#bridgerton x oc
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(Not) the same as it was - ch. 3 | A Bridgerton Series
Series: (Not) the same as it was
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x OFC
Word Count: 1.4k
Summary: Lady Josephine Wescott has a semi-honest conversation with her godmother. A young Josephine Saville and Anthony Bridgerton fall in love.
A/N: This is a short chapter but there is a LOT more meaty goodness to come! As always thank you for your patience with me as I struggle to write multiple fics at the same time.
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Bridgerton House, London, 1814
“Will you marry again?” Violet asks her as the pair sit across from each other.
For the first time she can remember, it’s just the two of them in the room, no other Bridgertons are running around, distracting their mother. Which means that Jo is the sole subject of Violet’s attention.
If she didn’t love Violet, she’d be terrified.
“I don’t know,” Jo admits. She knows that she should. She has nothing from her first marriage, and of course, she could live with her father, but it would look odd from the outside. A Dowager Countess moving into her father’s Edinburgh townhome?
The gossip would never cease.
Everyone will expect her to remarry.
“Why did you never remarry, Violet?” Jo asks her godmother.
“How could I?” Violet replies as she shrugs her shoulders slightly. Jo can already see the wetness that’s pooling in Violet’s eyes. Her sheer love for Edmund is still written across her face all these years after he’d passed.
“That’s the same way my father talks about my mother,” Jo replies with a small smile, thinking about her parents' devotion.
In her childhood, Jo had never realized just how lucky she was to have two shining examples of sheer matrimonial devotion. How rare that kind of marriage was.
Jo had been so naive then.
“And how is your father coping with his daughter being so far away from him?” Violet asks. “I know that he and your mother were already planning the move to be closer to you before she passed. He must be lonely up in Edinburgh by himself.”
“My father was the one who wanted me to come to London. He twisted Aunt Elizabeth’s arm until she agreed to chaperone,” Jo admits to her. “I think he hoped I’d make a love match this second time around.”
“These men may surprise you,” Violet tells her. Hoping her goddaughter would stay open to the possibility of marriage. “I know the conditions were very different the last time you were here, but I hope you will allow yourself to open up to the possibilities.”
“Everything has changed. I’m not the same person I was when I left,” Jo tells Violet softly.
“You never did tell me what happened between you and Anthony, Josephine,” Violet tells her softly. “I’ve never asked Anthony, and I don’t want to pry…”
“There’s not much to tell, we grew apart,” Jo replies. She does her best to keep her voice even, but she knows that she can’t help but give away that there’s rather much to tell on that subject. Not that she has any interest in sharing it.
“What about Eloise, is there any hope she’ll be interested in finding a match this season?” Jo asks, swiftly changing the subject.
Violet allows for the not-so-subtle redirection. Though she can’t help but want to table the discussion for another time. When she can press Josephine with hopes of discovering what it was that caused it all to go so wrong between the pair.
Aubrey Hall, Kent, 1802
Christmas Eve with the Bridgertons and Savilles had always been a grand affair. With the current count of children now at eight with the recent addition of baby Gregory, Aubrey Hall was fit to burst from all the excitement.
It was near impossible to not be swept up in the chaos the younger Bridgertons had created thanks to their many new presents.
“Have you seen Anthony?” Jo asked Benedict as the pair stood near the fireplace, watching Josephine’s father show Colin and Daphne how to swing the mallets of the family’s brand-new Pall Mall set.
Why her father had thought it was a good idea to gift the Bridgerton children, the most blood-thirty, cutthroat brood of children Jo had ever met, a competitive game that required mallets would be a mystery to Jo.
“No, he disappeared a while ago, I think he wanted to be able to hear himself think,” Benedict tells her.
“Ahh,” Jo hummed as she surveyed the room.
“I’ll be right back,” Jo told Benedict.
“Anthony?” Jo called out as she stepped through the doorway of the library, having followed the faint glow of candlelight to the room.
“Oh, Jo,” Anthony greeted her as he stood from the chair he’d been sitting in.
“I was looking for you,” She replied as she made her way over to where was standing by the window, her hands hidden behind her back.
“You found me,” He replied with a small smile.
“You missed most of the gift-giving, the drawing room looks like a battlefield,” She tells him.
Anthony grins.
“Thank you for the present, it’s beautiful,” Jo adds as her right-hand reaches up to play with the necklace she’d immediately clasped around her neck once the bow was removed from the box.
The chain was delicate, and the small pearl drop-down was understated but perfect in her mind. She had no idea how Anthony had known she would like it. She can hardly imagine him asking her mother or his own for their input on the gift.
And the potential meaning that it might have from the pair.
“I’m glad you like it,” Anthony replies.
A necklace was not a gift given to a friend, not from a man. And Jo was well aware of that. And so, despite the potential ramifications it might have, Jo had made a rash decision, deciding that this was her moment, it was now or never.
“Don’t you want your present?” Jo asked him.
“I didn’t want to assume you got me anything, I didn’t see anything from you in the pile,” Anthony admits.
“I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” Jo explains.
“What did you get me, Miss Saville? Certainly not something salacious?” Anthony teased as he gazed into her eyes intently, his mouth curled into a smile.
“Close your eyes,” She tells him as she steps toward him.
Anthony obliged, his eyes fluttering closed as Jo studied him.
“Should I hold out my hands?” Anthony asked, his voice dipping just below a whisper.
“Yes,” Jo replied quietly.
Anthony brought his hands out in front of him, holding them open, palm up.
Jo considered him for a quiet moment of anticipation. Anthony Bridgerton was the most handsome man she had ever known. If she was an artist she would paint, or sketch, or sculpt him for the rest of her life and never tire of using him as a subject. He was perfect.
And so Jo placed her hands in his, wrapping her fingers around them as she stepped to him and pressed her lips to his, her own eyes falling closed.
Jo hesitated for a painful moment when she felt Anthony freeze, and when his hands pulled out her own her eyes flew open and she was certain she had made a terrible mistake.
But she opened her eyes to see Anthony already looking back at her, not in- as she had feared- horror, but with an unexpected expression that she could not fully recognize.
Anthony’s eyes were dark as she stared back at him, but before she could open her mouth to apologize Anthony’s hands reached up to her cheeks, and pulled her face back to his own, returning her kiss with one of his own, one that felt impossibly deeper, and that lit something within her as her own now empty hands reached for the lapels of Anthony’s jacket, pulling him as close as she could manage.
When they finally broke apart the grin on Jo’s face was so wide it almost hurt.
“I-I… you have no idea how long I’ve been wishing I could do that,” Anthony admitted in a hoarse tone as he looked at Jo, brushing a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear.
“Happy Christmas, Anthony,” She told him in a soft whisper.
“I asked your father if I could court you,” Anthony admits.
“You-you did?” Jo asked, the shock evident in her voice. Her father hadn’t said a single thing to her.
“Is that alright?” Anthony asked nervously.
“I’m the one who kissed you,” Jo reminds him with a shove at his shoulder.
“It’s more than alright,” She adds as she links her hand in his, brushing her thumb over his own. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me we’ll always be friends first?”
“Always. I could never lose you, Jo,” Anthony replies, punctuating his promise with the press of his lips to her own.
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Late night confession
(This is just another wip. OC!Baroness Gwendoline Vasenton x Anthony Bridgerton. Gwendoline has been raising her brother's daughter, after he and his wife died overseas. Warning: not proofread)
"I can't marry you, Anthony"
"Wha...why? We've been courting for two months. You've been to Aubrey Hall. Your niece knows me. My family has met your family. We're engaged to be married in three weeks. How can we not?"
"Because-" she trailed off.
"Because what? Tell me. Put me out of my misery."
"Because I love you, you idiot!" He took a few steps back. His walls slowly cracking.
"You...what" he stumbled back. She rolled her shoulders, trying to regain peace in her mind. Impossible in his presence.
"I love you. I love you too much to marry you. I know your requiremnets for a wife. And that love is not one. I can't in good contience go through this and not tell you. Now, I'll take my leave, m'lord." She sniffed back tears as she made for the door out of the parlor. Walking past him, he grabbed her wrist.
"Don't go."
"I can't stay. If I stay, I'll regret it."
"Regret what?" He leans down closer to her.
"Regret what I will do. My compusure quivers when your close." She leans up to him, their noses close to touching. "And I cannot handle a rejection from you, m'lord."
"Rejection. I wouldn't dare." Their noses touch. Gwendoline's breath catches in her throat. So close.
"Anthony, where did you dissappear off to?" The voice of Violet Bridgerton, springs the two away from each other faster than lightning. "Oh, here you two are. There have been so many guests asking about you."
"Lady Bridgerton, I apologize but I must take my leave. I am feeling rather faint and should rest." Gwendoline said hastily. She neede to get out of there. The dowager read to room rightly and nodded.
"Understandable, my dear. Anthony, you are still needed outside so I can escort Lady Gwendoline to her carriage."
Though Anthony wanted fight back, he still had his duties as Viscount despite his current circumstances.
"Yes, of course, mama. Good evening, Gwen- Lady Gwendoline." He curtly bowed, though why the formality he didn't fully comprihend at the time. He left.
Now, leaving only the two women. The younger speaks, now tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.
"I told him, Violet. I told him." The dowager's face softens as she pulls her future daughter in-law into a gentle embrace.
"Oh, dear. Now, I understand." She kindly says, stroking her back.
"He doesn't love me so why didn't he say it."
"Because he does love, Gwendoline. You should see the way he looks at you. Its like your the center of his universe."
"You can't really mean it, m'lady." She lookedat the older woman, astounded by this.
"I do mean it."
Gwen lets out a tormented sigh. "I'm such a mess. I cannot confront him now."
"That's all right my dear. He's not going anywhere. He's still your fiancé. For better or for worse, he won't back out now." She starts guiding her out of the parlor. "I'll call for your carriage and you shall go home to your niece. I will think of a clever exuse for your departure. You rest and think. But not too much. All right?"
"All right." Gwen smiled softly.
Gwen goes home. The next morning, guess who comes calling.
//
Thoughts?
#anthony bridgerton#bridgerton x oc#bridgerton#angst#bridgerton fandom#bridgerton family#baroness#regency#drama#my oc story
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Love is Patience, love is kind
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AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.
Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)
The title is still a work in progress.
TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.
--
The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.
Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.
It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.
Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.
That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.
The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.
Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.
“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.
He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.
“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.
Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.
“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts
“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”
The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.
Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.
After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.
“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.
For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.
Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.
Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.
“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle
“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.
“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.
“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.
“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.
Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.
The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.
“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.
Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.
“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.
“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”
Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”
Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.
The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.
It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.
“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.
“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.
Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.
“Please,” he adds
“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.
“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”
She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.
Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.
“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”
“It’s alright, sir,”
“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”
“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.
Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.
Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.
“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”
“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.
“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.
Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.
“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.
“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”
“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”
“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.
Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.
“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.
Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.
“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.
“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”
“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.
“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.
By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.
“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”
“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.
Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.
“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”
“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”
Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”
“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed
“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.
---
Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.
They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.
“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”
Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.
“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.
The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”
“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.
“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.
“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”
“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.
He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.
Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.
Elaine stays quiet.
“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs
“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”
“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.
“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”
Kit remains there speechless.
“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”
“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”
“Leave.”
Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.
Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.
Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.
“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”
“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”
“Seems like a jump,”
“He came back to apologise,”
“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”
“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”
Dorothy sighs.
“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”
“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”
Kit glares at her.
“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”
Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.
“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.
“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.
It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.
“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.
“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”
“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.
“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.
“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”
Cook laughs but says nothing.
“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.
“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”
Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”
“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”
“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”
“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.
She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.
She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.
Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.
“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.
“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.
Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.
Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”
“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.
Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.
Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.
As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.
By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.
Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.
She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.
One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.
She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.
To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.
“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”
“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”
“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.
“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks
“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”
“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.
Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”
Dotty shakes her head.
“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”
Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.
She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.
---
Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand.
“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.
Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”
Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.
He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it.
“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him
Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.
“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.
Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind.
Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads.
After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her.
There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home.
Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.
“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”
Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”
“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”
Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough.
“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread.
She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids.
Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house.
As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids.
“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”
Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”
“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”
“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin
“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.
“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws
“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”
Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more.
Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.
“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”
“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.
Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”
“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.
But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas.
“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down.
Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh.
“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere.
She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath.
Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.
Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.
“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”
“Am I not doing it right?” he asks
“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”
“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles
“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”
“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.
“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.
---
The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.
Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.
Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.
Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.
Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.
“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”
Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.
A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.
When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.
“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”
“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”
Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”
“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.
Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.
“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”
“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.
“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.
“Whyever would you say that?”
“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”
Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”
“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”
Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.
Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”
Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Will it get me a date?”
“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”
Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x oc#benedict bridgerton fic#bridgerton#bridgerton fic#original fic#fanfic#fanfiction
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Eloise Bridgerton - "The Prince" (Part 2)
Eloise Bridgerton x Male reader/oc
Summary: Two people who have never seen each other before, with the same need and desire to be free in different ways. What could come of that when both people meet each other?
Words: 3.275
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POV Narrator
Dear readers,
The same two words always come to mind for this author the morning after a big party: surprise and delight. And dear reader, the scandalous accounts of last night's evening at Ranger House ( Bridgerton house ) are quite surprising and a real delight.
Emerging from her previous failure with Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Miss Edwina Sharma seems to have charmed Prince Friedrich of Prussia with her charms.
They have been seen very together at every social event and close sources comment on the success of the diamond of the season with the prince. Perhaps it turns out that the Queen Regent is a very good supervisor and has an eye for pairing.
Maybe this is the queen's redemption, compared to the resounding failure she had last season with Miss Sharma herself; her diamond for the second consecutive year, and the frustrated wedding she was going to have with the Viscount.
Speaking of royalty, we must also mention the presence of Prince Y/n of Hannover and also the queen's nephew in this season. Also remember that Prince Y/n is the future heir to the throne since the queen and the regent king so dictated after his 16th birthday .
Apparently, this handsome green-eyed prince is also looking for a wife and a future queen. The mothers are very attentive to each moment of solitude, to push their daughters into hisarms and try to catch the biggest fish in the place.
But it seems that his attention is fixed on none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. It should be noted that this is the second season as a debutante for the second daughter of the Bridgertons and the bad reputation that comes from the people with whom she joined last season.
But that fame does not seem to frighten or matter to the Prince of Hanover, as he has been seen many times on the dancefloor with Miss Bridgerton. They say that love is blind and perhaps in this case it can also become deaf.
How will the queen feel about this possible union?
On the other hand, we have Miss Prudence Featherington who is still engaged to Mr. Jack Featherington and it seems that the nuptials are still some way off. On the other hand, we have Penelope Featherington , who has reportedly been seen in the company of Mr. Colin Bridgerton more than usual. Could this mean something else; or is it just a friendship?
Always yours,
Lady Whistledown.
Eloise's POV
I can't do it anymore. I can't continue with this constant pressure, feeling like every step and every one of my movements is being watched. And not only for my mother, but also for the rest of the people in each event.
It's only been three weeks since the social season began, three weeks that have seemed eternal and one of the heaviest. It seems that three months have passed and not three weeks.
I feel exhausted and totally stressed. I don't want to disappoint my mother again and have our last name put in doubt again because of me. That is what I least want.
But the pressure not to disappoint Mother again, the feeling of being completely watched at all times, and the discomfort I feel every time a newcomer questions me about my "radical" ideals overwhelms me.
The only times I don't feel so overwhelmed and suffocated by everything is when I'm reading in my room and no one bothers or watches me at all.
I can only relax when I am completely alone.
Worst of all, I can't talk about it with anyone, since I would have talked about it with Penelope before and that's it. But after her betrayal, I can't talk to her, much less when she didn't trust her and continues to write as Lady Whistledown .
The fact that she continues writing annoys me even more, especially when she writes about my family and more specifically about me. If anyone had forgotten about her comment last season, about my relationship with Theo and my supposed radical political ideas; with what she wrote about me three days ago, she reminded all of London.
So people looked at me even more and not in a very positive way. But I couldn't talk to anyone about how I felt, because I don't have any friends left and no one in my family would understand.
I can't even tell Benedict how I feel, since he's too focused on his drawing and I don't want to worry him with my problems. In addition to that he would tell me not to pay attention to people and he would tell me something funny to make me laugh.
But that's not what I need right now. What I need now is someone who listens to me, who understands me and can help me with all this that I feel. Because I feel like I'm drowning more every day and how I'm short of breath every time I enter a dance or social event.
And the same thing was happening to me right now.
Tonight was the annual seasonal ball at Vauxhall Gardens, so the whole family except my two younger brothers had come. Even Kate had decided to leave little Olivia at home.
As soon as the family had set foot in the party, all eyes were on us and more specifically on me.
Ignoring with all my might the gazes on me, I comply with what my mother asks of me and dance with two men until the song ends. But neither of the two men are educated people.
Because both of them have spent the dances asking about my ideals and how wrong I am with my radical political thought, since that promotes the extinction of my life as a person of high class.
What ends up getting fed up and in a carelessness of my family I flee towards the labyrinth of the gardens. Where I sit on one of the stone benches of the place and I start to cry without being able to avoid it.
XY: I don't think it's safe or correct that you're out here without supervision.- I hear near me, causing me to jump scared and turn around to find the Prince of Hannover.
Eloise: I could say the same to you.- I reproach with a frown, forcefully wiping away my tears and trying to stop crying.
Y/n: Are you alright Eloise? - he asks with some concern on his face, walking towards where I am and sitting a bit far away; but in the same bank.
Eloise: Of course I'm fine.- I answer clenching my jaw and holding back the urge to continue crying.
Y/n: I'll believe you and we can go back to the dance as if nothing had happened.- he says with some sarcasm, bringing a glass to his lips and giving a small sip.
Another thing that has changed is my relationship with Prince Y/n. At first it seemed unbearable and somewhat unbelievable. But over time I have been able to learn more about him and have long intellectual conversations about our interests.
So I've started to see him a bit as a friend, since he knows what is said about me and completely ignores it. He has never come to ask me about my radical political ideas, even though I don't have them as such and that is something that everyone has asked me about.
So you can say that I like him a little, although not enough to tell him my stuff and be considered my friend completely.
Eloise: I'm just tired and overwhelmed by everything.- I admit with a sigh and see how he offers me his drink.
Y/n: What has you overwhelmed?- he asks as I accept the glass and take a small sip, feeling a burning pain in my throat.
Eloise: Iugh Yuck.- I say with a gag, giving him back the drink and causing him to laugh at my reaction.
Y/n: Don't change the subject and answer me.- he tells me funny.
Eloise: I feel overwhelmed for not finding a husband and disappointing my mother for a second time.- I answer playing with my hands and lowering my gaze.
Y/n: And why do you think you won't find a husband?- he asks with some confusion in his voice. -From my point of view, you are perfect for any man. You are beautiful, you have your own thoughts and ideals that you defend with very good arguments, you are educated, you like to read and you do not give importance to what the rest of the world says. - he enumerates and I look at him completely surprised, feeling a certain heat on my cheeks and ears.
Eloise: You say that out of politeness.- I played down what he just said, feeling embarrassed and somewhat impressed by his opinion about me.
Y/n: I say what I've seen and what I've experienced with you.- he assures me with a small smile, so I look away from him. -There are very few women like you Eloise Bridgerton and you should be proud of who you are. Because you are worth much more than any of the other debutants with knowledge of pianoforte or whatever they know how to do, because you go further and you don't focus only on learning something to please your future husband.- he expresses and i presses my lips , so that he does not see the smile that wants to appear on my face about what he has told me.
Eloise: That's the problem, I don't want a husband to please and become a boring housewife.- I say with a sigh. -I don't want to have to pretend to be someone I'm not in order for a man to like me, I don't want to make myself less so I can get married and I don't want my life to be left in the hands of a husband who is only interested in himself.- I complain and I can see how he listens to me attentively.
Y/n: So you don't want to get married? - he asks with confusion and with some interest shining in his eyes.
Eloise: No.- I deny with a sigh. -It's not something I want, but my mother wants me to get married and I don't want to stay like a spinster either; because it is not that they are very well seen in our society. - I explain and I see how he nods with his head processing what I just said.
He stares at me in silence for a few moments, saying absolutely nothing and with a certain pensive look on his face.
Y/n: Can I make you a proposition?- he asks me with some caution.
Eloise: What kind of proposition? - I ask a little interested, but also with some caution for the possibilities.
Y/n: You don't want to get married, right? - he asks and I shake my head. -But neither do you want to stay single and "disappoint" your mother by not getting married.- he says and I nod without understanding where he wants to go. -I propose that you marry me.- he says confidently and I open my eyes wide.
Eloise: WHAT?!! - I exclaim completely in shock.
Y/n: Don't yell or someone will see us.- he whispers looking at all sides.
Eloise: Have you gone crazy?- I ask quickly in a whisper. -I just told you that I don't want to get married and you ask me to marry.- I commented as if it were the craziest idea in the world.
Y/n: Be quiet and listen to me for a moment please.- he asks me with a certain plea in his eyes.
Eloise: Okay.- I accept with a sigh, trying to relax my breathing and the accelerated beating of my heart.
Y/n: I don't want to get married either, but my father forces me to find someone and marry her for love.- he begins to tell me. -I just want to travel the world and enjoy life, but I can't do it until I get married; since I made a deal with my father. The deal is based on the fact that if I marry for love, he will pay me six months to travel the world and buy me a house wherever I want for myself and my wife.- he explains and I still don't understand his proposition.
Eloise: And what do I paint here and in your proposal for me to marry you? - I ask still a bit confused.
Y/n: That's what I'm getting to.- he complains with a sigh. -I don't want to get married and you don't want to get married, but for different reasons we don't want to be single either. So it's the best thing that could happen to us. - he exclaims and I look at him still confused.
Eloise: I still don't quite understand the reason for your proposition.- I point out how poorly it is being explained.
Y/n: You marry me and your mother is glad that you marry a prince and future heir to the crown; besides that you don't stay single.- he points to me first . -And I marry you, finally being able to travel the world and having the freedom to live away from my father. We both won.- he exclaims with some joy.
Eloise: But I would still have to marry you and I'm not going to make myself less or become a housewife for you.- I deny immediately.
Y/n: And you won't.- He denies, reassure me immediately. -You will have all the freedom in the world, you will be able to read everything you want and dedicate your time to yourself without having to worry about your future anymore.- he assures me and I observe him considering the proposal.
Eloise: Could I choose where to have the house? - I ask with a raised eyebrow.
Y/n: As long as it's not near my father; yes.- he nods with a smile.
Eloise: I want to review your proposal, okay? - I ask and he nods. -You want us to get married together; because neither of us really wants to get married, but I don't want to disappoint my mother and I don't want to stay single either. At the same time as you , you have made a deal with your father and if you get married he will finally let you travel the world and buy you a house.- I am saying everything he has told me, causing him to nod again. -And I will be able to continue enjoying my books and not being the most feminine woman in the world, without you caring and I will have all the freedom in the world; besides that I will choose where we would live? - I finish reviewing the proposition.
Y/n: Exactly.- He nods with a smile.
Eloise: What's the catch? - I ask raising an eyebrow, knowing that everything sounds very perfect and there must be a catch.
Y/n: It has to seem like we really love each other and my aunt has to accept our marriage.- he responds a bit insecure and I open my mouth in surprise.
Eloise: No.- I deny getting up from the bench. -Your aunt; Your aunt THE Queen hates me.- I point out and he follows my example getting up from the bench.
Y/n: My aunt will adore you if she thinks you're the love of my life and thinks I'm in love with you.- he assures me and I shake my head.
Eloise: Nobody will believe it. - I deny nervous and somewhat disappointed.
The proposal was perfect, but it was too perfect to be true and now it's clearly impossible.
Y/n: Eloise, please listen to me.- He begs me, grabbing my hands and making me look at him. -You are my only hope, the other debutants want to marry me to show off and for the possible power that marriage would entail. And to be honest, I couldn't pretend to love them one bit, no matter how good an actor I may be.- he explains sincerely and I can't help but laugh at the last thing .
Eloise: And with me if you can pretend perhaps? - I ask strangely nervous about his closeness and curious about his answer.
