midnightscramble

[midnightscramble]

I’ve been thinking about the last chapter of “good luck maid” and omg that final was crazy!! So the next chapter maybe there could have some jealous Portia, and then she would try to win back the maid? But Violet would be getting in the way

Good Luck, Maid! Part 5 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Masterlist

Author's Note: I've returned back to college so expect slower updates, sorry! Glad to see that there are still Violet requesters (y'all are my favorite but don't tell, shhhhh). If this isn't to your liking try to request something else (don't be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Former lovers quarrel, Portia goes over Miss Y/n's head and speaks to Violet, an argument ensues.

Warnings: period typical biphobia (Violet hears her first piece of biphobic rhetoric)

With heavy feet, Y/n turned to look at Portia. The maid's vision became shadowed and her ears rang as she took in her former lover. They stared at each other with large eyes, Portia trying to take her in and Y/n wishing they hadn't crossed paths.

Like skin burned by the flame of a candle, she felt a fizzle crawl up the lengths of her arms. A long time ago she had snuffed out the wick, but here the fire was, trying to scorch her again.

"What could you possibly want from me?"

Portia's lips pulled to the side, a quirk she had developed to suppress her sadness, "I only wish to invite you to the new house, it is a short journey and would provide us the opportunity to... familiarize ourselves." Her voice shook and Y/n realized in that moment that Portia Featherington was still afraid. Ever so fearful and eager to contain the situation to the privacy of her home.

Y/n paused, she tried to gentle the roaring rage she had for the woman, who had once whispered sweet nothings into her ears. I will always protect you. Liar. Do not fret. Should anyone find out, I will handle it. There would be no greater burden than us being apart. Lies, lies, lies. The sympathy she once held for the women had dwindled and could not be rekindled, and Y/n's rage won.

In an angered whisper, Y/n hissed, "I have no interest in 'familiarizing' ourselves. I gather that even if we tried, it would be in vain, as you have proven yourself to be the greatest stranger I have ever had the displeasure of acquainting myself with." Stricken, Portia faltered, and the little bravery she had conjured to make the proposal evolved into wanton desperation. Taking large strides towards the jilted woman who haunts her dreams, Portia raised a hand to touch the apple of her cheek.

Y/n's nose twitched. The lines of her fingerprints were horribly comforting as Portia gently traced the tips of her fingers across Y/n's skin. "I do not know how to make this right with you," their eyes chased each other back and forth, "But I shall spend the rest of my days attempting to..." The Lady removed herself, leaving Y/n with the echo of her heels upon marble the floor, and the echo of a heartbeat that used to pulse beneath her lips. She gathered herself, and continued her trek to the kitchen.

...

Violet dressed and took to the common room, finding the heavy sheets of her bedding far too constricting for her current state. Forgetful, she failed to alert the staff of her change of scenery.

Comfortable and comforted by the words her lover had left her with, she allowed herself to truly relax and partake in some light reading. She sat down in her usual spot, blissfully unaware that her peace was about to be disturbed. 

A soft knock reverberated through the door, drawing her eyes upward, “Come in.” To her surprise, Portia popped her head through abashedly.

“Come here to hide?” Violet couldn’t help but chuckle, the earlier emotional exhaustion had stripped her of animosity. 

Lady Bridergton countered, “None can hide in this house for long.” Portia hummed amusedly. “Please join me,” Violet offered, motioning to the opposing couch. Sitting down delicately, The red head let out a deep breath, which she hoped was interpreted as relaxation rather than stress.

“I must admit, I have sought you out for a reason,” Violet’s heart skipped a beat and she sat up straighter, wondering if they both knew exactly where they stood with each other. She smiled uneasily, “By all means, do tell…”

With shifty eyes, Portia began, “It seems as though a former maid of mine has been under your employment,” Bile rose in Violet’s throat, “and now that Penelope is to be with child, I cannot imagine any other carrying for my daughter in this delicate period. Thus, I’d like her to resume work under my employment, till further notice.”

The Lady’s smile dropped, and Portia twitched at the polite hostility. Violet deadpanned, “All the staff in this household have a purpose, I am afraid no one can be spared. I can ask Lady Danbury, should she have recommendations?” 

Silence persisted as they both gained awareness of a commonality between them. They both loved Miss Y/n, and neither wanted to let her go. 

Abandoning all pretense, Portia plead with her opposition, “I would be most grateful-”

“You had your chance, and I see no reason as to why I should relinquish her to your service when she is happy and satisfied here.” Violet's face pinched and her neck strained with tension.

Portia Featherington was known for her retractable claws, cleverly concealed by her position as a Lady and attention diverting dresses, allowing unclever men to misperceive her. However, amongst the women of the Ton, they knew her scratches stung. “Satisfied you say?” Portia stared obviously at Violet’s long, even nails. Cheeks flushing, Violet caught the unspoken innuendo. She curled her hands into fists, hiding the evidence of her lack of experience. 

“There are other ways to be satisfied,” She lifted a brow, trying to get a rise out of the red head, despite not actually knowing what other way there would be to satisfy a woman. Portia shifted in her seat, disturbed with the thought of Violet Bridgerton on her knees for Y/n. 

“You shock me, Lady Violet. I was under the impression that you and George had a very successful marriage.” Portia narrowed her eyes, preparing to strike once Violet affirmed her suspicion. 

“We did-”

“So why must you deprive me, when you have had your fill?”

Violet scoffed, “I deprive you of nothing, are you forgetting your decades long marriage?”

Portia’s voice grew higher, “You remain the most obtuse woman in all the Ton. Not all of us were lucky enough to find a love match. Not all of us were capable of finding one with a man. Your privilege blinds you to struggles that women like myself and Y/n endure.”

The brunette’s eyes widened, almost fishlike in their glossy gaze. Her mouth parted to defend herself, yet words failed to fall off her tongue. Emboldened, Portia continued, “You have already had the great love of your life. It is gluttonous to pursue another, especially when you maintain the ability to have it with a man. While you behave thoughtlessly, you are depriving me of something. You are a woman who has had it all, why must you take this from me?” 

Violet shivered with emotion, distraught at her lack of defence and guilt ridden in a way she had never been before. Was Portia right? Should she allow Y/n to return to her, was she being selfish since she technically could find company with a man? Her contemplation was interrupted by the red head, “I will be leaving here today with Y/n under my employment.”

With no time to think, Violet bit back, “You shall be doing no such thing-”

“You do not need her, Violet,” Portia snarled. Her hands went white with fatigue, and her joints stiffened with frustration as Violet continued to deny her pleas. She was a woman unaccustomed to refusal, and even more so from someone she was sure would cave under scrutiny. 

“You know nothing of my needs!”

“I know they can be satisfied by a man. I shall make Y/n an offer she cannot refuse.”

Scoffing, Violet rose from her seat, no longer caring if her desires were selfish or not, “With what funds? Hmm? Your daughter’s allowance provided by my son? I think not, and if that is your intention then you shall find that it does not pay to be as vaguely related as you are to the Bridergton family. In fact, if you pursue this further, you shall find that you will be the one to pay.” Violet crossed the room and opened the door, “Leave on your own accord or be escorted out.”

…

With a tray of pastries in hand, Y/n finally made it to Violet’s bedroom. She wrapped her knuckles against the door softly and waited for her Lady’s soft voice to permit her entrance.

“Come in.”

With tray in one hand, Y/n gently turned the knob and smiled at Violet who sat at her vanity, filing her nails. The Lady’s slouched shoulders uncurved themselves and her face relaxed as she laid eyes upon her lover, “Close the door, would you?” Y/n pressed it shut and placed the pastry platter on the bed. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Portia today,” Violet began, looking through the vanity mirror towards Y/n, not ready to fully face her.

Playing with the tray, nervous to admit it, Y/n confessed, “As did I.” The nail filing came to a halt and Violet’s throat bobbed as she swallowed down her questions. Instead she provided a summary, “She knows of our relationship and she is against it, she seemed quite willful.” She turned, wanting to take in Y/n’s reaction.

“She was quite willful when we spoke as well…” Y/n changed the subject, “How are you feeling? I’m sure all the excitement has been tiresome.” 

The Lady puckered her lips as she steeled herself, “I feel fine. Tell me about what Portia had to say to you.” Her tone was demanding, and on instinct, being the good maid she was, Y/n responded, “She wanted us to go somewhere private and to rekindle a relationship, she was persistent.”

“Tell me how you responded.” Violet stood from her stool, and faced Y/n, dreadfully awaiting her elaboration.

