”

There was a knocking at the door, the sound of several fists against wood.

“Host duty calls,” Granville finished. He scurried off, and then there were two, standing on either side of the threshold of the main chamber where Benedict sketched last time. The easels were bunched up together for space. Models in various states of undress, fruit bowls, and vases were on display as subjects in the middle.

“So,” Genevieve began, “You heard the man: get comfortable. Avail yourself to any of his supplies. He mentioned there is a fresh, untouched palette of watercolors for anyone to use,” she explained, gesturing into the room with her pipe, smoke billowing out and lagging behind her movements.

He chuckled nervously. “I must insist, ladies first. Do you paint, Gen?”

“No, my artist’s implements are needle and thread. I’m afraid I possess little talent or interest in any other medium.”

“Oh, then why do you attend these parties?”

“The company.”

“Then I should not sequester myself in a corner when you were the one who graciously invited me.”

Genevieve frowned. “T'en fais pas. I will not latch onto your side like a vicious mama, you are free to do as you wish.”

He felt a bit trapped suddenly. Art used to make him feel free, and she was offering it up to him on a silver platter, so why was he so reluctant to participate?

His hands began to shake, imperceptibly to any passing observer, but it traveled from the tips of his fingers and up his arms. He hadn’t touched any of his art supplies in months. They sat collecting dust in his old study, the one he tries not to look at when he passes its door. 

An old fear crept up like hairs standing up on the back of his neck, the one that told him you’re not an artist. You’re not half as good as any of them. That was his biggest worry a year ago, a worry that Eloise pointed out could be rectified by using his free time productively. Hiring a drawing master. Practicing day in and day out. He was undoubtedly worse now that he was out of practice.

There was a new fear, though. It came barrelling in when he saw all the artists, the bohemians, creating life out of pigments and water in this room. What if attempting to paint or draw again revealed something he would’ve rather not known? What if getting a taste of the life he might’ve known plunged him deeper into the misery threatening to overwhelm him every time he was left alone with his sober thoughts?

“Benedict, are you well?”

He clasped his hands, one on top of the other to get his body to stop vibrating. “I’m perfectly well. Just in need of a drink.” He brought his flask with him, though he hardly ever parted ways with it anymore, but did not want to take it out in front of Genevieve. He feared he would not be able to hide just how desperately he needed a sip.

Genevieve knew it was not her place to push. She saw someone behind Benedict and waved her over. “This is my friend Lucy. She is a frequent attendee of these soirées, so to speak.”

Benedict turned around and saw a woman with large eyes and larger hair, but it did not overwhelm her dainty frame. She greeted Genevieve with a kiss on the cheek before turning to him.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you around. I’d remember a face as handsome as yours.”

He grinned devilishly; he knew this dance well. “I’m afraid I have been skipping out, but I certainly would have visited more often if I knew you would be here.”

Lucy chuckled, a husky, low tone unlike the faked titters of debutantes who would’ve laughed at anything he said. Though he was not exactly a rake like his brother, he used to be a massive flirt—still was whenever the mood struck him. Half the time, he enjoyed the thrill of it, the tête-à-tête, more than actually reaping the rewards of his flirtation. This felt nostalgic, like slipping into worn shoes.

He smiled, genuinely. “You’ve been holding out on me, Gen.”

“Perhaps I just wanted to keep you to myself. What is that saying? Two’s company, three’s a crowd? Though, looking at us all together, three might be a perfect number.” She took a long drag of her pipe.

Benedict watched while Lucy plucked the pipe from Genevieve’s hand, and smoked on it as well. He was feeling a familiar warmth go through his body, particularly down south. “I could not agree more.”

“Might we head to the library? Henry has a well-stocked drinks cabinet, and I am in the mood for some literary stimulation,” Lucy suggested.

“Lead the way,” Benedict agreed, knowing full well none of them would be reading a single word tonight.

The three of them headed down the hall to the library. Meanwhile, Mr. Granville had greeted the group of excitable American girls (and Will—he was a Dove at this point) at the door.

They had gone home first to change into more comfortable clothing, and part ways with their elaborate jewels. Though her mother had questioned what she was doing with dresses she’d outgrown, Y/N packed them anyway. They were remnants from a simpler time in her life. No frills, deep maroon that contrasted the more fashionable pastel dresses in the ton, and hems a couple inches too short.

She felt like a princess in those sparkly frocks, but she felt like herself in her plain cotton dresses.

“Oh, this is capital!” she exclaimed, taking in the sights of the party and the sounds of loud chatter, “Do you really live like this, Mr. Granville?”

He nodded, amused by her enthusiasm. “It is more of a retreat than anything. The trenches are those balls we are all expected to attend.”

Y/N spotted the chamber of artists, some in deep concentration, some holding a brush in one hand and a drink in the other. She pulled Estrella off with her to stand at the threshold, peering in from either side. There were nude models standing perfectly still, breasts and buttocks immortalized on parchment.

None of them had ever been anywhere quite like this before, though Y/N would sooner die than admit she was inexperienced in any way. This was the perfect storm of people with Grosvenor Square money but without the typical Grosvenor Square hang-ups about propriety.

“Are you artists yourself?” Mr. Granville asked.

Y/N caught Estrella’s eyes; they really were not, but, “We could be,” she answered. They were just here to do whatever fit their fancy for the moment. 

“Let’s find you some canvases then.”

“Oh, I actually have these masks from the ball. I was thinking of drawing or painting on them for my brother.” She held up the white and black mask she had pocketed.

Mr. Granville raised his eyebrows. “First, you bring drugs overseas, now theft against Lady Danbury of all people.”

Speaking of drugs. “Oh! Here.”

She produced a pouch containing the promised cannabis. It was more or less nonexistent in England. It was not exactly an abundant plant in America either, but she supposed a perk of being wealthy was that people just had connections for everything, including inhibition-lowering plants. 

“For your hospitality. Let me roll one for you,” she offered, grabbing some generous pinches.

There was a fire roaring in the corner when the trio walked in, which made Benedict think that perhaps Lucy or Genevieve or both planned this all along. But with Genevieve’s hand tracing down his bare torso towards his bulge in his pants, and his own fingers in Lucy’s warm, wet cunt, he was not complaining.

There were forgotten glasses of liquor strewn about the room. One on a side table, two on the shelf in front of a probably priceless copy of Candide, and one more on top of a collection of Byron’s poetry, which could never be worth whatever Granville paid for it.