Y/n: Yes, because you have something in your head and you have thoughts of your own.- he answers without thinking for two seconds. -It would be easier for me to fake a relationship with someone intelligent like you, than with someone who doesn't even know what an intellectual and casual conversation is; without it being planned.- he comments and I can't help nodding at the reality of the situation.
Eloise: And what happens if we don't fool anyone? - I ask with an exhausted sigh.
Y/n: Lady Whistledown already believes that there is something between us and as my aunt says, if that lady writes about it, the rest of the town comments on it and also thinks about it.- he answers calmly. -We just have to start being seen more together, take walks in the park together and dance only with each other.- he explains part of his plan.
Eloise: And how will we convince my mother, Lady Danbury and your aunt the Queen?- I ask and I see how he remains thoughtful.
Y/n: I could go to your house for tea from now on, show an intense interest on my part towards you and a notorious approach so that they do not suspect.- he plans and I can recreate the plan in my mind.
I can see how the situation can turn out favorable for us and how we can both win if everything works as he has said. But it can also go wrong and someone discover us.
Eloise: Can I think about the proposal for a few days? - I ask a little nervous and insecure.
Y/n: You can think about it for as long as you want. - He nods with a small smile. -But I'm afraid that to ensure a positive ending in case you accept, we have to start acting now and even if in the end you reject the offer, we'll just distance ourselves a bit and that's it.- he raises and I nod, understanding his point of view .
Eloise: Okay.- I nod and he leaves a light squeeze on my hands and then releases them. -I'll think about it these days and I 'll give you an answer as soon as possible.- I assure him and he takes a couple of steps back, picking up his glass from the bench.
Y/n: Great, now let's go back to the dance and hopefully no one has noticed our absence.- he tells me and we both head towards the dance.
Before reaching the end of the maze, he asks me to go first and that he will appear a few minutes later; so as not to arouse suspicion. And that's what happens.
Ten minutes after I have found my brothers, excusing myself for having been in the bathroom and for the long queue, there he was. Prince Y/n approaches us and asks me to dance with him, which I immediately accept with a smile and beginning the most important performance of my life.
From this moment on, in the following days we will have to be the best actors in the world and make all the people believe that there is something between the prince and me.
I just hope that everything goes well and that in the solitude of my room, I can think calmly and weigh all the pros and cons of the proposition Y/n has made me.
I only hope to be able to choose well and not regret it in the future; either close or far from the decision that I have to make in a few days. Because that decision will dictate my life and future from the moment I make my final decision.
NEXT
#eloise bridgerton#bridgerton#eloise bridgerton x reader#bridgerton netflix#eloise bridgerton x male reader#anthony bridgerton#lady whistledown#queen charlotte#benedict bridgerton#violet bridgerton#edwina sharma#kate sharma#oc character#male reader
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Fanfic Idea #2
To all my Bridgerton writers,
I have another brilliant idea.
What if Simon had a sister.
Mhmm. Okay.
I need you to stay with me now.
He doesn't find out until after he marries Daphne when he goes through his father's finances. He sees a small yet significant amount of money going toward an unknown individual. Simon really wants to know who this person is so he investigates only to find out it's his sister.
His father, after the death of Simon's mother, grieved differently than most and accidentally knocks up a young maiden from the town. Come to find out that the OG Duke of Hastings did have a soft side and provided for the girl and his mother.
When Simon first learns about this, he is furious. But with the help of Daphne, Simon decides to bring the girl to his estate and allow her to stay there so that they can get to know each other. Reader or OC (whichever) doesn't care for money, and she intends to make sure everyone knows, no matter how many times they say otherwise.
Please, I would really like to see what you guys come up with. Do as you please. I would love to read.
#fanfic#fanfiction#x reader#x oc#request#bridgerton imagine#colin bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#anthony bridgerton#colin bridgerton#simon basset#simon basset x reader#daphne bridgerton#x sister!reader#1800s#fanfic writing#anthony bridgerton x reader#bridgerton#netflix
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a friend
make me feel masterlist
navigation | warnings : none? | a/n : a little short lol sorry, enjoy! | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @knight-of-flowerss , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @fangsp1der-2099 , @navs-bhat , @starkleila
“My Lord!” You called after him. “My Lord!”
Finally, Morpheus came to a halt on the porch, looking out into the garden. “Why did you follow me Miss Bridgerton?”
You took a moment to catch your breath before answering the man who still had his back turned to you. Now you didn’t know what to say. “I…”
“If you followed me out here to give me your pity, I don’t want it.” His voice was cold like the icy chill of the winter breeze you longed for in these summer days.
“No! I don’t pity you! I just…” You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of why you followed him.
“What is it you want Miss Bridgerton?”
Morpheus was still turned facing away from you, but you made no effort to make him turn.
“I was going to ask you what was the matter, with everything Lady Death mentioned in the dining hall, but now I think it is best not.”
“Yes…that is best.”
A silence followed between you two, accompanied by the rustling of many leaves swaying in the nighttime breeze.
“If you ever need a friend…” You paused when you saw his shoulder stiffen, only relaxing when he slightly turned his body towards you.
“A friend?” Morpheus’ eyes gleamed with a sliver of hope.
You gently smiled. “Yes, a friend. I’m always available.” You turned to head back inside when a cold hand caught your wrist.
“Miss Bridgerton…” Morpheus started.
You gazed between his hand and his face, going back and forth before snapping out of your daze.
“Yes?”
A feeling of apprehension washed over Morpheus as he hesitated, but it’s now or never. “Will you perhaps be attending Lady Walsingham’s ball tomorrow evening?”
“Yes…” You replied in confusion.
The pit of anxiety Morpheus felt washed itself away with the tides of confidence before giving you a friendly smirk.
“Make sure to save a space on your dance card for me, my Lady.”
You covered your mouth to stifle a giggle and nodded, letting your hand slip into his as you made your way back inside.
Morpheus stood in awe for a while before whispering to himself.
“A friend…”
#the sandman x you#the sandman x reader#the sandman#the sandman fanfic#morpheus x original character#morpheus headcanons#morpheus x oc#morpheus x reader#lord morpheus#morpheus#morpheus x you#morpheus x y/n#dream of the endless headcanons#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless#bridgerton au
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Bridgerton!AU Satoru x f!reader
mentions of Satoru being a wingman, him and reader are courting, Satoru being a little bitch (kind of, but we love him here), fluff, minor angst for kusakabe here, and sweet ending
“Kusakabe, come here for a moment.” If there were ever a moment where you put your whole trust into Satoru, it was right now. standing in front of the full length mirror, the modiste writes down your measurements. “give me a hand, will you?” he asks, pulling out a scroll of material, “this color would be great on miss levington, but we need to check how durable this fabric is. I’d hate for the dress of the woman I court to rip all of a sudden,” he then eyes the modiste’s assistant calling for her. you there! yes, you! you’d be perfect! come here, oh kusakabe don’t be so orthodox now! get in the spirit of love! Satoru’s outspoken encouragement definitely earns a reddened look from his friend as your pursuer definitely pushes his buttons, making the man hold the material of the fabric as Satoru instructs to place the material as a skirt with both hands on either side of the assistants hips.
“Now do a twirl!” you want to hold back your laughter as kusakabe throws his friend a look, the assistant too distracted by the way the man holds her sides, unaware of Satoru’s shit eating grin. “oh don’t be shy now. you know I’d do it myself, but I don’t want to be disrespectful in front of my lady, kusakabe.” at the mention of your name, his friend sighs, shortly before fixing his gaze on the woman. he apologizes to her for a moment, for having this be of her time before he adjusts his posture and then twirls.
“Yay!! oh that fabric looked marvelous, didn’t it, dear?” both you and Satoru share a grin, he did feel something, failing to turn the moment Satoru called you dear or to scold Satoru, but the man is too awestruck by the woman in front of him that Satoru chuckles in laughter, “Oh Kusakabe! why don’t you take her on a stroll? You clearly think she’s pretty! Come on, I’ll treat everyone to some sweetened crepes!”
What surprised you this day was not satoru’s forwardness nor what he had Kusakabe do, but rather the man’s willingness with one reply. “Only if you buy her a dress too.” making Satoru grin as if he’s just hit the lottery.
#HELP why did I write this in 10 minutes#someone put me in jail#I have two versions of bridgerton AU Satoru#one is sweet and kinda shy the other is a bit like this or just a mix of everything#love him for this#gojo satoru hcs#Gojo Satoru#gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo sensei#satoru gojo x oc#gojo x female reader#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#Satoru#Satoru gojo#Satoru gojo x reader
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Dearest Gentle Reader,
The fallout of Edmund Bridgerton and Thomas Lovelace, occurred years before their respective marriages, before the birth of their children, and long before the first of this author’s society papers was published. Many have, of course, suggested theories as to why the 8th Viscount Bridgerton, and the 13th Duke of Manchester never saw eye to eye, but as neither ever made public comments regarding the issue, we still remain in doubt.
The sins of the father will be visited upon the son, and such is the case for Hector Lovelace and Anthony Bridgerton. From Eton to Oxford, both carried on the grudges of their fathers, and thus became known as deathly rivals.
It causes one to wonder why? And over what? Sadly, dear reader, much like yourself, this author remains in the dark.
It was only after the tragic death of Edmund Bridgerton, that tensions tremendously subsided. Occasionally, during gatherings, one might even notice the exchange of a polite nod between the new Viscount and the Heir of the Manchester Dukedom.
It is a common jape amongst chattering mamas that a Lovelace-Bridgerton marriage would finally put the two families senseless feud to bed. While there had been hope for a match between Daphne Bridgerton and the third Lovelace son, Mister Lewis Lovelace, it was soon eliminated after the announcement of Mister Lovelace’s betrothal to Lady Cassandra Gray. There remains Francesca and Hyacinth Bridgerton, who should by all accounts be considered rather odd matches for either remaining unmarried Lovelace Brother, given their vast age differences, and with Eloise Bridgerton's disinterest in matters of love and marriage, there is little possibility for a union between a Bridgerton Sister and a Lovelace Brother.
This author proposes an alternative; perhaps instead of a Lovelace Brother, we must turn our eyes to the sole Lovelace sister, the newly debuted, Lady Juliette Lovelace, and the second Bridgerton Brother, Mister Benedict Bridgerton, who seemed to by all accounts have become rather smitten with Miss Lovelace, much to the displeasure of his brother, the Viscount.
I am certain those of you who have not had the pleasure of making Miss Lovelace’s acquaintance before, during, or after her debut must have at the very least heard from a matchmaking mama, of her genteel mannerism, and very, very large dowry. Thus far, the only thing standing in the way of gentlemen vying for her hand in marriage has been her rakish twin brother, Mister John Lovelace, and his rather foul habit of publicly mocking her suitors.
Perhaps it must also be mentioned that this season the Duke and Duchess of Manchester have sent their youngest son away on a diplomatic trip, so as to not hinder their dear daughter’s pursuits of finding a husband.
Time is of the essence, bachelor's of Mayfair. I urge you all to try and succeed in winning the heart of Miss Juliette Lovelace before her meddlesome brother’s return from France.
In the meantime, this author continues to ponder if Miss Juliette Lovelace will find her Romeo in Mister Benedict Bridgerton or not. The answer will be one I shall certainly enjoy uncovering ...
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 10 JANUARY, 1814
#oc : juliette lovelace#fc: jenna coleman#ocappreciation#fyeahbridgertonocs#allaboutocs#littleocnation#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#Benedict Bridgerton x oc#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton oc#oc community#oc appreciation#ochub#toalltheocsivelovedbefore
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The Song is "So You Wanna Marry Daisy" by Spence Hood!
The context is: this is part of my Bridgerton au. Johnny Ivory(black n white guy) is a lord who is v much Not thrilled that Dotti(purple) appears to be interested in Howdy. Howdy works in his father's shop
#digital art#art#goodies.art#oc#welcome home#welcome home au#howdy pillar#howdy pillar x oc#oc x canon#welcome home Bridgerton au#bridgerton#au
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❗️❗️ I took inspiration for this story from the "Do you love me." Scene in Bridgerton.❗️❗️
Please enjoy 💜
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When Athelia imaged regaining the lonely mountain back with the company, she imaged it to be a joyous moment. And it was, at first...