The maid sighed, “I told her no, Violet.” Y/n paused and started to tear apart one of the flaky desserts on the platter, “It was so strange. I thought I had forgiven her, yet today has shown me that may never be a state I achieve.” She looked towards Violet with teary eyes, “I was-” She gulped, “I am so angry at what she did to me. Even after all this time…” Tears ran down her face, and she pressed her lips into a thin line to keep them from trembling. 

Violet’s hand rose and caught the descending tears, erasing the invisible marks of the other woman “If I may ask, how did it end?” 

With a deep breath, Y/n steadied herself, “Portia was feeling… adventurous, and decided she wanted to take me in the daylight, in the kitchen. A butler caught us and told Lord Featherington…” Y/n’s eyes began to pool with emotion as she continued, “Lord Featherington gave me an offer, to be shared between the couple and loaned out to others for profit or to leave that very night. Portia urged me to accept, even begged me to do so. You know how she can be when she wants something.” The maid trailed off and her eyes fell towards the floor, lost in the memories.

With a set jaw, Violet pulled the younger woman to her. The gull of that woman, to try and convince Violet that she was the selfish one, while Portia herself had attempted to do something far, far worse to the girl she proclaimed to ‘need’. Loose arms wrapped around the Lady’s waist, and Violet realized how awful this whole day must have been for her sweet Y/n. 

“Spend the night with me, you must rest after such a trying day.”

“I am fine, really,” Y/n’s body leaned further into her Lady, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. Humming, Violet began to untie the maid’s apron. “Violet, really-”

The Lady’s other hand came up to gently grasp the back of Y/n’s neck as she shushed her, “I was not asking… I was ordering you to spend the night in my room.”  With flushed cheeks, Y/n nodded into Violet’s shoulder, not quite sure where the night would take them.

[midnightscramble]

Lord Featherington must die, is an absolute lovely fic. I hope to read more soon 🙏

Lord Featherington Must Die Part 2 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2

The Masterlist

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the compliment! Here is Part 2. If it's not to your liking, request something else (don't be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Prudence and Y/n enjoy horse back riding and have an honest conversation about the upcoming social season. Lord Featherington's cough does not seem to be improving. Y/n finds an unwanted visitor in her chambers after dinner.

Warnings: unwanted advances, attempted one-sided cheating, period typical sexism, swear word (f bomb)

The manner in which Prudence Featherington rode horses was in no way poised. When she had been given lessons as a small child, it was quickly discovered that she was unable to maintain a graceful posture during the activity. Her hair would become frizzy and her face egregiously sweaty from the effort. It was decided by the Featherington patriarch that Prudence would travel by foot or carriage in the Ton, but could enjoy riding her horse in the privacy of the countryside. She made use of the opportunity on every furlough from the city and on this particular trip she felt lucky to have a companion to enjoy it with.

“I must thank you for hosting me, Prudence. The countryside is splendid indeed.” Y/n clicked her tongue twice to encourage the borrowed horse to keep moving through the winding path of the vineyard. The sun was beginning to set, giving the sky a golden hue as it slowly descended. 

Prudence hummed in agreement, distracted by the near buzzing of an unidentified insect. 

Making conversation, her companion continued, “It is odd to think that by this time next year you shall be enjoying this view with your husband.” Prudence’s face twitched, and her feet pressed tighter against the stirrups. Y/n glanced at her friend and noticed her pinched features, “Have I offended you?”

The redhead sighed, “No… I just doubt your speculation of the future.” Y/n scoffed and tugged the reins to the side, bringing their horses closer to one another. 

“Please, twasn’t a week ago when you claimed to have suitors lined up to speak with your father.” The heiress referenced her friend’s prior proclamations at a garden party they recently attended together. Prudence had invited Y/n and made a show of introducing her to her friends, claiming that they had been dear companions, despite only having known each other for mere weeks. The gesture had been appreciated, and made her feel as though she had a standing amongst Prudence’s other friends.

Biting her lip, Prudence mumbled, “I am not as sought after as I made myself seem back in the Ton…It is important to appear confident in front of one’s adversaries.” 

“Well, you do not need to keep up the facade on my account. We are hardly adversaries.” Y/n gave her a broad, jesting smile.

“Are we not?” Prudence cocked her head in confusion.

“Pardon?”

Prudence narrowed her eyes, “Will you not be presenting this season?” Y/n nodded and Prudence sighed at the concession, “Then we are adversaries.” 

“Surely you cannot be serious.” Prudence said nothing and her companion tsked in disbelief. Y/n was no prized debutante, she had evaded the marriage mart for three years and would have for more if not for the insistence of her cousin. If she had presented when she was supposed to, she would undoubtedly be considered a spinster by now.

Y/n kicked lightly at the horse’s sides, encouraging it to speed up. Effectively, she positioned herself in front of Prudence, and turned the horse to block the narrow path. At an impasse, Prudence looked at her friend expectantly. “Prudence, I would never steal a suitor from you.” 

The redhead reached forward and grabbed her friend’s hand, “I know.” Her companion would not be that vindictive or conniving, at least not intentionally. “My mother believes that you are too distracting. A suitor may very well abandon me on his own accord, just to catch a glimpse of you.”

Y/n’s grip tightened on the reins, “Oh.” She watched as Prudence ran her hands along the horse’s mane, obviously finding comfort in the action. “Do you share the same beliefs as your mother?” Did Prudence truly think she was that threatening?

“No.” She quickly answered, “However, it is too great a risk.” Her eyes shone as she looked upon her friend. She was already feeling the sting of loneliness just by thinking about the approaching season

Sensing there was more, Y/n placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, compelling her to be honest, “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have been advised that it would be injurious to socialize with you until I secure a match.” 

The heiress retracted her hand, “So you intend to avoid me?” Offended, Y/n moved her horse to the side, putting distance between herself and Prudence. The redhead clicked her tongue, not letting Y/n get too far.

“No, I will write to you.” She called, “And we have this time together now, the whole off-season!” The heiress’s eyes stung, friendship had been a luxury she was not afforded in her youth. With the passing of her parents, the only thing she had truly inherited was an odious reputation of bad luck. Those who were once friends of the family had become superstitious, canceling lunchins and conveniently forgetting to invite the young heiress to social events.

She thought that things would be different now that she was older and in a new town. That perhaps, her new found status could at the very least guarantee her stable, amicable company. But no, apparently not. Portia Featherington had taken that away from her.

…

“Won’t you join me for a stroll, the weather is lovely,” Portia entered her husband’s study. She stopped in the doorway, not wanting to invade his space as she did the night before. Upon seeing her, he slipped the papers he was writing on under his ledger. Her eyes tracked him, slightly suspicious of the action. 

He cleared his throat, “If the weather is suitable, I see no reason not to.”

They walked arm in arm through the house, and Portia felt an immense relief. Archibald had forgiven her transgressions, and once again found her company tolerable. Her hand rested over his forearm, atop of the cool fabric of his coat. She was glad that he did not reach for her hand. How peculiar that she found herself unsettled thinking of the sensation of his skin on hers. 

A cool breeze rolled over the hills, causing small pieces of hair to escape Portia’s neat braided updo. While she enjoyed the sweet wind, she felt Archibald shiver beside her. His grip on her tightened, and their stroll came to a sudden halt. Her husband tried to force the mucus out of his lungs with a purposefully harsh cough. The attempt was null, and he continued to try until it occurred to him that his throat had pinched up, and he was unable to inhale. Involuntarily, he began to wheeze. 

He crumpled over, clutching at his chest as though he could physically remove the ribs that his lungs pressed so harshly against. Frightened Portia called out for help, waving her hands desperately in the air to draw attention to them. A footman raced across the grass, almost slipping when he came to a halt in front of the couple. He grasped Lord Featherington’s elbows, holding him steady should he collapse. 

“Can I assist you to your room, my Lord?” Unable to form coherent words due to the force of his hacking, he nodded and allowed the footman to support his weight. The two left Portia there, slightly shell shocked. She turned to look over the hills, contemplating his health. He typically caught the common cold during the late winter, so it was unusual that his health would fail him this early in the trip. 

She slowly made her way back to the estate, dragging her feet along the dusty path. She walked with light steps, not wanting the click of her heels to bring attention to herself. Discreetly, she opened the study door, and pressed it closed as quietly as she could. The large mahogany desk stood imposingly in the center of the room; she briefly considered turning around and respecting her husband’s privacy. Portia steeled herself, if Archibald was intentionally hiding information from her, then it must be damaging, and thus she needed to be aware of it. 

She moved his ledger and riffled through the papers. Her heart dropped as she skimmed them, he had been corresponding with their estate’s management. His coughs echoed through the house and she cringed at the sound. Her face went hot with anger as she read his request to liquidate their country estate in order to keep his membership with a certain gentlemans club. She opened the desk drawers, riffling through his latest correspondences. The illusion of financial security that he had cultivated over the years crumbled before her eyes. He had drained his daughter’s dowries, sold their stock in John Bradely & Co, and used their yearly returns to pay various debts.