Benedict turned his head to kiss Genevieve as her hands reached their destination in his breeches. He broke the kiss with a moan as she teased his cock, feeling it lengthen and harden in her slender fingers. She then let go to move to the other side of Lucy, gently squeezing her breasts. He picked up his pace, pumping his fingers in and out of her faster. 

His head was spinning. Maybe it was due to the two drinks he downed in quick succession. Maybe it was the touch of two women at once, limbs blending together as if the fire melded their bodies together. It overwhelmed him, numbing his mind to the guilt and dread that usually followed him. He left all of that at the door. He could be free for one night.

He encouraged Lucy with filthy words in her ears, bringing his thumb to rub against her clit. He relished in the immediate feedback as her panting gave way to audible moans. It was like a puzzle. What would happen if he kissed her here? Bit there? Curled his fingers just so?

He often felt like a failure. A subpar viscount at best. Certainly not an artist anymore, and he wasn’t sure he ever deserved to be called one before. Held his own family at arm’s length. But at least he was still good at this, and he would take his victories where he could get them.

Her moans climbed in pitch and volume until she clenched tightly around his fingers, pulsating as he worked her through her orgasm. He was deeply satisfied seeing her blissful expression, more satisfied than if he were coming himself. 

Y/N was painting the inside of the black mask, turned away from the models and fruit bowls in the middle of the room. She wanted to start with something easy without too many intricate details, so she positioned herself at the bay window, and painted the inky midnight sky.

Or she was trying to.

The blue she originally started with was too bright to mimic a night sky, so she went over it with black, which muddied the whole thing. She also forgot to do the moon first, so when she attempted to trace out a crescent shape in yellow, it hardly showed up. 

Perhaps it was the light, mellow feeling she got from the smoke or her baseline level of healthy delusion, but she did believe it was salvageable even if Mr. Granville did not agree.

She saw his reflection in the window, and paused so that he could assess her work.

“Oh,” was all he said, though his tone conveyed a thousand words.

“It is not that bad!” she insisted, “I could fix it.”

“I so admire your confidence,” he replied, the shady devil.

She rolled her eyes, and sighed. “Perhaps a drink would make me a better artist.”

“Help yourself, I’ve got a cabinet in the library you could rummage through. Last door on the right,” Mr. Granville informed, gesturing out of the room.

She hopped off the stool, wiping the paint off her hands onto her dress. She walked down the short hallway, a usually wide space that was being taken up by models, dancers, and artists lounging about in the haze. She reached the door Mr. Granville gestured at, opened it, and what she saw floored her.

Three bodies in various states of undress, two women and one man, were writhing together on the plush rug in front of the roaring fireplace, which made the already warm environment positively sweltering. They all gasped and looked at the intruder, stopping whatever ministrations they were in the midst of.

There were many couples—or groups—on the verge of committing the marital act scattered throughout the party, so this was not why she stood there stock-still and shocked to her core.

No, she was shocked because she actually recognized a few of them. 

She recognized the modiste, Madame Delacroix; she’d been to a fitting prior to the ball. She was the most clothed, wearing trousers and a cleavage-accentuating corset, and thank God for that because Y/N did not know if she would’ve been able to return to her shop with a straight face otherwise.

She recognized the man who was situated between the legs of the woman lying on the floor as Lord Bridgerton. Her neighbor. The man she’d been told to avoid.

His expression was slack-jawed, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he was aboard the same train of thought. His hair was sticking up at funny angles. His lips were slightly swollen, and smeared with lipstick. Stripped of waistcoats and thick wool jackets, she half-expected him to seem smaller, but he remained robust and broad-shouldered, lean muscle rippling beneath his pale skin. His pants remained upon his hips, but the buttons were undone, and there was an obvious bulge at the front. 

Then, she realized she’d been staring for far too long, and slammed the door shut. Her face was hot to the touch, and she was breathing heavily from the adrenaline, embarrassment, and some other sensation that she dared not name. 

“Sorry!” she exclaimed. She walked a few steps away before running back and shouting against the mahogany, “But you should really lock the door!”

She walked back in a haze, both metaphorically and literally, waving her hand fruitlessly to part the smoke for long enough to get back to the painters’ room.

Estrella was back in front of her easel, opting for charcoal as her implement. She’d been splitting her time between watching the men down the hall gambling, and working on her drawing with Y/N. Even with only half the time spent on it, her fruit bowl drawing was leagues more coherent. Granville was standing there telling her as such.

He looked up when Y/N entered the room, not noticing her quickened breaths or faraway look. “What happened to the drink? Were you not able to find the room?”

“I, uh…” she trailed off, but Mr. Granville, ever the hospitable host, was already on the move, moving past her.

It took her a few seconds, but she snapped out of it when it finally clicked to her what exactly he’d be walking in on. She spun around and followed him, running. “Mr. Granville, wait!”

Her warning fell on deaf ears. His long strides made it basically impossible for her to catch up. “Don’t open that!” she yelled once more, as a Hail Mary, but his hand was already on the door knob, and she was a few paces too far to physically stop him.

When he swung the door open, Benedict was right on the other side, hand extended as if he were also going for the door knob. His shirt was back on, but not yet buttoned up. He looked sheepishly at Mr. Granville, knowing exactly what the scene behind him looked like.

He opened his mouth to speak before his eyes traveled over to Y/N, who had finally caught up, standing behind Granville. She was wincing, brows upturned and mouth in a flat line, looking at him apologetically. What did she have to apologize for?

All eloquence left him as soon as he laid eyes on her, and the only thing he could say was, “I was going to lock the door.” It was his turn to wince when he realized that it sounded like they planned to continue when he actually just wanted privacy for them to get dressed. He begged whatever part of his brain that enabled him to be suave and confident in front of pretty girls to come back at once.

“Well,” Lucy said from behind. She got up from the floor, robe already tied together when the door was flung open. “It appears my husband needs the room.”

“Husband?” Y/N and Benedict exclaimed at the same time. Madame Delacroix did not appear to be surprised at this revelation, and Lucy was mostly just amused.

Mr. Granville appeared remarkably unphased for a man who just walked in on his wife half-naked with another man and woman. He moved past Benedict into the room. “I’m just grabbing a drink for my new friend here—”

“Dovie,” Benedict said softly. His eyes went slightly wide as he realized he’d said that out loud.