She had heard the tales of Thorin's father and grandfather succumbing to the dragon's sickness within the walls of the mountain. How it drove them mad, to the brink of insanity and made them unrecognizable to their kin. He had expressed to her how he never wanted to succumb to the same fate, she had comforted him and told him how he was far to strong and stubborn of a man for that fate to take him so easily.
She believed it too, she believed her words. The man she had come to love was strong willed, hard headed and set in his ways. She would have never imagined he'd sway even in the slightest if it wasn't something he wanted.
Oh how wrong was she...
The days seemed to grow longer within the mountain. Or maybe it was she who grew down in spirits and caused the days to drag on. Or possibly her beloved insistent pacing and deep grumbling in the throne room which she was forced to endure.
Thorin had gone mad. Wide eyed and wire haired, as soon as he placed the crown atop his head and deemed himself the king under the mountain. She grown to despise the man under the crown, she hated his cruel words and foul behavior. Even more so, she hated how he had been treating his friends, no, family. All that made the long gruesome journey with him, he treated them as it they were nothing but dirt under his feet. Locking them all within the mountain, no one enters and no one leaves.
But on the rare occasion, she'd see him. She'd see Thorin, her beloved, just by the look that dwelled deep within his eyes.
And oh, did she love him so...
It wasn't strange for Athelia to have found Thorin stowed away amongst the gold and treasures. Though on this particular evening, she had noticed the tears welling within his eyes and the stern expression on his face as he glared down at the gold. As if he was battling a whole hoard of demons on his own. Slowly, Athelia approached him, leaving some distant in between.
"Thorin - " She called out to him, breaking him of his trance and pulling his attention to her.
"Athelia..." He breathed and for a moment she thought he was going to come to her and embrace her in his arms. He did not, instead he gave her a hard glare.
"You should not be near, Athelia, it is not safe for you." His words were harsh on her ears, she instantly shook her head.
"Thorin, I will not go, I love you- "
"I have gone mad, Athelia, can't you see?!" He had cut her words off with his own, his eyes blown wide, crazed, as he spoke. His voice booming off the gold and precious gems.
Athelia's own gaze now narrowed, her shoulders set back as she took a few steps closer to him. She was never one to back down, always to brave for her own good.
"Do you love me?" She suddenly asked, leaving Thorin breathless and frozen. Even though he had never spoke it aloud, she knew he did, she could feel it within her soul.
His tears now ran freely down his reddened cheeks, his expression turning into dispare as he stared at her. His fist clenched at the fabric covering his chest.
"I am not in my right mind, I know you see it- please -" He was practically begging her. "Take your leave with the hobbit - you are not safe here with me. "
"No, Thorin, I will not leave." She stood her ground, her expression stern and unmoving.
"You must! " His voice echoed against the stone walls. " My mind is fleeing my grasp, I cannot tell you whether I am here nor there, I do not know where the earth ends and the heavens begin - "
" Thorin!" She cut his words short, taking a step closer to him once again, pointing to herself. "I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth, I will tell you where you are!" Her voice raised each time she stepped closer until finally she stopped.
"Do. You. Love. Me."
He heaved a sob as more tears poured from the depths of his ocean eyes. "Yes, I -" His words choked him as he stuttered. "From the first time that I saw you entering the hobbits home-" another sob left his throat. " I have loved you desperately, I cannot breath when you are not near."
She closed the distance between them, her own tears now shedding and trailing down the flushed skin of her cheeks.
"I love you, Athelia. My heart calls your name..." Thorin finished, another sob racking his body as Athelia took him into her arms.
"We will get through this, together. You are not alone, Thorin." She whispered softly to him, as she cupped his cheeks and held his face so she could see him, truly see him for the first time in far to long.
The man that stood before her now was not the King under the mountain, but Thorin oakenshield. Her Thorin, her beloved dwarf.
Oh, how she loved him so...
#fanfiction#lord of the rings#lotr fanfic#the hobbit#thorin x oc#thorin x reader#thorin oakenshield#lotr headcanons#lotr x reader#bridgerton#thorin fanfiction#hobbit#the hobbit fanfiction
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(Not) the same as it was - Ch. 2 | A Bridgerton Series
Series: (Not) the same as it was
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x OFC
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: Lady Josephine Wescott is invited to Dinner with the Bridgertons. All the Bridgertons. A young Josephine Saville is in love.
A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter! My life and other writing projects got in the way but this story has nestled itself into my brain and I don't think I’ll be able to fully relax until I finish writing it.
(Also the story that Jo retells is just the plot of “Ladies Most Willing” which is a Julia Quinn (and others) book that I highly recommend for the absolute insanity of it all)
I’m also trying to weave these two timelines together in a way that makes narrative sense. Apologies if the 1814 plot feels a little filler-y – it won’t for very long.
previous chapter // next chapter
series masterlist
Bridgerton House, London, 1814
Josephine Wescott had to take deep breaths the entire carriage ride to Bridgerton House. She didn’t know why she was nervous. Well, that’s a lie she knew exactly why she was nervous.
She’d taken tea every single day that week with the Bridgertons, but Anthony had been notably absent every single time.
But he would be in attendance tonight. Lady Bridgerton had been certain to assure it.
So now she was breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth as she made her way up the steps, through the front door, and down the hall to the Bridgerton’s drawing room.
She could do this.
She was tired of running away.
“Jo!”
“Josephine!”
The cacophony of Bridgertons all shouting over each other immediately assaulted her senses as they all clamored for Jo’s attention when her arrival was announced.
Anthony was the only family member who did not flock to the young woman, a detail that did not slip Lady Bridgerton’s notice.
Even the younger Bridgertons, who had not known Josephine before this week had quickly attached themselves to the young woman and were now excitedly shouting over each other as they fought to explain every detail of the game they had played with their governess that afternoon to her.
Jo wasn’t sure how it had happened. If you’d asked her at any point prior to 1803 what her relationship with the Bridgertons would be in the future she had been terribly confident that the Bridgertons would always be part of her life. Her second family.
The same way she’d felt about Anthony Bridgerton.
They would be best friends forever. Anthony Bridgerton being part of her life was always a non-question.
How naive she had been.
Now neither of them could manage to even look the other in the eye.
Once dinner was ready and the family had made their way into the dining room and had taken their seats the conversation turned back to the topic they’d been talking about over tea the day before.
“Did they ever chase down that Scottish lord?” Hyacinth asked excitedly as she looked down the table at Jo.
Both Anthony and Benedict, who’d been absent the afternoon before looked up in confusion.
“Yesterday Josephine was telling us about a dinner party she attended a few years ago where a Scottish Laird kidnapped four young ladies and spirited them away to his keep,” Francesca explained to her brothers.
“Like a fairytale,” Gregory added.
“More like a nightmare,” Eloise muttered darkly. “Is there anything more indicative of the struggle of women than the fact that they can be literally snatched from their families and spirited away without anyone so much as batting an eye?”
“Well you all thought it was a show, didn’t you, part of the event?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, it wasn’t until they discovered that they’d commandeered a carriage that anyone realized that Laird Ferguson had been quite serious,” Jo explained.
“They must have made a quick exit,” Anthony commented.
“You know a great deal about hasty exits,” Jo quipped quietly to herself as she tipped a spoonful of soup between her lips.
Anthony’s head snapped up as he heard Jo’s muttering. Colin, who was sitting next to Jo shifted awkwardly in his seat as he glanced between the pair.
“But what happened to them?” Hyacinth asked.
“Well, there was a snow storm that night so by the time the Earl realized they had gone it was too dangerous for anyone to follow after them,” She explained. “When the roads were finally cleared a few days later the Earl and the rest of the men burst in just as all four of the girls were being married to the gentleman present.”
“The Laird managed to marry off both his nephews, the Duke he’d accidentally kidnapped, and himself,” Jo told them.“It was a raving success for them all.”
“Thank heavens it was a happy ending,” Lady Bridgerton replied with a sigh as she took a long sip of her wine. “Though if it hadn’t, surely the scandal would have reached us down here in London.”
“Quite a lot happens up in Scotland without the rumors traveling south. The isolation is partly required but mostly by choice. The Scots are awfully proud and dislike the English very much,” Jo said with a shrug.
Benedict chuckled. “I suppose that’s why the Earl married you, he knew you’d fit right in up there.”
Jo looked down at her plate. She knew Benedict was joking, but she knew why she’d disappeared to Scotland. And her wounded pride and one Englishman, in particular, had certainly played a key role.
“What about our new Duchess, I was quite upset that I had to learn all about your courtship and marriage through the papers,” Jo said to Daphne. “I want to know everything.”
Daphne regaled the table with the story of her and Simon’s courtship and marriage (which, if Anthony’s face was anything to go off, was not an entirely truthful recollection of the events). Simon interjected from time to time, though it was his expression as he watched his wife that made it clear that he was hopelessly in love with her.
Anthony glanced at Jo often, watching her play the role of the enraptured audience.
He watched as her smile faltered for just a moment as Daphne mentioned her surprise and excitement at getting pregnant just a few months into her marriage.
And he’d been suddenly struck with a pang as a series of thoughts had flooded his mind.
Had Jo wanted to have a child with her late husband? Had they tried to get pregnant? Anthony hated the way his mind had immediately pondered. Lord Wescott already had an heir. There was no need to force it, surely. And he’d never pictured Jo as a mother, she had never mentioned a desire for children to him in the time they had been close. Though they had been children themselves back then.
But the sadness in Jo’s eyes in that moment made him doubt everything he knew of her.
He couldn’t help but imagine what Lord Wescott had been like. Anthony found himself wondering if Lord Wescott had doted on his wife the same way that Simon did. Had he listened to Jo speak with affection clear on his face, adding colorful commentary to her stories?
A part of Anthony hoped he had. Jo deserved happiness. After everything that had happened, she deserved to live a full life even if he couldn’t be part of it. But a shameful, selfish part of him, deep down secretly hoped that the Earl had been indifferent to his wife, and she to him. Though he knew he was praying for Jo’s unhappiness it had eased his own discontent to imagine her similarly afflicted, as much as he was ashamed to admit it, even to himself.
Anthony knew he was torturing himself. The Earl would have been a fool not to have loved Jo.
And the Earl was dead. Being jealous of a dead man was a new low for him. And wasn’t going to do him any favors.
Anthony knew the rumors and whisperings were already circling. The gossips were curious to see if The Viscount Bridgerton and Lady Wescott would rekindle their romance and perhaps even announce an engagement.
Many were sure that Anthony had been pining after her for years, and now that she was available that he would make an offer any day. And Lady Whistledown’s tireless reporting of Lady Wescott's visits to Bridgerton House were not helping the matter. Especially since she seemed to refrain from writing that he was rarely if ever home during these visits.
Others assumed that Jo would rebuke any of his offers just as she had done the first time.
He’d even heard that there was one particularly interfering busybody who was convinced that Jo had killed her husband the moment she had heard that Anthony Bridgerton was in the market for a wife, desperate for a second chance with the Viscount. Though the timeline for that theory was easily disproved.
But Anthony already knew the truth. Josephine Wescott would never marry him. She had made that fact terribly clear.
The Saville House Gardens, Kent, 1800
“Anthony Bridgerton give me back my cap!” Jo shouted.
“You shall have to take it from me!” Anthony shouted as he clutched the hat in his hands, running as fast as he could across the grass.
Jo followed as best as she could. She had always been the faster of the two, but now she was weighed down by petticoats and skirts that fell to the ground and her little slippers were not nearly substantial enough to keep her from slipping across the green, desperate for some traction as she chased after Anthony.
They were too old for this.
At sixteen years old it was not proper behavior for either one of them to be running around like wild animals. Especially not together.
But despite her governess's insistence that Josephine begin to hold herself to the manners and behavior of a ‘Young Lady’, Jo would much rather enjoy her life.
“I swear, I will push you into the pond if you do not-” Jo threatened as she pushed through the hedge in an attempt to cut Anthony off as he rounded the corner of the path.
“Ah-ha!” Jo shouted in triumph as she snatched her cap out of Anthony’s grasp, jumping up onto her toes as she reached her hand above her to grab it out of Anthony’s own hand, which was stretched as far above his head as he could manage.