And now, what did he plan to do? Sell the one place that allowed his family to be free of expectation and prying eyes, all so he can remain a member of the same poisonous club that forced him into this impecunious state.

Selfish fucking prick.

…

Prudence and Y/n returned from their ride. In silence, they handed off their horse’s reins to the footmen. The heiress walked a few paces behind her friend, contemplating their closeness. Y/n supposed that it was inevitable, to find herself alone once again. The other young women of the Ton would be bound to arrive at the same conclusion Lady Featherington had, Y/n Y/l/n was an outsider. Good enough company to be brought on excursions, but ultimately unsuitable.Y/n shook herself out of her thoughts and followed Prudence up the stairs and to her room. She may as well enjoy the precious time they had left together. 

“Who do you hope proposes to you?” Prudence questioned as she slipped off her shoes. 

Y/n sucked on her teeth, “My cousin has hopes for Lord Debling.”

“Ah, your cousin has good taste.”

“And you, Prudence? Who do you hope proposes?” Y/n looked toward the window, really she had no interest in discussing such matters. Distantly, she listened to her friend drown on about a handsome lord with seemingly bottomless pockets who would be more than an appropriate match. She cared for Prudence, she really did, yet she could not understand her nor this fascination with marriage. A benefit of being a social pariah in her hometown was that in an effort to avoid her, she was almost completely ignored when she went out in public, and thus would overhear what should have been private conversations between married women and widows. 

The consensus, she gathered, was that while the husband benefits from a union, his wife suffers in tandem. She often reflected on their tales of painful beddings and cold honeymoons, a dreadful future she wanted to avoid. Y/n could only really imagine herself living out her days in a small cottage or isolated estate, perhaps with a companion to waste away with. There was no place in that fantasy for a man. While her cousin insisted she debut in the Ton, she desperately hoped he would be too busy managing family affairs to field any offers. 

She was torn from her thoughts by a knock at Prudence’s door, and turned to see the current bane of her existence, Lady Featherington.

“Dinner is in a few minutes.” She fixed her gaze on Prudence, “Your father has retired early for the evening and will not be joining us.” Without acknowledging their guest, she turned and left. Y/n’s jaw clenched as she waited for Prudence to ready herself. 

With a click of her tongue, the heiress could not contain her resentment, “Marvelous how your mother can despise me so, yet welcome me to dine with her.”

Adjusting her shoes, Prudence sighed, “You really must let it go. Otherwise, it shall be a very long winter.”

The redhead provided her friend no comfort, knowing that the issues her mother presented about the friendship were more than valid, and less than favorable. They walked silently down the stairs and to the dining hall. Sat at the head of the table, in what was typically Lord Featherington’s seat, was Portia, who waited patiently for them to be seated. There was a place setting on each side of the matriarch, thoroughly pushing the girls to separate sides of the table. 

Informally, Prudence began to serve herself and Y/n, while Portia was attended to by a footman. “What have you girls done today?” 

“We enjoyed a ride through the vineyard, the weather was in our favor. What of you and Father?” Prudence sawed through a piece of meat absentmindedly. 

Portia felt relieved at the response, should this be their last summer at the estate, she wanted her daughter to take every opportunity the privacy presented them. Her mood soured as the looming threat of economic ruin resurfaced. The Lady looked toward Y/n, unable to make eye contact with Prudence, knowing she had failed her. Prudence would not stay ignorant to their bankruptcy much longer. “The weather was favorable,” she agreed, “we went for a brief stroll.”

Staring down at her plate, Y/n moved the contents around, tasting only bitterness in her mouth. Portia cleared her throat, drawing the heiress’s attention to her, “Are you finding everything to your liking?”

“Yes. I can see why you and Lord Featherington enjoy it so.”

Portia’s eye twitched at the mention of her husband, wondering if the heiress’s words were genuine, “The time away proves marvelous for the marital bond.”

Prudence piped in, “I shall remember that for when I marry.” In any other case, Portia would have nodded along and given other tips. However, burdened with knowledge of the spent dowry, she could not indulge in her daughter’s fantasies.

Y/n looked up from her plate, “Should you choose not to marry, you may find the countryside to your liking, regardless.” Perhaps then, the heiress may maintain her one friendship. 

“Why would I choose not to marry?” Prudence’s eyebrows drew together and she was the perfect picture of innocent confusion. Her friend shrugged, knowing that any attempt to dissuade her would be shot down by the Lady at the head of the table. The next time she and Prudence were alone, she would inform her friend of the horror’s of marriage. 

“Enough talk of marriage. Prudence, have you unpacked your painting supplies?” 

The conversation continued until Prudence finished her meal and urged her friend to quicken her pace, “Would you like to visit the library and choose something to read before retiring?”

Portia raised a hand, silencing her daughter, “It is quite late and your father has had a trying day. There shall be no noise to bother him, bid your farewells now and travel quietly up the stairs. 

Prudence deflated as their night was cut short, she looked apologetically at her friend. Biting the inside of her cheek, Y/n rose from the table. 

“Goodnight Lady Featherington,” she nodded to her friend, “Prudence.” Y/n walked briskly out of the dinning hall, leaving the women looking after her. 

“Mother, must you be so controlling while we have company?” She whined petulantly. 

Offended, Portia raised her brows, “If you exemplified even a module of control or consciousness of your father’s state, I would not have to take up the responsibility.”

Prudence frequently wished she was as smart as Penelope, or perhaps as simple as Phillipa. Maybe then she would have the wisdom to properly argue with her mother, or at least be blissfully unaware of the constant insults. She rolled her eyes, as it was all she could do.

“Goodnight.”

…

Journeying to the west wing, Y/n trudged through the halls, spitefully admiring the art that adorned the walls. Although she was displeased with Lady Featherington’s impression of her, she could not deny that the woman had good taste. So much so that Y/n started to question if she really was a threat to Prudence’s debut. Was Lady Featherington right to designate the heiress as a temporary friend?

She let her fingertips brush against the light yellow patterned wallpaper, stopping as she reached her door. She paused, noting how it was slightly ajar. Slowly, she pushed it open and gasped as she saw Lord Featherington crouching over her open trunk.

“Oh, my apologies. I did not mean to startle you.” He looked up at her through his eyebrows. Her gaze ran down his arm and to his hands, which were clutching onto her silk slip. Uncomfortable, she remained silent.

He stood up straight, bringing the fabric with him. He smoothed his finger’s over the material, “A fine material. Your cousin must give you quite the allowance.” 

Frozen in her place, she stuttered out a response, “He provides for me, yes.” Unable to tell where this conversation was going, she contemplated yelling for Prudence. Her grip tightened on the door knob.

“I imagine you feel quite burdened with your inheritance. I know it is difficult, for women in particular, to manage such affairs.” He walked over to her bed, and sat on the edge, “No one would blame you for entrusting someone with that duty…” 

Y/n could barely believe what she was hearing. The old man was not only trying to seduce her, but gain access to her family's finances as well, “Lord Featherington, you forget yourself.”

He moved himself further up the bed, properly laying on it. The heiress’s stomach churned unpleasantly. He smoothed the comforter with his hand expectantly and held her gaze, as if demanding her to join him. 

“If you change rooms, I shall simply follow. You are in my house after all.”

Finally, her legs regained their mobility. In a swift motion she expelled herself from the room and closed the door forcefully behind her. Her vision narrowed as she sprinted down the hall. Her heart beat wildly as she tried to remember the way to Prudence's room. Turning the corner she bumped into Portia and lost her balance. The Lady tried and failed to catch her. Looking down upon the young woman on the floor, Portia immediately noticed her flushed face.

“Whatever is the matter?” 

“My apologies,” She pushed herself up and tried to move past her, only for her wrist to be grabbed.

With concern, she clasped her hand over the heiress’s, “Are you unwell?” She tried to search for the answer in Y/n’s face, which was near impossible given that she would not look at her.

“I am fine.” She tried to pull away from Portia’s grip, which only tightened.

“Obviously you are not. Has something happened to upset you?” Portia stepped forward, and in a motion that was simultaneously unfamiliar and completely natural, cupped Y/n’s face comfortingly. 

In all but a whisper, Y/n breathed out, “Nothing has happened, I swear this to you.” She finally looked up, with glistening eyes. “I cannot remain here.”

“If nothing has happened then why would you want to leave? Prudence will be so upset.” With great skepticism, she dropped her hand from Y/n’s cheek, but made no move to let her wrist go. She leaned in and whispered, “If one of the footmen… has taken liberties with you, you must tell me. I will have the issue handled swiftly and they shall be out of my employment.” 