Y/N appeared equally shocked. She remained still even as Lucy and Madame Delacroix exited the room, letting Benedict know of another room they could use to continue their rendezvous if desired, which made him blush profusely.

“Ah!” Granville exclaimed, head still poking around his extensive drinks cabinet, “So you are familiar with each other?”

“No,” Y/N said, “We’ve never met.” It was more terse than she intended, and she felt a pang of guilt immediately when she saw his crestfallen expression—God, did he really need to project every emotion on his face like that?—but Dovie was the name in her heart. She could not give it out to just anyone.

Mr. Granville returned to the threshold, practically throwing the bottle of whiskey into Y/N’s arms. “Well, Miss Y/N L/N, meet Lord Bridgerton. Lord Bridgerton, Miss Y/N.”

With that, Mr. Granville disappeared into the crowd as he saw another attendee in need of something, leaving Y/N and Benedict to deal with the aftermath of the whirlwind. 

She stood there hugging the liquor bottle against her body like a child with their blanket. A slight breeze from a window that was left cracked open sent a chill through Benedict’s body, reminding him that he was standing in front of a lady with his shirt completely open.

“I should—” he began.

“Yes, you should—”

“Alright.”

He slammed the door shut, and began redressing. He cursed himself as he buttoned up his shirt. At Granville as he put on his waistcoat. And at God—because why not?—as he tied his cravat for such an unfortunate first impression on his neighbor. 

Because they were just neighbors, and that was all they could ever be to each other.

All of Y/N’s friends were in the far end of the hallway watching the men play a game of Faro, groaning and cheering as cards popped up from the little wooden box. She walked up behind them, gesturing for them to present their glasses. She poured each of them a generous amount of whiskey.

“Where on Earth did you get your hands on a bottle of Kenson’s?” Will asked, inspecting his glass.

She poured just a second too long into Mina’s glass as she pondered what to say. How does one explain that this was the result of walking in on a ménage à trois? 

She blew out a long breath, puffing out her cheeks. “You would rather not know,” she replied, walking away, and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

She was sitting at a table down the hall and to the right, trying her damndest to roll another joint with a dance card she’d found on the ground when Benedict approached her. He was such a pretty rich boy in his expensive waistcoat and matching cravat, but his expression was so guileless and apologetic that she felt guilty for reducing him like that in her mind.

“I’m terribly sorry for the scene. I do not know why Mr. Granville thought it appropriate to—” he cut himself off, wringing his hands. “It was not a sight for a lady like yourself to see.”

The parchment under her fingers burst open, refusing to be rolled. She sighed. “Considering I was only informed I would be a lady of the ton less than a fortnight ago, I suppose I could forgive you for your transgressions. If you have a drink with me.” She cocked her head to the bottle next to her.

Slowly, he smiled, the same lopsided grin from that day he saw her climb out of her window. It was like watching the first rays of sun appear at the crack of dawn. After weeks of being gawked at for any number of reasons—her dress, her hair, her jokes—it was refreshing to just be seen.

He grabbed two glasses out from a nearby dining hutch, and placed them on the table. “It would be my pleasure.”

She smiled shyly as she poured them both drinks, brushing her hair back from her face. She felt a bit ridiculous, like she had become exactly like all the other debutantes of the ton, but she blamed it on the back-to-back swig of whiskey and a smoke.

She waited for him to start drinking first before she asked her first question:

“So do you typically sleep with married women?”

He choked on his drink. She smiled like a cat that got the cream.

Whenever one of them did not want to answer a question, they would take a sip of their drink. At first, it was just a way to stall or change the subject, but obviously they both caught onto the other soon enough. So, it became a little game.

But Benedict found himself wanting to tell her everything. Or nearly everything, at least. What a relief it was to be face-to-face with someone who did not have some preconceived notion about him, to not start off an interaction on the back foot.

“Seven siblings?” she’d exclaimed, “That’s too many!”

He chuckled at her dramatic jaw-dropped expression. “You want to know something? We’re also named alphabetically.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, of course you are.” 

He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.

There were, however, still some things he did not quite know how to answer.

“Are you one of the artists that comes to these regularly?”

He laughed nervously, the same shakiness returning from when Genevieve asked him something along these lines. “Not regularly, no.”

“How do you know Granville then? He doesn’t seem like much of a society man.”

Drink.

She hummed noncommittally; she would not push. “He thinks my paintings leave much to be desired, but they are not so horrid, I don’t think.” She held up the mask she painted closer to the candles to see it better.

“Uhhh…” he started, scratching the back of his head. Is it bad that he couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be?

Her head shot up, and her gaze narrowed. “Et tu, Brute?”

“Mē paenitet,” he shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Are you courting anyone?” Benedict asked, feeling a bit too bold for his own good. Y/N finally managed to roll a joint for him, and he became so relaxed in his seat, he was practically boneless.

“God, no.”

He tried his damndest to suppress his smile. “Really? I thought you were with a man called Will?”

“Will?”

He flung his arms out and looked at her quizzically—is it such a ridiculous assumption? He accidentally smacked his hand into the bottle, which she steadied. “You just seemed very familiar with him.”

“I’ve known him since we were babies, that’s why.”

“And you’ve never…?”

“Ne-ver,” she implored, “He’s married to Mina. I was actually the one who got them together.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you.”

She shrugged. “It gave me something to focus on that season other than my sister. Also, Mina is far too interesting and fabulous for her own good. If she hadn’t gotten married, there would’ve been no hope for the rest of us.”

The corners of her mouth upturned ever so slightly as she spoke fondly of her friend, even if it was masked in sarcasm and a little slurred. She switched to cigarettes when Benedict offered them earlier, taking a long drag from one as she finished speaking. He needed to stop looking at her mouth.

There was something in her eyes when she mentioned her sister, flashes of love and fury and grief all at once. He knew a thing or two about complicated sibling relationships so he knew better than to poke that particular bear. “And that is something you wish for yourself? Marriage?” he asked.

“Well, we all must do it one day, don’t we? I certainly am not marrying this season, not to an Englishman—no offense. I just cannot bear to leave home forever.”

“None taken.” And that was the truth, he did not feel some sort of obligation to defend his fellow Englishmen—not all of them deserved defending frankly. But he did feel a dull ache at the confirmation that he would have to put any feelings bordering on attraction towards her to the wayside. 

“But I do intend on marrying next season.”