Jo pulled her cap back onto her head and tilted her chin up proudly as she smirked back at Anthony. It wasn’t until her eyes found Anthony’s that she realized just how close they now stood, her chest nearly brushing against his.
Anthony swallowed nervously as he stared back at her.
“It seems you won’t get to push me into the pond after all,” Anthony said as he took in the look of determination and pride etched into Jo’s features. “Pity.”
Jo realized the position she had placed herself in and quickly took a step back, glancing down at the cap in her hands before she pushed it down atop her head quickly.
“Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg!” She abruptly shouted as she turned on her heels and took off back towards the house.
She hears Anthony muttering something behind her as he raced to catch up to her but she was already halfway back to the house.
Jo wasn’t quite sure when it had happened.
They’d always been close.
Sure the awkwardness of their early teenage years had caused them to drift slightly, but now Jo thought it was far more likely to be the shift in her feelings that had caused that small rift, for she’d gone from seeing Tony as her best friend, and nuisance of a boy to recognizing the changes as he became a young man.
It felt like every year he’d disappear to Eton for a semester and then return for the summer taller and more handsome than she’d remembered him.
The only constant during those years were their letters. It had started as a project that had been strongly encouraged by both of their parents, as they hoped to help them foster their friendship through the school years spent apart.
But somewhere along the way, Jo had fallen in love.
She had always been quite certain that he did not feel the same way. He had always seen her as a little sister, even though their birthdays were only 3 months apart, and Josephine didn’t imagine that would change any time soon. And she didn’t want it to, either.
She knew Anthony would always be in her life, and if friendship was the way to be certain that happened, she was happy with that.
She would only take what he was willing to give. And she would only feel safe giving him her heart if she knew for certain that he would not break it.
Jo was also incredibly aware of the fact that if Anthony were to court her that it would potentially irreversible change the nature of their relationship.
If they were courting there would be no more racing, no more pranking Benedict and Colin, no more walks through the grounds without one of their parents acting as chaperone, and certainly no more frank, truthful conversations.
The idea of Anthony treating her like she was a proper young lady made her want to shrivel up and pass away.
A sudden vision of her and Anthony on a walk through the Aubrey Hall gardens with their mothers close behind filled her mind. He’d only ask her about the weather, where she’d gotten her gloves, and what she thought of the food served at luncheon.
She did not want to live her life that way.
So she was happy to continue to live her life as she did. Admiring Anthony from a completely hypothetical, safe, distance.
That way no one would know. Not their parents, or his siblings, and least of all Anthony himself.
Because if Anthony Bridgerton were ever to break her heart, Jo wasn’t sure she would be able to survive.
#(not) the same as it was#(not) the same as it was series#anthony bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x oc#Bridgerton#Bridgerton Series#anthony bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton fic#bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x oc#anthony bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton series#anthony bridgerton x ofc#anthony bridgerton fic#anthony bridgerton drabble
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18+ mdni
Some of these are posted on my old account, but they are still my work!
✮ Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard
The Trader's Daughter (the ghoul x female oc) - Teaser - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - *work in progress*
✮ Anthony Bridgerton
Lady Bridgerton - Anthony x wife!reader - smut (MDNI 18+)
#ren's masterlist#writing masterlist#fic masterlist#bridgerton imagine#fallout imagine#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x oc
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Eloise Bridgerton - "The Prince" (Part 3)
Eloise Bridgerton x Male reader/oc
Summary: Two people who have never seen each other before, with the same need and desire to be free in different ways. What could come of that when both people meet each other?
Words: 4.181
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POV You
Just as I had discussed with Eloise that night in the maze. I have been showing my interest towards her in a more noticeable way and she towards me too.
Four days have passed since that night and on each of the days I have gone to the Bridgerton house, had tea and thus could spend more time with Eloise in front of her mother. Of course, I have never appeared empty-handed, because if anything it is etiquette and manners regarding situations like these.
The first day I showed up with a lemon cake, along with a bouquet of Eloise's favorite flowers which were daisies, blue roses and blue dahlias. Also along with a bouquet of violets for her mother. It goes without saying that the matriarch was impressed and Eloise gave me a subtle wink as a sign of success.
The second day I turned up with some cakes and Lady Bridgerton 's favorite sweets. Since having a detail with the mother is always well seen and adds points at all times.
On the third day I was a little more daring, bringing a carrot cake made by myself; with the help of the cook and Eloise 's favorite chocolates.
And today I had decided on a book on the natural sciences and their use in medicine, since my studies had come to light in one of my conversations with Eloise and she had shown an interest. So I thought it was a good idea to give her a basic book on the subject, because she likes to read and I'm sure she'll appreciate it more than the desserts.
While for her mother, I brought her favorite sandwiches so that she can accompany the tea with them.
I knock on the door of the Bridgerton house , making sure my black tailcoat is tied securely, my khaki slacks are wrinkle-free and my tie is tied just right.
I put my hat back on and take a deep breath. The door opens, letting me see the housekeeper of the place and she, recognizing me, allows me to pass.
Before entering the house, I receive the gifts from my coachman and I thank him by entering the site. I follow the woman into the living room, where I immediately see Lady Bridgerton sewing something, Eloise reading a book sitting on the sofa in a tomboyish manner, and the younger members of the family playing chess.
XX: My lady, Prince Y/n of Hanover is here. - she informs her of my arrival and I see how the matriarch gets up from the couch immediately.
Violet: What a pleasure to have you back here.- she walks towards me excitedly, passing by her daughter and giving her a light blow to make her sit good; causing a small amused smile from me.
Y/n: The pleasure is all mine Lady Bridgerton .- I assure her, greeting her with a kiss on her hand. -I hope I was right when i choose them.- I commented, extending the box with the sandwiches .
Violet: It wasn't necessary my lord.- she denies with a small smile receiving the box.
Y/n: Don't tell me my lord Lady Bridgerton, we are not in public and honestly I feel a bit old when it comes to it.- I say with a certain humor. -As long as you calls me by my name, we will be more than fine.- I assure her with a smile.
Violet: Okey Y/n, are you coming to have tea with us? - she asks with some emotion and illusion.
Y/n: If you are so kind as to accept me, then I would like to have tea with you. - I respond politely and without imposing myself.
Violet: I'm going to tell them to prepare it outside, since it's a wonderful day and the garden is beautiful. - she warns and leaves the room with a huge smile.
Gregory: When my sister marries you, will I be a prince too? - he asks running towards me, as soon as his mother disappears and with his sister by his side.
Hyacinth: And can I be a princess? - questions excited. - Because if Gregory can be a prince, I want to be a princess too.- she says confidently, receiving a push from her brother and she returns it.
Gregory: You're a copycat.- he reproaches her and I can't help but think about my absurd and childish fights with my brother when we were just kids.
I watch as they playfully push each other, poking each other and can only look longingly at them. I long for when life was as simple as copying your brother or playing a prank on him to annoy him.
Eloise: Stop fighting and making a fool of yourselfs.- she tells them, separating them by the heads. -Second, like "when my sister marries you"? - she asks his little brother.
Gregory: Mom says you're getting married, because Y/n comes every day for you and because he likes you.- he answers as if it were obvious and that causes me to laugh without being able to avoid it.
Eloise: Mom said that? - asks with a surprised expression.
Hyacinth: She and Lady Danbury have commented on it, they compare you with the work they did with Daphne and the Duke.- the youngest of all responds this time and I can't help but look at the oldest with a raised eyebrow.
Eloise: And what makes you think that I will marry him? - she points at me and I pretend to be offended; causing the children to laugh.
Hyacinth: Because you talk to him for more than a minute and you don't complain about him like you do with the rest of the suitors.- she answers as if it were the most obvious.
Y/n: So you don't complain about me? - I ask with amusement . -It's interesting to know.- I assure her, seeing how she kills me with her eyes.
Violet: We can go outside, they are already organizing the tea.- she warns us happily, entering the room and seeing the four of us standing together. -What are you talking about? - interested question.
Gregory: About how Y/n and Eloise are going to get married and I 'll be a prince.- he answers with total sincerity, causing the matriarch to open her eyes surprised and somewhat curious.
Eloise: Don't pay any attention to them, mother, the dwarves are just saying nonsense and commenting on some unimportant things they've heard.- She brushes the matter off with her hand.
Violet: Okay.- she nods not very convinced. -Let's go out.- she points out and placing her hands on her children's shoulders pushes them out.
I laugh at the attitude of the youngest and the conspiracies of Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton about my possible relationship with Eloise .
Eloise: Are you okay? - she asks me after a few seconds.
Y/n: Yes of course, why wouldn't I be? - I ask somewhat confused, starting to walk out with her.
Eloise: When my brothers have started to fight, you made a sad and somewhat thoughtful face.- she answers me with a small grimace. -And I wanted to know if you were alright.- she comments and I nod with a slight smile.
Y/n: I just remembered what it was like to be his age and fight with my older brother for any trifle.- I answer with a slightly sad face. -But I'm fine.- I assure her with a small smile.
Violet: Y/n and Eloise sit together on that side.- she points to the two free seats at the round table outside.
I take Eloise 's chair out for her to sit in, tucking her in nicely, then I sit to her right and across from the Bridgerton matriarch .
As soon as we sit down, tea and sandwiches along with other sweets are served on the table. And it is at that moment that I remember the book in my hand.
Y/n: Before I forget.- I speak turning to Eloise and stretching her the book. - The other day we talked about my studies and since you showed some interest regarding natural science and its uses in medicine, I have brought you this book for you to read.- I informed her seeing the smile appear on her face.
Eloise: Thank you.- she thanks me by receiving the book and opening it immediately. -There are things written.- she comments confused.
Y/n: It's my book; well it was, now it's yours. - I pointed out a bit nervous. -I asked my father to send it to me, since it is quite interesting and something basic so that you can understand it better.- I comment with a small smile. -What is written are my notes, which I wrote at the time to better understand the concepts and I have believed that this way it would be easier for you to understand everything too. It took me a while to understand everything, but to be honest; You're smarter than me and I'm sure you won't need the notes. But I wanted to make sure and that's why I'm giving you my old book and not a new one. - I explain to her, pointing to the small paragraphs written by hand on some pages.
Eloise: Thank you very much Y/n, it means a lot that you give me this book.- she assures me with a smile, looking into my eyes and I can see how her beautiful blue eyes water slightly.
Y/n: It's nothing, I know how much you appreciate books; I thought you would like and appreciate a book more than another dessert. - I explain somewhat embarrassed, scratching the back of my neck and feeling observed.
I couldn't tear my gaze from Eloise 's, feeling that if I look away from her I'll miss the happiness and excitement that sparkles in her eyes at the gift. And that's something I don't want to miss for the world.
POV Narrator
What he wasn't aware of, and neither was Eloise , was the look that Violet Bridgerton was giving into the interaction between his daughter and the prince. As she watched with a smile full of happiness, her daughter's face lit up at the detail and the prince's own detail towards her daughter.
Her daughter could deny it all she wanted, but she was falling in love with the Prince of Hannover and her eyes or the way she looked at him couldn't hide it. And for the first time, the former viscountess felt calm about the future of her rebellious daughter. Because she had someone who cared and would take proper care of her.
And Violet Bridgerton didn't just see that look on his daughter, She could also look at the look the prince was giving her daughter and the slightly reddish color of his cheeks. She just hopes that she and Lady Danbury are right and that the proposal is close.
Because her daughter had never looked at anyone like she was doing at that moment with Prince Y/n and she didn't want anything or anyone to get in the way of her happiness.
Eloise's POV
I was determined, I was going to accept the proposal and marry Prince Y/n. Sure, if the offer still stood.
After weighing it carefully for almost four days, I have realized that I win much more than I can lose. And not only will I end up winning, but my family and Y/n will also win; so it's the best I can do.
Also, that Y/n is not so bad and every day I am enjoying his presence and company more. The truth is that I never imagined that I would get married, but it was because it went against my ideals and my growth as a human being.
But I know that with Y/n my growth as a human being and as a woman will not be crushed or reduced in any way. The freedom that I would have is also something that has pushed me to accept, since that is something that has made it clear to me and I can do what I want as long as it is not something that puts my "marriage" at risk.