Y/n shook her head, “Nothing has happened,” she repeated. She finally broke away from the woman’s grip and bounded down the stairs. She would write to Prudence, apologizing for her sudden departure, but she could not remain in this house of vipers for a moment longer. 

“Y/n!” Portia called after her, readying herself to descend the stairs. As her palm closed around the railing she heard an all too familiar cough echo down the hall which Y/n had emerged. For a moment, her ears rang in disbelief and her vision darkened. She grasped the railing tightly to balance herself. The creaking of the front door brought her back to reality and she rushed down the stairs after Y/n. 

Once outside she spotted the young woman trying to negotiate with one of the footmen, no doubt to bring her back to the Ton. “Y/n!” She called across the courtyard, startling the heiress. 

The young girl took off into the night, running into the surrounding trees. Portia cursed herself for believing that Archibald had no intention of bedding the girl. Twice in one day, he had proven her to be a fool. A fool for trusting him, a fool for marrying him, and a fool for thinking that he loved her. She waved off the footman who looked at her for direction, silently asking if he should follow after them. 

She walked quickly, tracing the other woman’s steps. A branch snapped in the distance and she moved in that direction. Leaning against a tree, trying to recompose herself, stood Y/n.

“Y/n,” she said gently. The heiress startled, and with wild eyes she tried breathlessly to explain, “Please, you have to believe me, nothing happened. He was in my room, however I left once he made his intentions clear.” She spoke quickly, silently begging for the Lady to believe her.

Portia’s chest ached as she looked at the trembling girl, “I believe you,” she said softly. Approaching with her hands stretched outwardly, as one would do with a skittish animal, she attempted to soothe her, “Return with me to the manor. We can have some tea to settle ourselves and I’ll arrange for your items to be moved to Prudence’s wing.”

Y/n shook her head quickly, “I cannot return. He said he would follow me to whichever room I switch to.” 

“Then we will take our tea in my room, and I will have a cot moved in until we can arrange your departure.” Feeling slightly sick with her husband’s indecency, Portia swallowed the bile working its way up her throat. It was much more important that she be a comforting figure than a disgruntled wife at the moment. 

Biting her lip, Y/n grasped onto Portia’s outstretched hand, and allowed the woman to bear the burden of her weight as they embraced. Her trembling ceased as she let Portia’s warmth seep into her. The Lady breathed deeply in relief, and her eyes stung with emotion. She glanced upward to the sky as she rested her chin on Y/n’s shoulder. For all his sins and slights against her, Portia had always found a way to forgive Archibald, to love him. But as she held Y/n in her arms, a realization struck her. She would not be able to tolerate this offense. Her grip tightened around Y/n’s waist, comforting herself as she reckoned with what was to come. In a flash of anger she found herself cruelly ruminating on his fate, that Lord Featherington must die. She chastised herself for the thought. Although, when she was through with him, he would surely wish he was dead.

…

They walked arm in arm back to the estate, breathing in the cool air to settle themselves. As they got closer, Portia noticed that one of the carriages was gone and that multiple rooms of the manor were illuminated.

A footman ran to greet them with terror stricken eyes, “My Lady, Lord Featherington has fallen ill, we’ve sent for a doctor.” He wiped sweat from his forehead, obviously frantic.

She coldly nodded her thanks and the women continued to the manor. 

[midnightscramble]

Hey, I know this is probably rude to ask, but I'm a sucker for Portia Featherington. Is there any chance you are to write for her again sometime soon?

Lord Featherington Must Die Part 1 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2

The Masterlist

Author's Note: Not rude at all to ask! I promise this is a romance, stick with it and see how it develops. For those who are wondering, the title is in reference to the movie John Tucker Must Die. If it is not to your liking, ask for something else (don't be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Taking place the season before the Featherington daughters enter the marriage mart. Lord Featherington not so discreetly tries to pursue another woman, inviting her on the family's off season trip to be his eldest daughter's companion. Portia is less than pleased with these events.

Warnings: hurt no real comfort, attempted one-sided cheating, marital issues, domestic violence (a glass is thrown but does not make contact)

Poised, proper, and cool under pressure. That is the mantra Portia Featherington had been raised on, a mantra which would die with her given that all her daughters' had some strain of social ineptness. She was relieved the season had ended, as she could at least take the time to try to train her daughters before their own seasons would be thrust upon them. Archibald Featherington's complete lack of interest in the girls worsened the situation, leaving her to be the only corrector of bad habits. Perhaps once the bustle of the city was far from them, he would participate in raising his children. Not that he had during any other off-season, but still, Portia hoped.

As she organized with Varley what the girls would need for the trip, Penelope approached her tentatively, "Mother, I would like a moment to speak with you." Portia quickly glanced up from the packing list, giving her daughter silent permission to continue. "Lady Bridgerton has invited me to spend autumn and winter at their country estate. I would be Eloise's companion." Portia was taken aback momentarily and her focus settled on Penelope.

Almost all of the Bridgerton sons were unwed and of age, so sending her youngest daughter to them could be an advantage come next season. "What a delightful offer. You may accept on the condition that Phillipa and Varley will go with you as your chaperones. Do be sure to thank Lady Bridgerton for her kindness." Penelope squealed in excitement, and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, rushed to hug her mother. Stumbling slightly, Portia enjoyed the rare moment and held her tightly. Her youngest daughter and she usually elected to forgo familial pleasantries such as hugging, a pattern which Portia wanted to break but did not have a single inclination as to how to go about it.

"Thank you, Mother. I promise to write to you every week!" Penelope broke from her arms and hurried through the house, no doubt rushing to the Bridgerton estate to call upon Eloise. Portia stood by the window to make sure she crossed the road safely, tracking her daughter until she made it to the front door. Before she could walk away, she noticed Prudence and Miss Y/n walking on the other side of the street, with Lord Featherington trailing behind them.

Miss Y/n Y/l/n was a new addition to Prudence's social circle, and a rather beautiful one at that. She had advised her daughter to only spend time with the young woman during the off-season. It would not do her well to stand next to someone so radiant at social gatherings, and would only serve to make Prudence invisible to eligible suitors. However, it would also be important to befriend her. Young women tend to favor platonic attachments, making them less likely to steal dance partners from those they are loyal to. If Prudence could gain Miss Y/n's loyalty now, then the woman would pose no threat when Prudence makes her entrance into society. Despite being titleless, the young woman was to be an heiress to her last living relative, a distant cousin. Which made her quite suitable company for Prudence. Portia found herself wondering what the two women talked about, her daughter was not known for being entertaining, so whatever they were laughing at must be on account of Miss Y/l/n’s cleverness. She broke away from the window and returned to her spot next to Varley, continuing their discussion on what to bring.

Moments later, she heard the familiar sound of heeled slippers bounding up the staircase to the study. Prudence entered the room excitedly, with her arm entwined in Miss Y/l/n’s, “MaMa, Brilliant news! Father has arranged with Lord Y/l/n for us to take Y/n to the country with us!” The redhead clung onto her new friend, rocking back and forth on her heels with pure giddiness. Miss Y/l/n smiled at the matriarch, “If it would please you, my Lady, I would love to be Prudence’s travel companion. My cousin has approved the impromptu trip and is willing to provide the necessary funds for any accommodations you would have to make.” Portia looked over Miss Y/l/n’s shoulder, and saw her husband leaning against the door frame with the slouched posture of a commoner. He looked over the room cooly, feigning disinterest. 

Before Portia could respond, her husband interjected, “It would please our family greatly, Miss Y/l/n. I suggest that Prudence accompany you back to the Y/l/n estate and direct your maid in organizing your luggage.” He approached the girls and took each one’s hand in his own, guiding them out of the room, “I’ll have a carriage drawn for you.” Portia did not miss how Archibald’s touch seemed to linger on Miss Y/l/n’s skin, nor how his fingers danced at the edge of her sleeve, discreetly moving the fabric aside to touch her delicate wrist. Portia’s eyes twitched, already theorizing as to what her husband’s intentions were by inviting the young woman on their trip. 

With a clipped tone, Portia looked at her maid, “Varley, leave us.” The older woman nodded politely and took her leave, making sure to close the study door to ensure the couple their privacy. Running her tongue across her teeth, she seethed, “I understand that these trips are trying for you, but can you not just visit a house of sin in the country? As you usually do.”