He leaned forward, practically inspecting her with his gaze. She had trouble meeting his discerning eyes—it felt like they could pierce right through her very being. “So you dislike society. You skip out on balls, and you find your way to scandalous parties like these, but you fully intend to participate in the marriage mart in New York. How come?”

She pondered on it for a moment before draining the rest of her glass. There was no clear cut answer. Any explanation would come out sounding like the ramblings of a drunk woman, and it would bring up too many details about her old life, the one without the wealth and the strings it came attached with.

She cleared her throat. “So, Lord Bridgerton—”

“Would you please call me Benedict actually? I don’t…” He trailed off, but she waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “My name is Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated back, savoring each syllable, “Will you call me Dovie then?”

He smiled at her, understanding the weight of what she just offered. She took another drag of her cigarette, blowing out a dark, amorphous cloud that wafted up in front of her face. Perhaps, under cover of smoke, he could safely sneak another glance at her lips.

They learned quite a bit about each other over the course of the night. He held onto each new piece of information the way he held onto the scraps of Whistledown she threw out her window that fateful day. Her family came up through the railroad business. She was the middle of three children, an older sister who she was reluctant to talk about and a much younger brother.

He did eventually reveal that he had some interest in the arts a long time ago, but none of those ambitions ever came to fruition; the only surviving relic of that time was his friendship with Mr. Granville.

He was worried he had become boring over the past year without much room for hobbies, but she listened with the same rapt attention as he recounted his viscount duties. It was strangely comforting to her, reminding her of when she taught herself chess in the corner of her father’s office as he created the five-year business plan that would thrust them into the upper echelons of society.

They even got to the trivial things. Favorite foods, first house they remembered living in, middle names or lack thereof, did they wake with the sun or drag their feet in the morning, has he ever read Tales of the Dead because she thought he might like it, how did she get the name Dovie, and so on, and so forth.

Revelry was taking place all around them, revelry that they would usually try to get involved in, but there they were. Just sitting quietly in a corner, talking. He saw the hands of the grandfather clock tick away as they talked for hours. But of course, they did eventually hit a lull, having exhausted every subject under the bright moon.

“Your turn,” Benedict pointed out after several moments of silence.

She tapped her fingers on her glass, pondering, but it was not because she was at a loss for words. Benedict had seen that firsthand when she walked in on his ménage à trois, her eyes doe-wide, and this was not that.

“You have more questions, I can tell,” he said, “You have not been shy since you set foot in London, so why are you starting now?”

She laughed nervously, which rather worried him. What had he done to make her apprehensive suddenly? Weren’t they just enjoying themselves?

“We are having a good time. I do not wish to spoil it,” she replied, choosing her words carefully and slowly. She leaned back against her chair, distancing herself, as she waited for him to catch on.

And he did. His smile slowly fell off his face, like ice melting. There was really only one last thing left to ask about. There goes that other shoe, clattering on the ground. “You want to know about my brother’s duel,” he stated evenly.

She did not answer immediately, which was really an answer in itself. Warm candlelight illuminated only half of her face, the other half shrouded in darkness. She looked like the moon when it was half-full, torn between disappearing and forging onward.

Benedict wished he had the means and faculties to capture the image. How often is a subject’s expression and emotion reflected in her surroundings like this? Even rarer does the artist feel those same emotions at the same time. It was all rather serendipitous. 

“His name is Anthony, right?” Something as familiar as his brother’s name sounded foreign in her accent. Anth-ony, she said. Not Ant-hony, the way it was meant to be said.

He nodded. “And the man he killed was his dearest friend from university. Him and my sister Daphne had been courting and…liberties were taken. He was the Duke o—” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “His name was Simon Basset.”

Seeing as he laid down his life to ensure the discontinuation of the Hastings line, it was only right that the duke be referred to by his given name. Benedict could relate. He did not want to be remembered as Viscount Bridgerton; if he had to spend the rest of his life as an imposter, he would like to be free from that torment in death. 

Benedict waited for her to continue, but it seemed that she was still uncertain. He leaned forward, arms folded on the table. “Hey,” he started, “It is okay to ask. It is a rather tantalizing story.” He started to reach for her hand, but thought better of it. 

“But that is not what—” she blurted out, leaning forward to mirror him. “I do not wish to hear some sordid tale of betrayal or doomed romance or—If I wanted the dramatized version of events, I’d have read Whistledown. I’d have asked someone else in the ton, but I am asking you. I want to know you.”

Benedict frowned quizzically. “What do you mean?”

She frowned back; how much clearer could she have been? “You were not always Viscount Bridgerton. I’d like to know about Benedict. What happened to him?”

There was a pregnant pause where they were just looking at each other, the space between them only as wide as the glasses of whiskey that separated them. She saw profound sorrow in him. It weighed heavy on his shoulders, in the bags under his eyes, even in the gray at the edges of his otherwise light green eyes.

The ton treated the events of his life like their favorite serial, eagerly awaiting for the next issue. She sought to understand him. But would she run once she did?

Anthony and Benedict dismounted their steeds a quarter mile west of the basin of Huxley Creek. Growing up, they’d heard whispers of the sort of matters that were settled here; Benedict supposed his brother and Simon Basset’s duel would just be another in a long line. 

The gun box felt like it weighed several stones in Benedict’s arms, though he knew its contents were not truly that heavy. He saw the doctor standing near the tree, looking out at the view of the river. It was almost peaceful.

Anthony approached the man. “Doctor, I appreciate your attendance and discretion.”

“You have my blunt?” he asked with the nonchalant cadence which one would use to inquire about the weather. Anthony handed him the pouch. “Very well. Try not to go dying while I am present.”

“If the goal is merely to wound, where should my brother aim?” Do not lose hope yet, Benedict kept telling himself, Let’s try to keep everyone alive.

And then, the doctor looked at them like they were stupid. “You think you have the skill to guide the path of a moving bullet? Then you are either a fool or the king’s finest marksman. Which is it?”

With that the doctor walked away, knowing exactly which option the two brothers were. 

The sound of horses galloping approached with Simon and Will Mondrich, his second. Anthony pulled Benedict aside. “I have one last matter to discuss with you.”

“You have already provided ample instruction. I shall contact the solicitor and safeguard our sisters’ dowries—”“An additional task,” Anthony interrupted. “In the top drawer of my desk, you shall find the name of a lady. If I die, you must ensure she is provided for. Do you swear?” 