And lastly, Y/n was a nice company and I can have an intellectual discussion with him . Without feeling insulted by my sex and my "few" studies or level of knowledge.
He had been really great to me. My mother, like every day, has not stopped asking the prince questions and talking to him in an animated way. Like my little brothers, who have not stopped asking questions about the crown and royalty like every day.
Leaving little time for me to talk to him and tell him in a hidden way that I accept the proposal.
Just before he leaves, I stop him and look around making sure no one sees us. Once I make sure that my mother is busy with my brothers and they with my mother; I have the green light.
Eloise: I accept.- I tell him directly.
Y/n: Accept what?- he asks a bit confused.
Eloise: You are supposed to have studied and gone to the university.- I reproached him amused, giving him a light blow to the back of the head.
Y/n: That's not a reason to hit me.- he claims, rubbing the affected area.
Eloise: Exaggerated.- I say because of her reaction to the light blow. -But I accept your proposal.- I clarify and after a few seconds he opens his eyes in surprise.
Y/n: Are you serious? - he asks excited and with a certain illusion shining in his precious emerald eyes.
Eloise: I'm not kidding, you don't see how I laugh.- I say sarcastically causing him to laugh.
Y/n: I don't care about your horrible humor.- he downplays it with a smile. -I have to think about how to ask your mother for your hand, in the ring and in the house.- he enumerates and opens his eyes. -Where do you want the house? - he asks me with interest.
Eloise: Near Aubrey Hall, it's my family's country house and I don't want to be far from them, but I don't want to be in the center.- I answer. -In addition to the fact that my family is only here during the social season, then they live at Aubrey Hall for the rest of the year.- I explain and he nods in agreement.
Y/n: Perfect, well I guess I'll be back tomorrow for the I 'll ask your mother for your hand.- He nods according to his own plan.
Eloise: I'm afraid we won't be here tomorrow.- I comment with a grimace and I see how the smile disappears from his face.
Y/n: And why is that? - he asks confused.
Eloise: We're going to Aubrey Hall for the weekend, to bond with the family and spend time together; and blah blah blah.- I downplay any kind of importance.
Violet: What are you two talking about? - she asks appearing out of nowhere and scaring us completely.
Eloise: For God's sake mother, don't appear like that.- I ask with a hand on my chest and feeling the accelerated beating of my heart.
Violet: Sorry dear, I didn't know you were so engrossed in your conversation and that you hadn't seen me.- she apologized with an amused smile for my reaction.
Y/n: It's okay, the scares help keep the heart beating.- he says with an amused smile.
Violet: So? What were you talking about? - she returns to question too interested from my point of view.
Eloise: About the fact that tomorrow we're going to Aubrey Hall and that we'll spend the weekend there, so we won't be here for the prince Y/n to come for tea.- I answer my mother and see how the gears of her head begin to move.
Violet: Maybe Y/n can join us and be our guest this weekend.- she offers and it doesn't seem like a bad idea to me.
Y/n: I don't want to impose myself on your family weekend.- he denies with a small smile.
Violet: Don't say nonsense, you don't impose yourself and I'm also inviting you.- she assures him happily. -In addition, the Sharmas and Lady Danbury will also accompany us for another year. In fact, I'm surprised that Lady Danbury hasn't told you anything.- she says a little confused and thoughtful.
Y/n: It will be because of Edwina and her possible relationship with my cousin Friederich .- he comments a bit insecure. -From what I know, they spend a lot of time together and since my aunt can't be supervising all the time, it's Lady Danbury's turn to be watching.- he shrugged at the information.
Violet: Then we'll see each other tomorrow at Aubrey Hall.- she assures Y/n. -Let's go out, so I tell one of my drivers to give directions on how to get to your coachman.- she says threading her arm through the prince's and pulling him towards the entrance of the house.
I just laugh, when he looks at me over his shoulder with a face between surprise and amusement at my mother's attitude.
I shake my head and sigh calmly, knowing that many of my problems will be solved as soon as Y/n asks my mother for my hand. And the rest of my problems will be solved when the prince and I give each other the "yes, I want".
Because something is clear to me, if my mother believes that Y/n is going to ask me to marry him and that we are in love; the rest of the world will believe it too. Because if there is something that my mother is in this life: she is insightful.
None of my brothers have been able to deceive our mother, since she always knew when something did not quite fit and we hid something. So if Lady Danbury is being talked to about my possible marriage to the prince; it means that she believed it.
POV You
As soon as I get to the palace after being at the Bridgerton house , I head towards the tea room and where I'm sure my aunt is.
Now that Eloise has accepted the proposal to marry me, I have to start organizing the proposal and I need my aunt for it. I know that Eloise is not her favorite person after the last season, since at first she was sure it was Lady Whistledown and then she dismissed it; when her political position came to light.
Y/n: Aunt.- I greeted entering the room and making a reference. -I have to talk to you in private.- I ask and I see how she nods giving her servants a look.
Charlotte: Sit down dear.- she asks me pointing to the hole next to her on the sofa . -Tell me what do you want to talk about ? - she asks me interested when I sit next to her.
Y/n: You know that I have come to London with one intention, which is to fall in love and marry a woman from high society, right? - I ask a little nervous, because my aunt is the key to making everything believable and if she doesn't accept my engagement; neither will my father.
Charlotte: I am aware of this and that is why I put Lady Danbury as your supervisor, so that you could be successful in this first season. - she nods with a serious face.
Y/n: Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, aunt.- I point out the interest in her eyes. -I have found the person I want to marry and I want to have your blessing to ask for her mother's hand.- I comment with all the confidence in the world.
Charlotte: So soon? - clearly surprised question. -We've barely been in the season for three weeks.- she says, somewhat impressed.
Y/n: I know, but I can't explain what I feel when I see her or when I'm with her aunt.- I start to say to make it sound credible. -Besides that you have always told me that love does not have a predestined time.- I remind her with a small smile.
Charlotte: Are you sure dear? - she asks me and I just nod. -Do you love her? - she asks staring into my eyes and I stay for a few seconds thinking.
Y/n: Yes.- I answer without taking my eyes off his, trying to look sincere and credible.
Charlotte: Then I give you my permission.- she nods with a huge smile. -And can you tell who is the lucky one? - she questions interested.
Y/n: Eloise Bridgerton, aunt.- I answer confidently and I see the surprise and a hint of annoyance appear on her face.
Charlotte: No.- she denies immediately.
Y/n: Aunt please, I love her and I want to marry her.- I ask, grabbing one of her hands and looking at her with pity.
Charlotte: Can't you choose someone else? Someone who doesn't hang out with political radicals? - she asks in the form of a complaint.
Y/n: She's not a radical girl, she's intelligent and has something on her mind besides the pianoforte.- I defend her without thinking. -The hours fly by when I talk to her, I feel comfortable and I feel that she really wants to be with me because of who I am; and not for being the prince aunt.- I say honestly.
Charlotte: And I'm glad you feel that way about someone dear nephew. But couldn't it be anyone else? - she asks in surrender and I smiled knowing what it means.
Y/n: I'm sorry aunt, but she's the right one for me and I'm sure that if you meet her you'll like her too.- I assure her smiling and seeing how a slight smile appears on her face.
Charlotte: I'll accept her because for me you're like a son and if she makes you happy I can't oppose it.- she finally accepts and I jump on her to hug her.
Y/n: Thanks aunt, you don't know how much this means to me.- I tell her when we parted from the hug.
Charlotte: And how do you plan to ask for her hand? - question interested and excited by the event.
Y/n: Lady Bridgerton has invited me to spend the weekend with them and Lady Danbury at Aubrey Hall; and tomorrow when I arrives I'll ask for her daughter's hand and if she accepts I'll ask her after dinner. - I reply a bit nervous, due to the possibility that she refuses and the plan is spoiled.
Charlotte: And you already have the ring? - she ask and I deny. -Well, come with me dear.- she asks me getting up and I walk next to her.
We walk towards her dressing room, where there is a table full of precious stones on a table in the center and as soon as we stop in front of her she opens a box in the center.
When she opens the box, I widen my eyes to see what's inside and look at her in astonishment.
Charlotte: This was one of the first rings that King George gave me as a gift.- she comments showing me the ring. -The king discovered that emeralds were my favorite stone and he thought it would be a good gift for me; and he was right.- she tells me looking at the ring with a certain sadness and affection.
Y/n: It's beautiful aunt.- I compliment seeing the brilliant stones of the ring.
Charlotte: It has a lot of meaning to me and that's why I want you to have it.- she tells me, offering me the box.
Y/n: No, aunt, as you think, I can't accept something so important and with so much emotional value.- I deny immediately.
Charlotte: I insist.- she says pushing the box in my hands. -I want you to ask that girl to marry me with my ring, for me you are my son and I want this ring to pass into your hands.- she explains and I nod, looking at the ring more carefully .
Y/n: It really is precious. - I whisper, looking hypnotized at the great emerald in the ring.
Charlotte: And valuable, that's why I want you to ask her to marry you with that ring and pass it on from generation to generation.- she assures me and I nod safely.
Y/n: Thank you very much aunt.- I thank her again and hug her again; immediately being wrapped in her arms in an almost maternal way.
Charlotte: I am very proud of you my little one and of how much you have matured; your mother would be proud too. - she whispered safely against my ear and I can't help but tighten the hug feeling the itch in my eyes.
I'm sure you wouldn't be so proud if you knew the truth and the reason for my marriage. She always defended love and from the first day she told me to marry for love. That I would never marry for any other reason than love and here I am, marrying by agreement with my father.
Y/n: Thank you.- I whisper feeling the guilt invade me.
Charlotte: Also, I understand that that girl also likes emeralds.- she assures me amused when we part from the embrace.
Y/n: Let's hope for the best.- I comment amused and looking again at the ring in my hands.
Now all I have to do is pack for this weekend and have Lady Bridgerton accept my marriage proposal to Eloise. I just hope everything goes well.
NEXT
#eloise bridgerton#bridgerton#eloise bridgerton x reader#bridgerton netflix#eloise bridgerton x male reader#anthony bridgerton#lady whistledown#queen charlotte#benedict bridgerton#violet bridgerton#edwina sharma#kate sharma#oc character#male reader
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Dinner gone wrong
make me feel masterlist
navigation | a/n : this took a long time to post lmao, enjoy! | warnings : intense arguments? | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @fangsp1der-2099 , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss , @tiana76 , @navs-bhat , @starkleila
Morpheus and Death approached the footman that stood guard in front of the doorway to the Bridgerton’s manor.
“My Lord, my Lady.” The footman extended a hand into the wide hall, motioning for them to enter. “Enjoy your night.”
Lady Death nodded her head with a polite smile whilst Morpheus nodded once.
“You ought to get some manners.” Death whispered harshly under her breath, the annoyance of their discussion a few days before still plaguing her with annoyance.
Morpheus resisted rolling his eyes at his sister. “You ought to get over yourself.”
“Lord Morpheus! Lady Death! I’m so glad you could make it!” Daphne approached them gleefully, reaching out to embrace the woman before her. Morpheus stepped back a little, hoping she wouldn’t want to embrace him too.
“It is lovely to see you, Lady Daphne. I hope we aren’t late.” Death greeted her with a question.
“Oh, of course not! You’re both just on time!”
Daphne led them to the dining room, motioning to the two vacant seats across from one another.
Death quickly took the seat next to Kate, leaving Morpheus with the empty seat next to you.
Morpheus gave his sister a subtle glare as he sat down.
“Hello.” He heard a small voice next to him. He turned to see you sat looking at him, your face flushed.
“Hello,” Morpheus returned the greeting equally as silent.
You turned your gaze back to your empty plate.
Anthony raised his glass, tapping it to get everyone’s attention. “I’m thankful to all of you for accepting this invitation to dine with us tonight. Now that everyone is here, shall we tuck in?”
The night was filled with laughter and jokes, everyone told stories of their childhood and other parts of their past, or how they had met their now lovers.
“I remember when Benedict was a child, he never had any friends because he was too immersed in his art.” Violet laughed delightedly at the memory as Benedict covered his face in embarrassment, laughing along with her.