He walked to the desk and poured himself three fingers of whisky, “I have not the faintest idea of which you speak.” He took a long sip, pointedly looking at his wife, “It should be good for Prudence, to have a travel companion.” Portia threw her hands up at the dismissal. She hated this game, where he played the fool and she played the hag. He would never admit to any wrong doings, always denying or having some excuse, making it impossible to truly condemn him. She did not relish arguing with him, and more often than not she preferred to expel her suspicions from her mind, hoping that he was as honest as he claimed to be. At the end of the day, Portia wanted her husband to be loyal, so much so that she would accept his half cooked bluffs as undeniable truths. Perhaps, if she could make herself believe it, it would become true.

She crossed the room, and came to rest a hand upon his chest, “I was hoping that you and I would spend quality time together…” She watched as his eyes fled across the room, silently begging for them to meet her own. 

He sniffed and raised his brows, considering her words, “We will, and in order for that to happen, Prudence must be entertained.” Portia moved closer in his arms, resting her forehead on his shoulder. She could put her suspicions aside for now and choose to believe Archibald, it would make the trip much more pleasant for the both of them. He felt her nod into his shoulder and ducked his head to come closer to hers. For a moment, Portia’s breath caught. It was not often that he spared her such affections. She let her eyes close and tilted her head up, allowing him greater access to her lips. When she felt the imprint of his cracked lips on her forehead, she chided herself for thinking after all these years, he would suddenly grow warmer. She supposed that this trip would force them into close proximity, and perhaps rekindle the spark they had felt when they first married. But if that were to happen, she would need to keep a close eye on Miss Y/l/n.

…

Arriving back to the house with footmen holding Miss Y/n’s luggage, Prudence and her friend began discussing the activities they would partake in upon arrival, “I must show you the lake, it reflects an emerald green around sunset, quite the sight.” The young woman pushed the redhead in a playful manner, “So you can push me in? I think I shall skip your ‘tour’ of the lake.” Prudence snorted and immediately covered her mouth as the undignified noise met her ears. A second carriage arrived in front of the estate, confusing the women. 

“Are the bags being taken separately?” Prudence questioned the coachman. 

“No, Miss Prudence. Lady Featherington and Miss Y/n will be traveling in one, and you and the Lord Featherington in another. Your mother does not want to strain the horses on such a long, cumbersome journey.” Prudence nodded in understanding. She would have argued with her mother about being separated from Y/n, however it was perfectly reasonable for each of the young women to be paired with a chaperone. It would not be acceptable for two young, unwed women to be stranded with footmen, should something happen. 

Portia emerged from around the corner, with her husband hot on her trail, seemingly trying to dissuade her of something, “It is unnecessary, we do not need to travel separately.” Ignoring him entirely she joined the young women, “Shall we?” She motioned to the carriages and took Miss Y/l/n’s arm, beginning a very quick stride. 

Once settled in the carriage, Portia examined the woman across from her. Even if Archibald was telling the truth, she knew that men were weak when it came to the fairer sex, which is why she was determined to keep Miss Y/n within her line of sight whenever possible and thus out of her husband’s reach. Knowing that if her silent stare went on any longer, her company would surely misconstrued it to be intimidation, the Lady tried to start a conversation, “So, Prudence tells me that you study art?” She tilted her head slightly to convey her faux interest.

“I do. I find the Roman works fascinating-” Portia interrupted her, “It will do you no good to focus on such hobbies, a future suitor may find it off putting, Miss Y/l/n.” A young woman with as much potential as Miss Y/l/n would obviously be educated in all sorts of cultural topics, however, Portia thought she should have enough etiquette to not flex her knowledge. 

“Well, I do not intend to marry so the opinion of this hypothetical suitor is not of concern to me.”

Portia stared at her with wide, owlish eyes, “What woman does not wish to marry?” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. Given that Miss Y/l/n would be an heiress, the only thing she could want for now would be a title, something only a husband could award her. This revelation was truly shocking for the Lady.

“I have no reason to. At this point, a husband would only prove to be a headache.” Miss Y/l/n gave her a tight lipped smile, hoping the display would soften the ill-mannered statement.

“You do not care for titles?” Portia tried to reason. Miss Y/l/n laughed cheekily, making the Lady agitated, “I do not care for the accompanying responsibilities of a marriage.”

Portia hummed, thinking she had figured the woman out, “You do not wish for children.” Miss Y/l/n’s smile dropped and she looked at her coldly, making the redhead shiver. “I do not possess the ability to have children. In my youth, my parents and I were in an accident. In the doctor’s haste to cure me, they removed the vital organs.” Portia sat quietly, reflecting on Miss Y/l/n’s words. From gossip, she knew that Miss Y/l/n had mourned her parents after the tragic accident, however, she did not know of the accompanying loss. Within the span of a few days, she had not only lost her past but her future. Uncomfortable with her prior bluntness, Portia apologized, “My condolences, Miss Y/l/n. I hope I did not cause any harm by asking.” 

Waving a hand dismissively, the heiress murmured as her attention was turned toward the window, “It would not be fair, to condemn a Lord to marriage despite not being able to give him an heir. Besides, it is all in the past. … You do not have to call me that. Y/l/n is my dear cousin’s last name. Ever since I came under his guardianship, it has been bestowed upon me… However, I would prefer you call me Y/n.” 

Portia licked her lips, slightly eager to please the woman after bridging up such an uncomfortable topic, “Thank you, Y/n.” The young woman gently took the Lady’s hand in her own, letting her know that all was well between the two of them. The heavy firmness of her hold distracted Portia, briefly alleviating her of any and all coherent thought. Y/n retracted her hands and rested them politely in her lap, leaving the Lady feeling a slight loss. 

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, each consumed by their own thoughts. Portia worried herself with the details of the trip, recounting all that had been packed. While Y/n tried desperately to look forward to her escape from the city.

…

By the time they had arrived at the country home, the moon stood proudly above the rolling hills. They trudged out of the carriages and into the home. An array of finger sandwiches had been left out by the staff and Y/n used her handkerchief to gather some before her and Prudence went up to their rooms. Prudence led Y/n to her room in the west wing, and then journeyed to her own in the north. 

Archibald made no commentary as he walked past his wife and up the stairs. She followed closely behind him, unsure if he was going to bed or to the parlor. She hoped for the latter, as she had made a request that the master bedroom be prepped for the both of them, rather than have their own separate rooms. He would be much more passive to the arrangement if he had a drink or two before, and to Portia’s relief he took a left towards the parlor. He stripped off his coat and left it hanging over the back of the couch before he mixed himself a drink at the bar. 

He hummed in contentment and pressed the glass into his wife’s palm, offering her a sip. She did love these yearly vacations, the weather seemed to relax Archibald and he was always elated after the seasonal return on his investments. His agreeableness and lack of responsibility allowed them to enjoy each other’s company in the country’s splendor. She took a mock sip, not fond of his choice of gin, but not wanting to reject his kind offer. Archibald crossed the room and picked out a book from one of the many shelves full of them, “I am going to retire for the evening.”

Portia clung tightly to the drink and she flashed him a furtive smile, “Then we shall retire.” He looked at her warily, unaware that the master bedroom had been made up for the two of them. She followed him through the halls and his shoulders tensed in agitation. He sent her a grim look over his shoulder, and she widened her eyes to appear innocent. The Lord sucked on his tongue, displeased with her shallow gambit of obliviousness. He knew very well what she wanted and was not in the mood. The Lord tightened his grip on the book.

Upon arriving at the room he quickly noticed that her trunks had been deposited near the armoire, and he spun on his feet to address the issue, “It seems they have made a mistake. I shall send for someone to correct it.” She put a gentle hand to his chest to stop him from leaving the room. He halted and drew away from her, off put by what he interpreted as smothering. 

“There was no mistake, I asked for my things to be brought here.” The Lady curled her lips up, in a manner which he used to find seductive, however now instead of inspiring lust, it only inspired aggravation. 

Turning away from her, he sighed and tossed the book on the bed, which landed with a heavy thud due to the force. Archibald rested a hand on the nightstand, he slouched as he took a deep breath. Heat rose to his ears as he spoke sharply, “I will have your things moved to the west wing. The guest bedroom is just as large, you shall find it to your liking.”

She moved closer, softly pleading, “Archie,” He turned towards her, snatching the glass from her hands. She flinched at his abruptness but found herself frozen as she watched him raise the glass. Within milliseconds, the remaining liquid in it had sloshed out the sides as his arm drew back towards his head. His knuckles were white as he exerted pressure on the glass, and she couldn’t tell where he was aiming once it had left his finger tips. Blood rushed in her ears as she felt the air move by the side of her head. By centimeters, the glass had missed her. Portia remained in her position, despite the sound of shattering glass calling to her attention. Spit flung out of his mouth, “Dammit woman! Are you incapable of listening? Shall I repeat myself?”