A lady. That was who Anthony must’ve been visiting when Benedict heard the front door open last night. Who was this woman important enough that Anthony would add her to his de facto will and testament?

“Benedict, do—”

“I swear.”

Anthony looked at him for a long second. Benedict saw a flash of the boy who helped him with knee scrapes and Latin vocabulary. Anthony opened Benedict’s hand and closed it around a pocket watch, their father’s watch. It burned through his gloves. 

Benedict tried to keep his breathing even. He was the second, and seconds tried to end duels peacefully. Surely, whatever liberties Simon took with Daphne did not warrant all of this. Many duels have ended simply because both parties were willing to show, and thus, had proven their honor. If Anthony would see reason, he could take it all back. Better to be a coward in private than a murderer or dead in public.

“Brother—”

“That is all,” Anthony cut him off, and walked away before Benedict got another word in edgewise. 

Looking back, he had been letting Anthony steamroll him since they were children, usually over petty things. But this particular time...If Benedict could reverse the clock, he’d shake his old self and tell him to be a stronger man because look at the mess his life turned out to be when he was not.

Preparations took place. Mondrich inspected the weapons to ensure they were fit and fair. Benedict felt rather feeble beside the boxer. The doctor was turned away for deniability. His brother and the duke were in an intense stare-off.

Simon had red-rimmed eyes; it appeared that last night was not kind to him either. “For what it is worth,” he began, “I am sorry.”

“Your apology is worth nothing to me,” Anthony bit back.

Benedict sighed. Even the most amiable of mediators wouldn’t have been able to talk down his brother. He and Mondrich handed over the pistols, and walked an acceptable distance away. 

Anthony and Simon stood back to back, and began pacing. Benedict kept his eyes trained on Simon, and Mondrich did the same with Anthony, counting ten paces each. Both dueling parties turned to face each other with the precision of a military about-face. 

Simon aimed his pistol at the sky to Benedict’s shock. He kept waiting for him to point his weapon forward, but he never did. His expression was solemn, but strangely at ease. 

How strange it must be to look down the barrel of a gun and see your dearest friend. 

Anthony’s going to lose his nerve, Benedict thought. He was still aiming forward, but his hand shook more and more with each passing second. Any minute now, Anthony was going to realize they could settle this another way and drop his weapon.

Then, the wind changed direction. Clouds came in front of the sun.

Benedict could spend the rest of his life tossing adjectives around and never quite capture what happened in that moment. It was like the very Earth itself shifted on its axis, throwing them into some misaligned universe. They were not supposed to be here. He felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. There was something in the air; he could feel it, even if he could never put it into words.

Something was about to go terribly wrong.

Benedict heard a rhythmic thumping that he had assumed was his own heartbeat until it got so loud, it sounded like it was coming from outside himself.

Suddenly, a woman on a horse—Daphne, he realized after a moment—tore right past him and Mondrich into the middle of the duel.

“Stop!”

A gun went off, but Benedict did not see whose. The horse, spooked, bucked her off, and she fell to the hard ground with audible impact. She laid in a heap for a second too long, and he feared the worst. “Sister!” he yelled, running over.

Anthony also ran over, trying to see if she was conscious. Colin nearly fell off his horse in his haste, and followed suit. Daphne lifted her head, gasping for the breath that was knocked out of her lungs. “Sister,” Anthony said, high-strung and properly frightened, “Are you hurt?”

Daphne scoffed. “I am not—”

She cut herself off when she looked up, expression warping into something dark. The three brothers followed her gaze.

Simon was rooted in place, weapon hanging limply from one hand and the other grasping at the center of his torso. His waistcoat grew dark, darker than the red of his coat and into muddy, bricky territory. Viscous blood seeped between his fingers and trickled down.

He was staring at his wound, like he couldn’t quite believe it was his body with a hole torn through his organs and expelling that much blood. He looked up, and fixed his dark brown eyes on Daphne’s blue ones, now filled with tears and complete terror.

He staggered backwards and fell to the ground.

“No!” Daphne shrieked, a piercing, painful cry that could shatter glass. 

She bolted to him, too fast for any of her brothers to react, blue cloak sweeping behind her. She crouched down next to his body, pressing her own hands onto the wound, but removing them when he winced.

Benedict looked at Anthony, puzzled and panicked. Anthony was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating. He lifted the gun, allowing them to inspect the barrel. It was smoking, and the unmistakable metallic tang of gunpowder filled their noses. 

“Brother,” Benedict said, horrified, “What have you done?”

Anthony, the man he’d been looking to for answers for a decade, was equally as perplexed. But ever the eldest brother, he schooled his face into something more stoic, impenetrable. “I—I don’t…It just slipped,” he replied, uneven voice and shaky hands betraying him.

Daphne let out a particularly distressing cry, snapping them out of their daze. She was pleading with Simon now, tears falling freely. Mondrich had already leapt into action, dragging the doctor by the arm to the scene.

“Ma’am, you must get off of him!” the doctor yelled.

“Miss Bridgerton—” Mondrich began.

Shakily, Simon moved a hand off his wound to wave towards the two men. “Wait,” he commanded, refusing medical treatment.

He was now bleeding all over Daphne’s previously stark white nightgown. He pulled her closer, her body nearly on top of him now. She cupped his face with her hands before realizing they were covered in blood, leaving delicate prints on his face. She started to move away, but he grabbed one of her hands and held it against his face, smiling wearily. The rest of the men stood by helplessly, stock still and bewildered.

“You’re going to be okay. You’ll be happy, it’s okay,” Simon rasped.

“I—No! What are you—No!” Daphne stuttered, “How can I be happy? Simon, please.” She began to sob into the crook of his neck, her once painfully clear pleas becoming nonsensical.

Anthony moved forward briskly, with the brave face and armor of a viscount back on, but the cocking of a gun rang loudly in the field, silencing even Daphne.

It was Mondrich, eyes narrowed in the way Benedict had only seen right before a match, training a gun on Anthony. “Do not take another step.”

Benedict was well and properly terrified now. He looked to his older brother, looking to him to lead. But there was something swirling in his eyes, something dangerous. 

“We are just retrieving our sister!” Anthony barked, incensed. Any fear Anthony may have had was manifesting itself as anger. And anger made him irrational.