Death perked up at this, recalling a memory of hers that was similar. “Hmm, that reminds me a lot of Morpheus.”
The Lord looked up at the mention of his name.
“He never had any friends either, he always had his nose stuck in a romance novel.” Death laughed at this, but Morpheus didn’t find her very funny.
Simon’s brow raised in surprise, which Death took notice of.
“A stark contrast to now, isn’t it? He’s always going on about how he doesn’t want to find love and other nonsense.”
“Death,” Morpheus warned her. “You’re drunk.”
Death shook her head. “Maybe I am brother, but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth!”
“Sister, that is enough.”
“You can’t be alone forever, Morpheus. I’ve tried to get you out of your bubble, but you’re not willing to accept help.”
Morpheus looked at her through narrowed eyes. Everyone looked between the two anxiously.
“Dream,” She pleaded. “Not everyone is like mother and father.”
“I know that.” His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes turned glassy.
“But do you truly?”
Dreams' gaze turned almost hateful. “Yes, I do.”
He slammed his hands on the table and left the dining room, stepping out onto the large land the Bridgerton’s owned.
You looked after him worriedly as everyone recollected themselves. “Excuse me.” You said, following after Morpheus.
#the sandman x you#the sandman x reader#the sandman#the sandman fanfic#morpheus x original character#morpheus headcanons#morpheus x oc#morpheus x reader#lord morpheus#morpheus#morpheus x you#morpheus x y/n#bridgerton au
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Shock and Delight
Chapter 11
Cw: mentions of childbirth, parental neglect, murder, witchcraft, westrosi culture is its own warning
“Rhaena has a headache, I hope you do not mind me for today, mother.” The girl poured their cups with watered down wine just as Rhaenyra did for her father before being made Princess of Dragonstone.
After Rhaenyra one of Alicent’s Hightower cousins had filled the role until Aegon was old enough to pour the cups, only Aegon took that for granted and eventually Helaena did it until she married.
Aemond had yet to master living with only one eye and by then Vicky had become her cupbearer.
Bethany had replaced her and now Aemma only had to appear to make the painfully shy girl melt into the shadows.
It wasn’t her fault, Alicent knew the girl never did it on purpose.
Much like the sun, it was merely her nature to outshine anyone beside her, even when she was born eight and ten years ago.
There had been a tourney to send Rhaenyra into her confinement and as Criston seemed to be winning his last tilt the twinging the princess had been hiding turned into a worse pain.
Criston had become distracted by the sight of his former lover clutching her large belly in pain and been knocked off his horse by his opponent, Ser Harwin Strong.
But the tourney went on so the people could celebrate the birth of the heir or all be gathered there should it end as it did five years ago.
Rhaenyra had cried for her mother and in her delirium mistook Rhaenys for Aemma, she had also cried for Alicent, but Alicent refused to go to her and claimed her children needed her.
It was a quick thing, a girl born with a bloody caul on her little head like a crown as the crowd cheered for Ser Harwin who proclaimed to crown Rhaenyra his queen of love and beauty.
The baby girl had scarcely been named Aemma when her brother was born with his plain looks. The Andal blood of the Arryn and Baratheon lines had shown through Jacaerys with only the dark Velaryon eyes to confirm his paternity.
And much like Viserys with her children, he promptly ignored the boy and held up the infant girl as the dragons roared.
The word for prince and princess is the same, he had said later as he rambled on and on about the babe he envisioned and butchered the first Aemma for.
I was wrong, it was never a prince I had seen, it was a princess, he had laughed as if Alicent hadn’t been forced to bear him child after child because Alicent just had to tell her father about the strange dream Viserys had had the day he killed Queen Aemma.
At first the queen believed he kept Rhaenyra as his heir out of guilt and shame for his actions ---murdering her mother and marrying his daughter’s best friend to satisfy her father--- but then she learned he truly believed in dreams and in the words he whispered as he looked at the plain Valyrian dagger.
Alicent had come to know that her suffering was not divine in nature no matter how much she tried to make herself believe it was.
It was then that she began to let her resentment truly take root, and if the gods would not make her suffering be for something, she would.
And now she had to make a deal with Daemon of all people to make sure her son doesn’t burn himself and them as he courts the girl filling her cup.
“Prince Daemon has requested we see if there is any way he could have the funds to support his campaign at the Step Stones. Seeing it will give us a temporary truce with Dorne and keep them from encroaching on our borders and keep the islands under our rule, the King wishes we approve of his petition.” The queen wants to get this over with and knowing her father will be against it, she had approached Beesbury beforehand and Tyland as well.
Her father believes her to be working for his goal, but they are not. As the end of Viserys’ reign comes fast, Alicent has decided they are doing things her way to achieve her goals and if Aegon wishes to keep her father as his Hand, she will make sure her father knows he is not the one with the power.
Not anymore.
There are few private yet public places in this keep, as far as people know Aemond and Aemma are merely promenading in the Godswood and not planning their false courtship to end before he goes to the step stones with Daemon.
Mother will say no, but eventually she will relent just to keep them away from each other thus giving Aemma the chance to find a perfectly suitable husband while he becomes the first of his brothers to become a true warrior.
Really if he must endure Maris Baratheon saying Baela is twice the man he is because she has fought in battle any longer, he will have to kill her.
“You haven’t sent me flowers.” The princess points out as she steers them towards a group of eligible young men.
“Didn’t you get enough this morning, there was queue outside your family’s wing of the Holdfast.” Aemond knew it was expected of him to woo a lady, but he had hoped he wouldn’t need to woo Aemma.
They knew each other already and it wasn’t a real courtship anyways.
He’d never even gotten Jena flowers and they have been involved since they met three years ago.
“If you wish for us to sell the ruse you have to look as if you are really courting me, as horrid as it might be for you.” She answered as if she was an expert on the subject.
And between the two of them, she likely was.
“Any flowers of you would like?” Aemond asks knowing she will ask for anything that symbolizes love or desire or anything like that.
“Surprise me, I’m sure all your book-reading has to help you out there.” Aemma answered with a teasing lilt.
“I could end up giving you yellow carnations, Aemee.”
“You haven’t told me why she insists on the prince’s war, sweet sister.” Her brother asks with that smile of his that makes even her skin crawl.
Alys had come to court as Larys’ spy, or so he thinks.
After finding herself widowed and childless once more thanks to the double-edged blade her gifts were, she couldn’t stay in Harrenhal anymore.
Too many people were becoming suspicious as to why all her births ended the same way: no blood, no baby and a murder occurring in the vicinity.
She was Lady Lothston now, even if she was a bastard, she was also the legitimate widow of Ser Otho Lothston and stepmother to Lucas Lothston, whose mother had been her younger sister, Ada Strong.
Ada’s marriage to the hedge night was as suspicious as the fire that killed their father and brother, in fact, Ada had been wed to him when the mourning period was over even if she was too young to wed.
With Larys away, the Witch of Harrenhal had begun to investigate the fire that occurred when she was Lady Butterwell’s wetnurse and lover at Whitewalls.
Otho Lothston had received Larys’ sister as a reward for helping him kill Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin while Larys was away wooing the Briarwhite heiress.
The shadow demon she birthed with Otho’s seed ate his soul and tossed him out of the tower after he confessed.
And now that the Queen is her friend and confidant, Larys would pay. Lucky for her there is Valyrian seed in abundance here and those produce the best killers.
Alys had killed Larys’ darling mama when she gave her maidenhead to King Viserys when she was a maid of six and ten. The shadow demon had let her feel as if she had been the one to smother the woman in her bed and left no trace of itself as it dissipated into the night air like the others before and after it.
“To keep the Blacks occupied, if Daemon is gone with their fleet and dragons, they will be too weak to fight back.” The true answer was not as good, but the witch cannot afford to say Alicent made a deal with him, so Aemond doesn’t wed their enemy’s daughter.
Alicent had only seen the other benefits to Daemon’s war after agreeing to it.
Of course, some greens who hunger for glory and their mettle tested in battle would leave with him thinking the usurpation will not need them, but they have the West, and they are enough for now.
They would be lost without Tyland Lannister.
If Tyland took her seriously, she could make him Lord Lannister, but alas he needs someone to secure his position as the Lannister of Lannisport.
“So, she says to appear in control, but tell me, how much does the prince’s attachment to the little queen influence this great idea of hers?” Larys is not fooled, of course he wouldn’t, but it never hurt to try.
But Alys is protective of her mistress, it had taken some work to remove the chains that kept Alicent blindly loyal to her father and now that Ser Otto was finding the puppet strings cut one by one, it was Larys’ turn to lose his control over the queen.
As much as Alys has come to care for the queen, she is not useful to her if she is dead because she listened to her father and Alys’ baby brother about usurping Rhaenyra.
The Riverlands always burn during wartime, Alys cannot have Harrenhal and all its riches if it’s burnt to a crisp.
Who says she cannot have Alicent and Harrenhal in this life?
#aemma velaryon#aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc#ocappreciationtag#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#hotd#shock and delight fic#bridgerton!au
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magnificently cursed
summary: lost lovers reunited. you love him, he loves you but your hand has been promised to another.
“Oh, goddamn! my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine but it's been promised to another. Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you.”
pairing: benedict bridgerton x reader
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You were ill of pretenses.
“You should smile more.”
And you were sick of James Brooke's sanctimonious behavior.
“Perhaps, you should keep your unwanted judgment to yourself.”
You saw the glint of amusement in his forest eyes at the malice in your tone. The grip of his fingers on your waist tightens as he spins you around, the luxurious collar diamond around your neck sparkling under the warm undertones of the candlelight - an embodiment of Lord Brook's filial loyalty. The warmth of his broad chest against your back feels suffocating, like a hand gripping your throat, impeding you from freely breathing.
“Smile,” his hot breath tickles your neck, and with every ticking beat the urge to get out of his grip and run away becomes more wanton, regardless, the urgency in his tone keeps you in place. The corner of your lips raises in a practiced charming smile, eyes glinting with false happiness. Somehow there is a sort of trust and loyalty between you.
Two halves of the same farce.
A perfect scheme orchestrated for the woman with the penetrating stare standing in one corner of the grand ballroom.
Lady Laurence has always been a woman of strong character, a widower who gained her reputation and wealth with blood, tears, and sweat.
A childless woman who put all her hopes on you.
Her gaze doesn't waver for you, even when she takes her time to bow to Lady Cowper and other irritating ladies of the Ton - a complete sense of ridiculousness in her behavior. A genuine chuckle escapes your lips. Of course, would Lady Laurence relish in the begrudged stares in a proud stance of chin raised, frail shoulders leaned back, and a pleasing yet mocking smile curving in her thin lips.
A clear portrait of victory.
“Isn't Lady Laurence a force to be reckoned with?” James' deep voice takes you out of your observations, and at the compass of the waltz, you turn around, faces close to each other.
You have to admit that your betrothed is a sight to behold. Underneath the golden shower of the candelabrum, he resembles all the Greek sculptures you are always fascinated to admire in the art galleries around Europe. Your gaze follows with artistic fascination the cupid bow of his slightly chapped lips, the freckles on his tall nose because of all the hunting trips in the countryside, and the strand of rich blond hair falling carelessly on his forehead.
He looks so much like the child who used to chase you around your countryside house backyard. A dear friend. A brother chose beyond blood. A victim of your Machiavellian plans.
“A woman to be afraid of.”
He laughs, yet, an unspoken sadness resides heavenly in his eyes. As if the mere sight of your aunt's watchful stance reminds him of the truth and the unpaid debts of the past - about the tormented heart of the beautiful and elegant woman watching in some place of the ballroom.
Hands fidgeting. Longing gazes.
Two hearts broken. Two hands bloody.
You wish to tell him all your regrets and apologies. You hope that he can see it in the trembling of your hands, the shame you hide in the bow of your head at the end of the dance, and the avoidance of her gaze. The woman he calls out in dreams, the one that has been banished in the eyes of his family. The daughter of a merchant, who is not enough for a man of his position. His true love.
Selfish girl. The voice of your wickedness whispers, but are you that selfish when love is the root of your decisions?