Portia shook her head softly, feeling her nose sting as fear crept up her spine and made her eyes dewy. She rushed to the door and left it open in her hurry to leave. She strode down the hall to the opposing wing, not slowing till she heard the master bedroom door being slammed shut. She moved her jaw side to side, determined not to cry over another one of his temperamental outbursts. Portia reasoned with herself that the stress of the journey had made him tired and irritable. Sighing she entered the guest bedroom, cursing herself for pushing him to this. Sleeping in a slip rather than a nightgown bothered Portia. However, she knew by returning to Archibald, even just to retrieve some clothing from her trunk, she would be putting herself in the path of his wrath. Slightly irked, she folded back the comforter of the bed and slipped beneath the cotton sheets. It would surprise the average Lady of the Ton, how easily Portia slept after such an unsavory argument with her husband, but with great practice comes great ease. 

…

Morning came all too quickly for the weary travelers. Portia had slept through breakfast, and when she finally awoke she found a tray of pastries and fruit at the foot of her door. She brought it inside and ate on the balcony. The guest room was pleasant, spacious, and had a lovely view of the landscape. From her spot on the balcony, she could see Prudence and Y/n walking down to the lake on the property. It always perplexed her as to why Prudence enjoyed frequenting it when she had no interest in learning how to swim. Portia was a keen swimmer, and rather enjoyed submerging herself in the estate’s shimmering body of water, while the rest of the family seemed to favor simply looking upon it. She would have to find time to slip away and enjoy the advantages of nature. 

From beneath her, she heard the door to the terrace open. Cigar smoke rose in the air, making her nose twitch. She watched as her husband took long strides toward one of the many benches scattered along the path. With a newspaper beneath his arm and cigar in hand, he triumphantly took a seat, completely unaware of his observer. He opened the newspaper as though he were covering his face, and turned his head down the path. Portia followed his line of sight and realized Archibald, much like herself, was keeping an eye on what he felt entitled to. Y/n and Prudence laughed jovially, flicking water at each other with their finger tips. Portia wished she could enjoy the scene, however her husband’s enjoyment spoiled her own.  

She figured it would soon be time for lunch, and she did not want the Lord to become accustomed to her absence at meals. Nor did she want him to become accustomed to Y/n’s presence. Portia did not blame the girl, not in any meaningful way. However, Miss Y/n was proving to be an obstacle in obtaining her husband’s attention. She also could not blame her simple husband. If she were a man, Portia would surely pursue the young woman. Y/n was captivating, she moved with grace and was charming in conversation. The fact that the heiress was utterly uninterested in having a romantic life bothered Portia, when really, it should have relieved her for her husband and daughter’s sake. She would not pose a threat to Prudence during the social season, nor to herself in rescuing her marriage to Archibald. Still, the piece of information felt incorrect to Portia. How could eyes, that were so enigmatic in the way they reflected light, not want to gaze softly into those of a lover? How could hands, ever gentle yet firm in the way they clasped her own in the carriage, not want to hold the hands of a betrothed? It seemed like a cruel joke, for a body to be so obviously built for romance, yet be condemned to a life as a spinster. 

The Lord coughed, choking on the smoke from his cigar, drawing Portia out of her thoughts. She cringed internally at the sound. One thing that she could never overcome was his unseemly noises. She truly despised the sounds he made when he cleared his phlegmy throat. Dining with him was a task all on its own, given how he chewed like a cow and scraped his fork against the plate after every bite. There were times during her pregnancy with Penelope where Portia would have sworn on her mother’s grave that she could hear Archibald’s snoring from down the hall, forcing her to move to an entirely different floor for the night. Although. when he was awake and stationary, she found him far more tolerable, even amusing. She wondered if all Ladies had such difficulties. 

Strangely, his coughing did not cease. He continued to hack, and used the newspaper to catch his spittle. She watched with apprehension as his cheeks became an unnatural shade of crimson, not entirely sure what to do. He recovered himself and took large gulps of air, and Portia released a breath she did not know she was holding. He began to stand and Portia quickly ducked back into her room, not wanting the man to know she was spying on him. Busying herself, she pulled the servant bell. It was time for her to leave the comfort of the guest room and remind her husband that he has a wife who is in need of tending to.

[midnightscramble]

Part 3 of courting reader pleaseee happy ending? We need the confort lol

Promenading with Widows Part 3 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author's Note: This is dedicated to @blueberrycoffee19. Remember that no author is perfect and that asks are taken as guide lines. Please enjoy and Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet gives Y/n the cold shoulder. After many days apart, the women find themselves depressed without each others company. Y/n comes to the wrong conclusion as to why their friendship came to a sudden end. Violet goes to reconcile with Y/n.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, desperate yearning Violet, first orgasm/fingering (Y/n receiving), Bottom Y/n, soft Top? Violet, period typical internalized homophobia, no Beta read

The first day after the news was broken, Violet did not leave her chamber, not willing to let her children see her in shambles. She lounged in bed, drifting in and out of sleep until meals were dropped off at her door. She found that the issue with sleeping the day away was that when night fell, she had nothing to do but think. The second day arrived, blending with the first as her exhaustion clouded her mind. Violet trudged around the house, donning a robe over her nightgown as she lacked the energy to get properly dressed for the day. Her eyes were swollen and red after spending the night crying, with little red dots adorning her eyelids from the intensity of her tears.

Her children watched her with concern, tentatively giving her space to process. Violet took her breakfast out on the backyard patio, hoping the sun would warm her chilled bones. She could not blame Y/n, not really. It was not the young widow's fault that she did not return her feelings. Violet had given her no indication of them, thus Y/n simply did not know she was hurting her by coupling with Lady Cowper.

She sneered as the blonde woman crossed her mind, the despicable Lady was most likely with her dear Y/n now, accompanying her on a morning promenade. With great effort, she choked down her breakfast, feeling utterly nauseous as she envisioned Y/n's arm linked with Lady Cowper's. What would they even have to talk about on such excursions? The young widow herself was fascinating, but Lady Cowper was not known for intrigue. Violet knew how to entertain Y/n, how to talk with her and wade through her cryptic language. She strongly doubted that Cowper understood Y/n the way she did nor put in the effort to.

Daphne knocked gently on the patio door frame, drawing her mother from the deep recesses of her mind. In her hand she held a letter, elegantly twirling it between her pointer and middle finger.

"Another one?" Violet asked. Including this one, Y/n had sent her four letters since Violet cancelled their plans, all of which went unopened. Daphne nodded before taking a seat next to her mother. She delicately placed the letter on the table, but Violet made no move to reach for it. She could not bring herself to look upon the sweet handwriting of the young widow. Whatever the contents of the letters held, Violet was sure it would only worsen the situation and cause her to fall deeper down this rabbit hole of unrequited feelings.

"Love is rather tricky, MaMa. I am sorry that we had gotten your hopes up. It appears that Kate and Penelope had misinterpreted Lady Y/n's affection for you as something greater, we had all thought we were guiding you to something secure." The redhead put her hand on Violet's arm in comfort. Violet's lip quivered with emotion as she listened. "At the end of the day you must ask yourself, is it better to lose her entirely, or have her as a friend?" They sat in silence and watched the morning mist settle on the grass, leaving everything dewey and fresh.

"How could I possibly face her?" Violet sniffed, looking out at the distant trees to distract herself.

Daphne hummed in consideration, "The beauty of keeping your feelings to yourself is that for the other party, nothing has changed. That is how you face her, exactly how you normally would." Violet patted her daughter's hand, a subtle motion to let her know she was excused. She released a deep breathe as she was left alone again. Perhaps this evening she would pay her companion a visit and apologize for her sudden absence.

...

Over at the Y/l/n estate, Y/n was not fairing much better. Holed up inside her study, she had multiple editions of English Decency Laws spread about the floor. Once she had realized that Violet was ignoring her, she began to fear what the Bridgerton's would do with what they had witnessed transpire between herself and Lady Cowper. She knew from a distance, that it may have looked like they were familiar, which would be enough to get her tried as a criminal. Worriedly, she ran a hand through her messy hair, continuing her frantic search for a loop hole or protection of any kind.

Tears gathered in her eyes out of frustration. Despite the acute awareness that she risked absolute ruin, what really bothered her about the situation was Violet distancing herself. The Dowager Viscountess was known about the Ton for her piousness, so it should not have come as a shock to Y/n when the Lady decided to recoil from their friendship.

She felt like a wounded animal. Even though the whole situation was a misunderstanding, it forced her to reflect upon herself. She could not deny it any longer, she was taken by Violet, and her rejection had stung beyond belief.