“Then why are you still holding your gun? Why should I trust that your trigger finger won’t slip again?” Mondrich spat out, nodding his head towards the weapon still indeed in Anthony’s hand. His voice cracked with emotion, standing as the only barrier between his friend and the man who killed him. “Drop it.”

“Drop yours,” Anthony bit back. 

Mondrich made no move to do so.

Benedict saw Anthony slowly raising the gun, and before his mind could tell his body to stop, Benedict leapt in between the two men, hands raised in surrender.

“Hey!” Benedict shouted, startling everyone. In hindsight, it was probably the stupidest choice he could’ve made, surprising two men with weapons. “Let us not be hasty here.”

Mondrich glared at him, a stare that had made men twice Benedict’s size cower and that was without a gun in their faces. “It is a little late for that, don’t you think? Boy?” 

“Brother, what do you think you’re doing?” Anthony whispered harshly.

Benedict hardly heard him, though. He was staring down the barrel of the gun, going nearly cross-eyed with his intent focus. A single bullet, a tiny little thing really, just killed a man. Could kill him. 

Anything Benedict said or did next could either end this now or cause more bloodshed. 

He then looked back up at Mondrich. He was a man of honor, but honor in such highly emotional circumstances could be stretched extremely thin. Despite his imposing frame and snarled mouth, Benedict did not see vengeance in his eyes. Only grief and fear.

“Colin, get the gun box,” Benedict commanded, not quite recognizing his own voice.

He did not dare turn back, but he heard the shuffling of feet across grass. Once it stopped, he continued. “Anthony, put your gun in there.”

“And leave us defenseless?” Anthony argued, shocked.

“Brother, for once in your life, please just listen to me!” Benedict shouted, voice bordering on the edge of shrieking. Being at the wrong end of a pistol had a way of bringing a man to his breaking point.

Benedict waited silently, hands still up as a show of good faith, until he heard the clicking of the box. Mondrich and Benedict stared each other down for a few seconds too long for Benedict’s liking. He shut his eyes tightly, fearing the worst was about to come, when he heard a thud on the ground. 

Mondrich had thrown the gun down. 

Benedict shuddered out a breath of relief as he opened his eyes. The mask slipped off Mondrich’s face, revealing a pained expression. Daphne’s wailing had been reduced to whimpers, her tears mixing with the half-dried blood all over Simon’s body.

It was enough to make tears well up in his own eyes. He grabbed onto her shoulders. “Sister, we must go. Before anyone should see us.”

He tugged on her gently, hoping it would be better to coax her into leaving, but she was not budging.

“No,” she said softly.

“Daph, please—”

“No!” Her voice rose suddenly to a blood-curdling frequency, and she elbowed his ribs in an attempt to shake him off.

The pain hardly registered. There was too much adrenaline coursing through him. Benedict steeled himself before forcefully yanking his sister up and away. He turned her towards him, away from the gory sight in front of them. 

The blood trickled into the grass in winding streams from the basin of Simon’s wound. It pooled in the crevices the way ink does when a quill is left in one spot for too long. The smell was metallic, similar to the residue on his brother’s gun, but in a more visceral, carnal way. There was so much of it in the air that Benedict could taste it like he’d bitten down on his tongue too hard.

His stomach roiled, and he looked up at the sky; he was going to be sick. Daphne’s gown was completely drenched in blood, staining Benedict’s clothes as he pulled her away. Her bloody hands pushing against his chest, begging him to let her go, only worsened his appearance.

The doctor rushed to kneel next to Simon’s body, wrapping his largest bandage around the torso. He seemed to bleed through each layer with remarkable speed.

“Doctor?” Mondrich asked.

“He still has a pulse, but it is extremely faint. I can stop the bleeding for long enough to get him home, but after that...” The doctor trailed off, giving up on his sentence.

Mondrich turned to Benedict. “We will transport the duke back to his estate. If he dies, I will alert you, after which, you have 24 hours before I report to the authorities. This is the last mercy I am granting you. Do I make myself clear?”

Faintly, Benedict heard Anthony’s watch in his pocket tick, tick, ticking. “Yes.”

“Good. Now go.”

Benedict kept an iron grip on Daphne, and turned them around towards his brothers, stunned into silence by the scene in front of them.

“You heard him,” Benedict said frantically, feeling every second slip away rapidly, “We must go. Now!”

Benedict’s eyes had been glazed over for the past few minutes as he recounted the story, voice cracking and smoothing itself out as he spoke of being at the deadly end of a pistol. He trailed off at the part where he and his siblings made a run for it. 

Neither of them had been speaking for a full minute. She was waiting for him to come back to reality on his own time, but his thousand-yard stare only grew more distant.

She pushed her hand across the table slowly, as though approaching a skittish cat. Her touch on his hand was feather-light, but he jerked it away. He’d snapped back out of his memories, jostling the table.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, wiping away tears that never fell. The whole of him was awkward now, hunching slightly, limbs kept close to the body. He was completely unlike the suave, flirtatious fellow she had been volleying with.

That’s what you wanted though, her mind supplied, unhelpfully. Except it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to see the person underneath the wearied exterior the same way he looked past her flashy stunt and bad manners.

But instead, he had molted out of his skin, rendering him more vulnerable and naked than any state of undress could. She felt dreadfully guilty about it.

“It is rather late,” Benedict finally spoke, affecting an air of nonchalance, “I should head home before my mother wakes to find my study empty.”

He gave himself a long pour of what remained of the whiskey, her eyes widening as he kept going. If the lock for Pandora’s box would appear right about now, it would be most convenient.

“Benedict?”

He finally stopped when the glass was three-quarters full, entirely too much for how strong it was. He stood up, and threw on his jacket, putting his armor back on. He picked up the glass and gestured to her with it, an attempt at cheekiness. “You ought to as well.”

He began downing his drink as he walked away in large strides. He weaved through half-dressed partiers, painters with armfuls of supplies, and women dragging silk chiffon through the air. The whiskey filled his body with warmth, and clouded his mind pleasantly.

He thought for a second that he was going to get the last word. And then he heard the clacking of boots behind him, and almost smiled at his wrongness. It would be amusing if he were not trying to distance himself for her own good.

She had lost him briefly in the smoke clouds before spotting him around the corner. “Hey!”

“You should find your friends.”

“Slow down!” Whether she was referring to his pace of walking or drinking, she did not even know herself.

“It is honestly remarkable that nobody has burst in here looking for any of you yet.”