Immediately, you search for the figure of the object of all your affections. Your mother's-tired smile sends a pang of hurt to your heart as she dismisses the help of Penelope's Featherington to serve her a glass of fresh lemonade sitting on the refreshment table. You let go of James' arm, rushing to her side while sending a grateful smile to Penelope. The girl returns it without a single word, and you are more than thankful for her lack of mention of the faltering strength of your mother to do a simple task.
“Mama, let me help you with this.” You say while taking the glass off her hands. Her only response is a gentle touch on your back. Motherly and soothing.
“Mr. Bridgerton has been watching you all night.”
You halt your movements abruptly, a bit of the lemonade spilling on the table, leaving a faint stain on the elegant tablecloth. Still, you chose to remain silent, convincing yourself that the knot in your throat at the mention of him is not the reason.
You extend the glass, and she takes it with fragile and trembling fingers.
For a brief moment, you tell yourself that you don't care if Mr. Bridgerton has been gazing at you all night, that it doesn't matter how the image of his cerulean eyes burns in your mind, how much you long for his touch, and how a single glimpse of him again could set your miserable heart in flames.
There is no more room for foolish dreams and aspirations, or dirtied dresses and paint-stained hands. There is no acceptance for sneaking around in places a lady like yourself never must dare to go, and Aunt Carol pleading your case for you to be in a place where a woman is not meant to be.
No more being an impostor. No more being a failure. No more him.
The fire inside you extinguished at the realization of your mediocrity—the reason for all your endurance in this pretense of shy smiles and lovesick gazes.
As you take a deep breath, you realize that you have been fidgeting all this time with the ring placed on your hand, your fingertips tracing the shape of the jewelry while a bittersweet smile curves on your lips. You remember seeing it in much stronger and larger hands. Rough palms covered in charcoal. Long fingers holding a brush in between them.
You do this for him.
“You know, my dear, Mr. Bridgerton always reminds me of him,” your mother's face melts with love at the thought of your father like it always does when she thinks of him. The memories feel like weapons because, after all these years, the tomb would not close, and the pain is still the same.
His ghost still haunts you to this day. You wonder which is more painful.
“Mama-”
“He is watching you now, dear.”
It takes all the bravery in your bones to raise your gaze. Blue eyes meet yours and for a brief stolen moment, time halts. The chattering and the string quartet playing are replaced by the sound of your own frantic beating heart.
You are foolish. All these months of lying to yourself about that magical summer night, just for the mere sight of him to take all your breath away. In his eyes, you still see the ghost of his desire, the same dark spark full of passion that you saw that warm night in June. It brings all back to motion. The lingers of his touch on your skin, the burning pleasure that consumed you from the insides, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth that keeps you awake on the loneliest nights. So sinful, so vibrant, so sweet.
He has ruined you, is the bitter realization you come to. He has ruined you from other men.
Eloise at his side, dressed in a signature blue sparkly gown, touches his arm, yet, his magnetizing eyes don't waver from you. Does he see it? How his ivy has covered all your stoned heart, covering you.
“Miss Laurence,” you feel the familiar touch of rough fingers on the naked skin of your elbow. You raised your head encountering James's pitiful eyes. His touch is meant to be comforting and tender as if he was trying to pick up a wounded animal, but it only crescents the pressure in your chest. Has breathing always been a difficult task?
He is here with you, but his eyes are not the ones you want to gaze at on your loneliest nights.
“Benedict!”
You heard it before you saw it. The collective gasp of the mama and her daughters. The high pitching of Eloise's voice, the crack of glass, and the soft call of your name coming from your mother's tinted lips. You see the desperation and fury in his gaze. The shredded glass on his feet and the gold ricochet of the champagne mixing with the maroon liquid staining his hands.
How poetical.
Four hearts were broken. Four hands bloody.
He takes a menacing step toward you. A forbidden question in his eyes.
“Excuse me for a second, Lord Brooke,” you know it's time to go, “Mama.”
You don't wait for the answer. Doe eyes and a sweet smile are enough armor for you to flee from the scene in a desperate attempt to bury the past - silhouette disappears behind the open doors leading to Lady Danbury's Garden.
The night sky's dull black, accompanied by the coldness of the air on your flushed skin brings a false sense of peace that you haven't felt in months. You relished in the feeling, even when the murmurs and vivid music coming from inside the ballroom, sounds like a mocking requiem of your misery.
You close your eyes for a moment.
But you should have known better.
Whatever you stray, he follows.
“I knew I will find you here.”
You stay rotten to your spot, helplessly hearing the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the warmth of his body near you followed by the touch of callous fingers, bringing forth a tarnished incandescent glow. “Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”
With words pathetically stuck in your throat, and weak sudden courage running in your veins, you turn towards him. “Mr. Bridgerton,” you acknowledge with a curtsy bow, hands shaking at your sides. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Slowly, you raise your fearful eyes to look him in the eye, feeling a sudden shyness engulfing you.
He is a sight for sore eyes. You decide at that moment as you watch how the strands of chestnut hair fall over his forehead as the wind blows and how his opal eyes seem so vibrant under the moonlight, that Benedict Bridgerton has the air of a true muse. A man incapable of being forgotten. A lover whose memory will always haunt the women who have spent the night in his arms.
“You did not answer my question. Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”
It is almost natural the course of your actions. The soft cloth of your handkerchief goes directly to the open wound in his large palm, crimson red staining the initials of your family's name embroidered in golden thread. The silence is excruciating, but what answer can you give him? So you decide to remain silent, enjoying the glimpse of the unrequited love you gave away.
Benedict's hands are cold against yours. Elegant fingers gripping the ones with the silver gentleman's ring.
“Is this his ring?” The darkness in his tone sends a cold shiver down your spine. “I thought you were going to refuse his hand,” He breathes out, hands abruptly letting go of yours. “That night you told me you were going to refuse his hand, and tonight I found you giving him the privilege of your company. What is the meaning of this?”
You let out a shaky breath, “I changed my mind, my lord.'' The words leave behind a bitter taste. You want to scream how he took the vanity of you and your foolish dreams about his love. “I decided to reconsider, and decided to do the best for my family and me.”
“The best for your family? Marrying him is the best for you?”
The disdain in his voice makes your blood boil.
“I think that is not of your concern.”
He recoils at the aggression in your voice.
“Not of my concern? Do you think it is not of my concern after that night?”
The air around you change for a second. The crescendo when souls intertwine and hearts connect in a way meant to never be separated again lingers in your memories. If he remembers it all too well, why didn't he act when there was time?
You cannot hide the resentment in your answer. “My lips have been shut, Mr. Bridgerton. You don't have to worry about your family's honor and reputation being ruined.”
“And what about you? Your honor? Your value?”
“Soon, I will be a married woman, and I assure you, my lord, my husband will not care about the meaningless whispers.”
You wait for the morbid satisfaction that the fallen expression on his beautiful face would bring.
It never comes.
“So, you would go through this?” the bend of your head and cryptic silence is enough to answer. An expression of incredulity passes through his face before he lets out a deep sardonic laugh. “And what about your art? You cannot simply abandon all your aspirations for this nonsense.”
You raise your head, taking a turn to look perplexed. Something you later will identify as disappointment touches your heart.
“I told you already, My Lord. The big masterpiece will never come.”
“So, this is what you are going to do? Marry that man for his wealth.” there is venom in his tone that feels foreign on his tongue. The burn-in of his opal eyes and the twist of his beautiful factions in a scowl leaves you speechless for a second. “I never thought you would be so frivolous, and cold-hearted.”
You see red.
“You have no right to judge my choices!”
You tell yourself that not a single tear should fall in front of him.
“I am speaking for what I see, Miss Laurence.”
“You speak from your selfishness.”
“My selfishness?” True confusion shines in his eyes.
Of course, a man like him could never understand.
“Yes. You cannot possibly understand what is for me and what is expected.” Your lips tremble as you speak, and you can hear it again.
An invisible clock ticking in your ear. The sound of the sand quickly hitting on the other side of the glass.
“You are making yourself a martyr. You know damn well, as I do, that you are one of the more talented artists I have the pleasure of meeting, so I don't -”
“Talent is not genius, Benedict.” the boom of your voice silences him. The call of his first name appeased the unjust fury burning in his gaze. “I have talent but it is not enough. I want-” you swallow down the knot in your throat, “I need to be great or nothing. I am not going to be an impostor and a mediocre if I could not be the great artist I always wanted to be. I won't do it.”
The resignation and despair in your voice are unable to hide. And you don't want to, because of all the people, you always thought that the kind man with a soul of an artist would be the one to be able to just comprehend.
Benedict doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixed on every inch of your face.
“I am a woman. I don't have the same liberties as you. I don't have the free will to go around and try to take chances if I am not good enough.” The laughter and mocking stares still follow you every time you dare to stand in front of a canvas. “And I just realized that I simply wasn't.” You think back to a trashed art room full of childish dreams. “As a woman, I do not have a way to make my way in the art world, not when I am not the genius, I need to be for me to succeed, and even if I do, the money I could make would never be enough to support myself and my mother.”
Your mother's face flashes in your head. Her pale face, and fragile hands help you to style your hair for tonight's ball. Her false reassurance that she is okay, that you must have seen wrong about the way she barely tries to catch her breath when she walked the short length of the stairs. The weakness of her limbs, and how the simple task of raising a spoon to feed herself seems to exhaust her more and more each day that passes.
“As a woman, I am not allowed the luxury to choose. I need security. I need to look out for the people I love. So don't stand there judging my decision, and calling me cold-hearted when I am only trying to look for myself. Marriage might not be an economical proposition or a place of security for you but certainly is for me.”
You are not able to hold back anymore the sorrow of your soul, sapphire tears finally fall down your cheeks. Benedict's face softens, regrets soaping for his pores at your stance. He takes cautious steps, one hand reaching for your face as tender fingers brush away the salty river. Pathetically, you lean down your cheek against his palm.
“I deeply apologize. I have been cruel in my accusation. I know you are angry and have every reason to be.” You let out a shaky breath the gentleness of his tone. “But I would not retract about the supposed selfishness you accused me to possess. Where does it leave me in your plans? What about what I feel?
Your voice breaks and you whisper. “And what exactly do you feel, Benedict?”
His lips remain shut, even when his eyes reflect the hidden galaxy, he is so desperate to guard. Instead, his attention returns to the silver ring on your left hand.
The words fall from your lips carelessly, offering explanations he doesn't deserve. “This is my father's ring. He didn't have any son to inherit it. He gave it to me the night he passed away.”
A smile of sadness and comprehension draws on his face.
“Do you love him?”
“No, but I could do it if I try.”
Both of you know that is a lie.
“Don't marry him.” The grief is visible in his plea. “Don't submit the both of us to this torture, please.”
“Why?” You take a step back from him, backing away from his alluring scent.
“You know the reason why.”
With the condescending in his tone, you let out a bitter laugh. After all this time and all these feelings, he still cannot admit it.
“I have loved you for a very long time, Benedict Bridgerton. I assure you; you are an unforgettable man. But I would not throw away a secure future for me and my mother for a man who is unable to admit what he feels.”
You see the exact moment your words ignite a dangerous fire inside him, and soon the cold and lonely air of the night is replaced by the fervent heat of his lips. The ardent touch of his hands around your waist, gripping it as if you were his lifeline. You feel again the passion and desire buzzing in every part of your body. The urgency and all the unspoken promises claimed in a starry night where you gifted him your innocence with a heart full of tender love. Unarmed, you surrender to his touch, and just for a wicked moment, you melt between his arms. Hands grasping at his strong shoulders, inhaling his masculine scent, and enjoying the sweet taste of the champagne in his mouth.
For a short moment of loss of judgment, you found yourself praying to the sky for a chance to stay forever in this beautiful lavender haze.
Foolish dreams of a woman in love.
The gold rush is not enough.
You let go of him slowly and painfully, catching a glimpse of disheveled hair and swollen red lips.
He is beautiful under the moonlight.
Benedict notices your intentions, quickly gripping your hand before you slip away from him and towards a place he couldn't reach anymore.
“At least let me have a final dance with you.”
Your heart doesn't allow you to say no.
You will have one last dance with the man you love, even when both of your hands are tied.
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton netflix#benedict x reader#bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x oc#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton series#not a poet just a woman series#benedict bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton fluff
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