It had all happened so fast. Impossibly fast. She was barley keeping it together as is, but the thought of being without the Lady frightened her. She didn't want to be alone again, and despite having family and other friends that she could turn to, she knew it would grant her no relief. Regardless of who she was with, she felt utterly alone. That was until she found Violet, who cured her of the paradoxical feeling. Y/n did not want to return to her empty life.

The widow cursed her own weakness as she sat on the floor in defeat. She had scared away the one person she wanted close to her, and that loss was greater than the potential of losing her freedom.

...

Clouds rolled in as evening approached, heavy with the promise of rain and whisperings of what would soon be thunder. Violet alerted her household that she would be off for the evening, going to reconcile with Lady Y/n. They threw her sympathetic glances and kind words as she left, leaving her feeling even more pitiful.

The carriage ride was awful and bumpy. She tried to close her eyes to obtain some sort of reprieve before committing herself to an evening of acting as if she were not in love the young widow. It would be tasking, but as Daphne had put it, she would not want a life with out Y/n. She would settle for being the woman's friend, and try to morph the love she felt into purely platonic support.

Sooner than she would have liked, she had arrived at the Y/l/n estate. A light drizzle fell from the sky and rumblings of thunder sounded in the distance, although, it went completely unnoticed by the Lady as Violet could only hear her own heart pounding in her ears. She approached the large front door and knocked harshly. After a moment, a butler opened it slightly, then wider once he recognized Violet, "She is in the study, my Lady."

Violet nodded her thanks and noticed that the house was in the exact state as she had seen it last, however the darkness outside and lack of lighting made the hallways seem daunting and sinister. Outside the closed study door's sat three trays of untouched food, giving the Lady pause. Her heart squeezed with guilt and she knocked on the door with a single knuckle.

Y/n softly called out, voice cracking, "I do not wish to be disturbed."

Violet let her forehead thud on the door softly, wanting nothing more than to burst into the room and take the girl in her arms. Recomposing herself with a shuddered breath, she called out in a half serious, half jesting tone, "Should I disturb you tomorrow then?"

There was a beat of silence before she heard the light thump of feet on marble floor and the door swung open, "You're here," Y/n searched her companion's eyes in wonder. It seemed by thinking of the woman endlessly, she had manifested her presence somehow.

Violet smiled politely, "I am," she looked over her shoulder and saw the mess of papers on the floor, "May I come in, or would I be interrupting?" Please let me in, she thought.

"No, no, please do. We have much to discuss, I'm sure." Y/n backed up before Violet could enter her space, not wanting to offend the woman with her closeness. Bitterly, Y/n thought about how Violet must be disgusted by her. She would give the woman ample room, as to not seem predatory in any fashion. The action did not go unnoticed, and Violet forced herself to clench her hands tightly, preventing herself from reaching out and grabbing hold of the young woman. She took another step and Y/n took another back, maintaining a respectable amount of distance.

She took in the disheveled state of her companion, her face looked sunken and her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. Her hair fell wildly down her shoulders, and in attempt to tame it, Y/n smoothed a hand down its length. Y/n had obviously been stewing in agony over Violet's shunning.

"Violet, let me just begin by saying, I am so happy to see you."

"As am I you." Violet looked down at her hands, trying to contain her growing emotions. It would be of no use to act foolishly and accost Y/n with questions about her and Lady Cowper's acquaintanceship.

Y/n looked away, insecurely, "Are you really?"

Violet bit her lip, "Of course, you are so dear to me," she swallowed before continuing, "I delight in your company, always."

"Even in light in what you have heard about me?"

Violet shut her eyes and her nose reddened as she became emotional, "As I said, always..." Even if I must be content with only your friendship, she thought.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n went to explain, "You must understand, it is not what you think. Well, it is and it isn't." The widow strolled to look out at the incoming storm. Violet watched her in confusion, "How do you mean?"

"Lady Cowper propositioned me rather unexpectedly in the gazebo. I was in the midst of refusing her advance when your children spotted us." Violet released a deep breath at the admission. The tension she had been holding in her shoulders ceased and she slowly made her way to the younger woman, who was still turned towards the window.

"However, it is not entirely untrue... I have recently discovered a fondness for the fairer sex." Y/n sniffled, preparing herself for another rejection, "If you do not find me to be suitable company, I would completely understand." Looking at her reflection in the window, Y/n could see Violet approach her from behind, yet was still startled when her hand landed upon the small of her back.

Feeling hope return to her, Violet answered reassuringly, "I find you very suitable company." Lady Y/n turned to her and they found their faces were inches apart. "I actually have a similar affliction..."

"You do?" Y/n's eyes widened, was it possible that her feelings were returned?

Giving confirmation, Violet licked her lips before answering, "I do." Violet's eyes flickered down to Y/n's lips and then back to her eyes. Y/n's breath hitched as she slowly closed the distance, experimentally connecting their lips for a chaste kiss. Violet's hands fell to her waist, and Y/n's came to rest on her shoulders.

Before the kiss could deepen, Y/n pulled back slightly, ready to confess, "I want this, undoubtedly. However, I am not sure what to do," she gazed into Violet's eyes, trying to communicate her sincerity and need for guidence.

With flushed cheeks, Violet let out a kind laugh, "Then we shall have to figure it out together." Y/n kissed her cheek and grabbed her hand, leading her out of the study and to the second floor. Slightly confused, Violet looked at her companion with concern as they stopped in front of the large ebony door of the marital bedroom.

Before Y/n could reach out to open it, Violet stopped her, "We do not have to- This is not a requirement of our relationship." It pained her to put off what she so desperately longed for, but Y/n's emotional state trumped her ever growing lust.

"I know... I want this, with you. I want this room to be ours, not his." Opening the door, Y/n made her way to the bed, sitting atop it and waiting for Violet to join her. The Lady went to the curtains, pulling them aside to allow moonlight to illuminate the room. Y/n was taken aback in the slightest and looked at Violet for explanation, which she supplied, "I wish to see you while we make love." Y/n flushed at the romanticism, suddenly self conscious. Lord Y/l/n had only ever preferred to couple in the comfort of complete darkness. At the time she had been thankful, as she would not have to look upon him during the act. Yet, with Violet, she knew she would be unable to look away once they began.

The Lady began to disrobe, first with her coat, then her shoes. Y/n stood from the bed, "Allow me." Stepping behind Violet, she undid the buttons of her dress. She pushed it off of Violet's freckled shoulders, leaving the woman in her slip. She diligently plucked the pins from her hair, allowing the Lady's copper brown curls to fall. Violet stepped over her discarded clothes and pulled Y/n into her arms. Their mouths clashed against each other's with great vigor and Violet slid her tongue across Y/n's bottom lip, asking for entrance. The widow moaned and opened her mouth, letting Violet's tongue explore her. Grasping her hips tightly, Violet slowly guided them towards the bed, and Y/n gasped when the back of her knees made contact. Crawling backwards without disconnecting their mouths, Y/n laid back in the center of the bed.

Breaking the kiss, Violet placed her hand on Y/n's abdomen, pressing down lightly to keep her in place as the young woman eagerly tried to chase after her. Her lips traveled down Y/n's throat and to her chest, mouthing at the tops of her breasts. The widow's nipples hardened through her nightgown and she arched up at the sensation. Violet's other hand came up to palm at her chest, thumb gliding over the satin fabric, feeling the peaked nipple twitch at her ministrations. Breathlessly, Y/n shuddered, threading her fingers through Violet's hair. Her other hand tensed, not entirely sure what to do with herself. Sensing the other woman's hesitation, Violet moved her head back up. "Still with me, darling?" She cooed.

Y/n nodded, and in adoration, she moved a hand to cradle the side of Violet's face. Her fingers smoothed over the apple of her cheek and the Lady turned her head to kiss Y/n's palm sweetly. They smiled at each other briefly and Violet brought their mouths together then nuzzled her with her nose. "Relax. I promise you will enjoy this," she whispered. She felt the edge of her nightgown slowly be dragged up her thighs, bunching around her waist. Everywhere Violet touched left a trail of heat on her body, making the skin come to life. She was dizzy with anticipation and let her head fall back onto the pillow as she breathed deeply to prepare herself. Her eyes fell shut and she suddenly felt like if she opened them, she'd awake from this lovely dream.

Nipping at her ear, Violet tempted, "Open your eyes, my love." Y/n opened them slowly, enjoying Violet's commanding presence and the way her body was almost a protective shield to the woman beneath her.

She felt Violet's fingertips gently touch her center, causing her to inhale sharply. Delicately sliding her fingers through Y/n's folds, Violet felt how her hips twitched in response and smiled to herself with satisfaction. Having gathered enough wetness, she slowly sunk her fingers into the woman, and watched as Y/n's face broke with a shocked moan, interrupting her calm concentration. The young woman pulsed around her stilled fingers and Violet only started to move them once Y/n's hips jumped upwards in a silent plea for more. She rhythmically moved her fingers in and out of her lover, trying to memorize the spots that made her breath catch involuntarily.