“Benedict, I’m sorry!”

They had come up to the front door now when he stopped and whirled around on her, bewildered. “Whatever for, Dovie?” He was the one who dumped all his baggage on her. 

“I should not have asked about…that.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. I was the one who kept going on and on.”

“I would have stopped if I knew it was going to cause this much distress! I would have never even touched the subject. I wanted us to have a good night—”

He suddenly grabbed her face, firm but not forceful, stopping her rambling in its tracks. He was being too familiar with someone who was a stranger hours ago, but he needed to calm her mind and he was too far gone to realize just how intimate this was. 

“Hey. I’m alright,” he implored. 

Her pupils grew impossibly large and dark the longer they held eye contact, and her lips parted slightly. She was searching in his eyes for proof he was lying about being alright. At some point, though, she became taken by how his green eyes reflected specks of gold in the candlelight. His hand was warm against her face, the pads of his fingers soft and uncalloused.

Benedict took in how her eyebrows creased upwards ever so slightly. He did not know how they’d gotten so close, standing toe to toe, close enough to feel her body heat through light cotton fabric. Experimentally, he dragged his thumb across the apple of her cheek, and she let out an nearly imperceptible gasp. He felt a desire spark in him, a small flame that had the power to be devastating.

And then it struck him how innocent she was. She did not pretend to be a saint and would probably kick him if he suggested such a thing, but the way she reacted to a simple touch told him she was a lot more talk than walk. She was also innocent in the sense that she was not burdened by the weight of his rank and history, which was chained to him by his ankles, impeding him every time he tried to move forward. 

He dropped his hand, and stepped back. Her chest heaved against the neckline of her dress like she hadn’t taken a breath in ages. If they were caught being that close anywhere else, her reputation would be ruined. She could act like she didn’t care, but when push came to shove, she would come to care quite a lot. They always do.

As quickly as the fire started, he had to put it out.

“Good night, Miss Y/N. Get home safe.”

He downed the rest of his drink, left the glass on a nearby side table, and headed out into the night. 

Y/N remained in the doorway for a minute after Benedict practically ran away, stumbling on the path. She pressed a hand to where his hand was on her face, feeling hot to the touch. She could blame it on the alcohol, but that would only be half-true. 

She was hoping he might look back at her, so that she didn’t feel quite so pathetic staring at him like this. She had half a mind to run after him, and at least get him some water. 

“Dovie!” cried Estrella, clapping a hand on her shoulder. She’d clearly had a drink or two by this point, and it was hitting her harder due to her inexperience. “You mustn't miss this! Peaky’s on a winning streak!”

She squinted her eyes to see the rousing game of Faro going on in the back. She turned towards the outside, the evening chill hitting her face, and only made out a speck in the distance getting smaller. 

Estrella tapped her again. Her poor, little Duckling. Y/N would need to take care of her tonight to make sure she did not overdo it. She put Benedict out of her mind, and allowed the younger girl to drag her back into the party.

Mina did indeed manage to swindle all the Faro players of their money, planting a deep kiss on her husband to celebrate her victory. They had become rather popular. Quite a few attendees were tempted to hop on a ship to America if they could get a stash of cannabis to bring home. The Doves, as usual, were making waves wherever they went. While Y/N would normally relish in this, she spent quite a bit of the night replacing Estrella’s gin with water until her speech became clear again. 

As the hour grew nearer to morning than night, the Doves grew weary. The party-goers slowly filtered out, and just like that, the fun times were over. They thanked Mr. Granville for his hospitality, and went on their way back home. 

They were just at the edge of Mayfair. They walked arm in arm, taking up most of the road. Estrella in particular was hiccupping and being held up by Y/N and Mina on either side. Y/N had put both of her masks on her forehead when she grew tired of holding them, the white one peering over the top from behind the black one.

“Why in the world do you have two? Surely, you would not want something to remember the ball by.” Will mused. 

“I’m not sure she will remember anything when morning comes,” quipped Mina.

Y/N chuckled. “I’ve been holding my drink and smoke just fine so far. Besides, I thought Harry might find them amusing.” Her brother had been growing rather tired of his math lessons and the same three toys in rotation. He might like to play pretend with the masks.

They came up to the alley where they would need to sneak down in order to avoid the nosy residents of Grosvenor Square, or worse, their mothers. Most businesses had closed up shop for the night, but a handful were still open. There was a faint light in a local printing press, the sound of iron machinery clanking. 

Across the street was a bar with a wooden sign hanging that said Nell’s with a four-leaf clover painted on. It was also dim, only a few lanterns remaining lit. The chairs had been mostly stacked up for the night. They had an outdoor seating area with one man still sitting—or slumped over, really—at a table.

A man who looked an awful lot like—

“Benedict?”

The man raised his head up from where it was resting on the table with a start. “Who calls?” It was, indeed, Benedict, his green eyes unfocused.

“Is that our neighbor?” Mina exclaimed, brows scrunched in concern and confusion as to why Y/N was acting so familiar with him.

“Are you an angel?” he asked.

“Yes. No,” Y/N said in quick succession, first to Mina’s question, then to Benedict’s.

“Are you suuuure?” He was practically crowing now.

The owner of the establishment came out. “You’ve come to take ‘im home?”

“Sir, how much has he had to drink?” 

“Jus’ one from ‘ere, but it looks like he’s been out ‘n about prior. Not to mention the flask he’s got on.”

Oh, this is bad, this is very, very bad, Y/N thought, mind running a mile a minute. She couldn’t just leave him here, vulnerable to physical and social ruin; both forms of harm were unfortunately equally damaging in high society.

Will sprang into action, trying to lift Benedict off the chair, and get him moving. However, with one trip, Benedict’s body slumped over once again like dead weight. He was in an awkward sitting position on the ground, propped up only by Will’s hold on his upper body.

Mina was still acting as a crutch for Estrella, who was doing far better than Benedict, but still unbalanced. “We can’t get both him and Duckie home, not like this.”

As if the universe was playing a joke on them, they heard the unmistakable sound of a carriage approaching, galloping hooves getting closer and closer. It was going to turn the corner onto their street at any moment.

“Fuck!” Mina whispered harshly. “Dove’s going to kill us if we cause a scandal.”

Y/N closed her eyes for a second. She was still coming down from her high, and trying to come up with something off the top of her head in such a state was proving difficult.

Wait. The top of her head.

She yanked off one of the masks off of her head, and wrangled it on Benedict’s face. He was not putting up too much of a fight, which worried her. She then slid the remaining mask on her own face.

“All of you go home now before you are recognized. I can stay with Ben—Lord Bridgerton, and we still have the cover of the masks.”

“You cannot possibly drag him all the way home, I could hardly do it,” Will protested.

“You should not be alone either,” Mina added.

The carriage turned the corner at that moment, the driver’s lantern fast approaching. Their precarious situation would be exposed soon.

“Go now! Leave a window open, and I will run home as fast as I can!”

Mina and Will looked at each other, and then at Estrella; it was more important to preserve her reputation. They could only hope Y/N would save herself and run if Lord Bridgerton were recognized.

They booked it down the alleyway right as the lantern illuminated where they once were. The carriage looked to be unmarked, so hopefully it was nobody from high society. Though, members of the ton could just as easily get a hired hack.

Once the carriage passed, she pulled out some money that she had stuffed into her boot before leaving. “Here,” she said to the bar owner, “For your discretion.”

He waved her off. “You’re not the first woman who’s had to come and cart ‘er husband off. I’ll keep your secrets.”

“I—” she cut herself off; not worth taking the time to correct him. “Thank you, sir.”

“You lot sound like you’re from outta town,” he added, “So some advice? Get ‘im to the inn on the corner of St. Andrew and Hawkeye. Better than dragging ‘im back to the square.”

St. Andrew and Hawkeye. That was about four streets down. Y/N could do four streets. Whether or not Benedict could remained to be seen.

“Thank you, I mean it.” She left a few coins on the table for him anyway.

She grabbed Benedict from under his arms, deciding to let his legs drag along the ground as she walked backwards. The carriage was parked in front of the printing press, and would hopefully not turn back until the two of them got out of sight.

They made their way around the corner, and her back and arms were already starting to ache. She’d tripped twice, the unpaved streets proving to be a nightmare. Benedict was heavier than he looked, and her only physical activity as of late was waltzing around a ballroom.

Benedict’s head lolled backwards in a way that made her eyebrows shoot up in concern, but he seemed more conscious this time. “I only asked ‘cause you look like an angel. You’ve even got wings.”

She supposed the curve and point of her white mask could look like wings if one squinted, and she tried not to think about the fact that he was already asking if she was an angel before she put on her “wings” so to speak. “Fine, yes, I am an angel.”

“Are you here to grant me my life back?” He sounded like a little boy, and it broke her damn heart. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to drag him down the cobblestones; everything about him from his spirit to his body was heavily laden with his inescapable past.

“I will certainly try.”

Y/N carried on dragging him down the streets, being helped occasionally when Benedict was conscious enough to push his feet against the ground to propel them. He was able to stand about halfway through, though he latched onto her for support. They finally reached the inn, illuminated by a single candle at the main reception desk. 

She spotted the prices through the window. She did not have enough to get a room and bribe the innkeeper, unless she’d be willing to keep her mouth shut for a measly two pounds. If anyone blabbed about the American girl in a masquerade mask, it would inevitably be traced to Y/N.

She was going to have to take a swing, and deal with the fallout if she missed. Mind your R’s, she heard in her head.

“Hello ma’am!” she said in her best English accent, walking in as normal as she possibly could with a man leaning on her heavily. “Are there any open rooms?” 

Water streamed down the hem of Y/N’s dress as she sat on the edge of the bathtub, trying to scrub away the dirt and grime of London. She felt the beginnings of a headache set in, though it was manageable for now. Benedict laid in bed in the other room, a great deal improved from how he was an hour ago. They’d both pay for this in the morning.

He’d gotten sick pretty much immediately after stepping into the room, vomiting out the window into a side alley. She cleaned him up as best she could, scrubbing his face with a warm towel. He was still stumbling when she popped off his shoes and took his coat off, but was otherwise sobering up.

As far as the innkeeper was concerned, the pair were Mr. and Mrs. Travlock, newlyweds who needed lodging after Mr. Travlock got too drunk at the pub to get home. Of course, the innkeeper surely knew that they were lying about something—those pearly masks and his expensive clothing were dead giveaways—but any gossip that spread would be about an English woman in peasants’ clothes and a nobleman who was present at the Danbury Ball.

Y/N headed back into the main bedroom. He was still lying down, eyes closed, warm cloth over his forehead. He’d undone his cravat and waistcoat in the time she was in the bathroom, leaving him in his loose, billowy shirt, with two or three buttons undone.

She turned around to the table in the corner, trying not to look at the new inches of skin that had been exposed, to prepare some tea for him to help settle his stomach. He looked younger when he was asleep, the way he might’ve looked if she had met him before he was Viscount Bridgerton. 

As she stirred the tea bag around in the cup of hot water, she wondered briefly how their meeting might have played out had he remained the second son. 

Would they have seriously considered courting each other? He was just as handsome up close as he was from two stories below—perhaps even more so because up close, she could make him smile and relish in the crow’s feet forming in the corner of his eyes. She couldn’t imagine moving to London, but maybe, just maybe, his lack of responsibility as the spare would have shielded her from spending too much time in high society. Perhaps they were compatible.

If they were living in fantasy land.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispered, taking the cloth off, “You did not have to do this.” At least he no longer mistook her for an angel.

“I couldn’t very well leave you stranded, not when I contributed to your discomposure.” 

Benedict wanted to protest, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but he was starting to fall asleep—properly this time instead of blacking out. 

“And with any luck, you’ll wake up in the morning and hardly remember any of it,” she continued, “Good night, Benedict.”

She left the tea on the nightstand beside him, and took the key in case someone needed to come pick him up; she would need to figure that out in the morning. As she opened the door, she froze when she heard him very softly say:

“I hope I remember.”

She turned back to look at him, and he was out cold, tiredness finally catching up to him. It’s not like she would’ve known what to say back anyway. It was the ramblings of a sleep-deprived, sobering man, and she shook it out of her head. Locking the door behind her, she slinked off into the night.

perfect all-american bitch masterlist // previous chapter - next chapter

author's note: so benedict in the show doesn't find out granville is gay until s1e5, which is after the duel (news to me tbh) so he has no clue about why their marriage works like that, and i haven't really figured out if and how benedict would find that out lol. also my sophie fancast is myra molloy in case anyone was curious!

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