"You are so beautiful," Violet admired the pretty flush that had spread from the widow's cheeks to her chest.

Despite the evening chill, Y/n felt as though she were on fire. Never before had she experienced such unbridled passion and tender love making. Her abdomen felt unusually tight, like a twig ready to snap. It frightened her slightly, but with Violet above her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, all worries were dissolved.

Moving her thumb upwards, Violet easily found the woman's engorged clit. She drew tight circles around it and Y/n's hips stuttered at the stimulation. Reconnecting their mouths, Violet swallowed Y/n's whimpers as she applied direct pressure. Falling out of rhythm, Y/n tossed her head back as her body was rocked with waves of pleasure as her orgasm took over. The tension that she had been feeling had been released and her vision became cloudy as she succumbed to the simple state it left her in.

Violet's fingers continued to work her body like an instrument, not relenting until Y/n tilted her hips away from her, unable to handle anymore. She gathered Y/n in her arms as she caught her breath.

A pleasant smile spread across her face and the young woman giggled deliriously, "That was sensational, I had no idea..." She didn't finish her sentence, not wanting to remind Violet of her unsatisfactory moments of intimacy with Lord Y/l/n. Intuitively, the Lady held her tighter, understanding what Y/n had meant.

"That is how it is supposed to be, how it will be whenever I take you to bed." Y/n blushed and hid her face in Violet's neck, causing the older woman to laugh. They kissed softly, enjoying the newfound intimacy as they cuddled in bed.

In jest, Violet wondered out loud, "What shall we do about Lady Cowper. Perhaps I shall ask her on a morning promenade and abandon her in the woods." While her words were humorous, the possessive grip she had on Y/n's waist revealed the more serious undertone of jealousy.

Y/n chuckled, "You would waste a morning promenade on Lady Cowper?"

Violet huffed, "No, I suppose the only thing worthy of my time would be promenading with widows."

Y/n smacked Violet’s arms, "I better be the only widow you promenade with." She kissed her lightly.

"I return that sentiment." They grinned at each other.

[midnightscramble]

Hi! Are you gonna do a part 2 of the courting story? If so maybe some jealousy raises when one of the kids/partners see reader in public with someone else? Thanks!

Promenading with Widows Part 2 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: This is dedicated to @blueberrycoffee19. No author is without faults and bear in mind that asks are taken as guidelines. Please enjoy and Happy readings to you.

Summary: Penelope and Kate have tea with Lady Y/n, clarifying intentions. Violet and Y/n reunite. The Bridgerton children run into Y/n and Lady Cowper in a compromising position.

Warnings: implied period typical homophobia, discussion of unhappy marriage (Y/n's prior sexual/wifely duties), strong feelings of jealousy/insecurity, unwelcome advance (made by Lady Cowper), no Beta read

Penelope and Kate waited in the foyer of the Y/l/n estate. It was one of the largest in the Ton, yet rarely visited as the late Lord was not keen on hosting. It was apparent that the house was in the midsts of a redecoration, with freshly stripped walls and large wooden crates partially cracked open, revealing new furniture within them. All the curtains had been taken off the runners, letting light stream into the house from all directions.

A butler came down the hall and alerted them of where they could find the Lady of the house, "Lady Y/l/n is taking her afternoon tea in the study," he motioned towards the end of the hall, "She can be found there, my Ladies." Penelope found it rather strange that the butler did not guide them to the study and announce them there. The lack of staff also perturbed her, as there was no one waiting outside the study should Lady Y/n need something. It seemed she was rather independent.

The women looked at each other skeptically as they journeyed to the end of the hall. As they entered the study, they immediately noticed its finished state, compared to the rest of the house. Large book cases that stretched from the floor to the ceiling adorned two walls, while the other walls had been painted a pale, creamy pink. The furniture was made of honey wood with dusty pink upholstering. The curtains were a sheer gold color, making the light of the room appear warmer than the sun itself. Every viable surface had a vase of flowers settled atop it, proudly presenting pink African violets. Penelope couldn't help but smile, there was no doubt that this was a woman's study.

Lady Y/n stood to greet them, "Please excuse the current state of things. I fear the whole house has been victim to my remodeling." Kate laughed, surprising herself. After everything Anthony had told her, she did not expect the woman to be so humble and charming.

"It is no problem at all. I must commend you for what you have done with the study. It looks remarkable, Lady Y/l/n," Kate said with a smile and Penelope nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"Let's sit, and please, there is no need to maintain such formalities. We are all women of similar status, and I am sure we do not need reminding of it. You can just call me Y/n," She led them to the couches and poured her guests cups of tea.

Penelope could not deny, she liked Y/n. She had suspected the woman to be intimidating, as many intelligent women are. However, it had become clear that the bite and intimidation used on Anthony was purely in retaliation, and not a solidified part of her personality.

"Very well, Y/n. I fear we must have an uncomfortable conversation with you," Penelope bit her lip as she watched Y/n calmly sip her tea.

She put her cup down and her lip curled as she spoke, "I take it Lady Violet received my gift, and Lord Bridgerton intercepted the letter?" Y/n obviously found the subject amusing and Kate herself began to see the humor in it.

"My husband was quite upset by it, he worries about your influence on his mother." Kate folded her hands in her lap politely as she explained.

Suddenly serious, Y/n's smirk dropped as she spoke earnestly, "He has nothing to fear, I would do nothing to harm Lady Violet." Penelope examined the woman across from them, her change in tone reflected that this was not the first time Y/n had thought about the topic at hand. It reminded her briefly of Colin's caring, protective nature.

"I'm sure you wouldn't. However, Anthony does not understand your developing friendship, in fact we are all surprised by the suddenness."

Y/n shrugged, "Lady Violet and I find solace in each other, I found that her company was quite comforting. Since Lord Y/l/n passed, I have found myself frequently alone-"

Reminded that Y/n was a widow, Penelope rushed to give her condolences, "I am so sorry for your loss." Y/n waved her off, settling back into her chair.

"I know that I am odd and brash. Men especially seem to find my presence quite challenging to tolerate. However, these unfortunate traits of mine are not contagious. I pose no threat to indoctrinating the faire Lady Violet. She is far too principled to succumb to any of my outrageous beliefs." Y/n elongated her final words in jest of her not so sparkling reputation within the Bridgerton household.

Dropping the interrogation, Kate yielded, "I rather like odd and brash, and I am sure Lady Violet finds it as refreshing as I do. You are right though, I doubt anyone could convince her of something lest she had already convinced herself."

Y/n laughed whole heartedly, "She is quite formidable, is she not." She smiled as she reflected upon their last meeting, "And rather unrelenting. When we traveled to the gallery together she saw through my facade and refused to let any topic of conversation expire until she found what she was looking for." The adoration in her voice was clear, and the gleam in her eyes was all too telling.

Penelope's eyes widened as she came to the realization that Y/n's feelings for Violet were not strictly platonic. She looked over at Kate, wondering if she had arrived at the same conclusion.

Unexpectedly, Kate stood, "I trust that with your companionship, Lady Violet will be in good hands. Penelope, we must be on our way or we shall be late for lunch." Penelope bit her tongue despite having more questions, willing to let Kate take the lead out of respect for her seniority.

Y/n stood up as well, "Allow me to walk you to your carriage." They spoke their parting pleasantries and once in the comfort and privacy of the carriage, Penelope immediately turned to Kate.

"I think she is in love with-"

Kate put her hand up, gently interrupting the younger woman, "I am not sure that either of them are cognizant of their own feelings. In due time, they will figure it out between themselves. We must let it run its natural course."

"Will you tell Antony what we have discovered?" Penelope worried her lip, not wanting Y/n to face societal consequences.

"He is much more progressive than you think, we have plenty of friends with the same peculiarity. If anything, this may prove to relieve him of his tension, knowing that his mother in the hands of someone who loves her." She paused, reconsidering, "Although, he has been quite angsty since the memorial did not go as planned."

Penelope hummed, "Could there be another reason for his sudden stress?"

Kate sighed and rubbed her protruding belly, "He has been in a state since I have become pregnant. Anthony fears dying as suddenly as his father, he spends most of his time in the study, estate planning so that I may not worry if he passes early. I think he may be unfairly projecting his anxieties onto Violet." Penelope patted her hand comfortingly and they sat in contemplative silence until they arrived back at the Bridgerton estate.

...

Approximately one hour had passed since the women had arrived to the family home, and in that hour, word had spread like wild fire. Kate told Anthony of Y/n's feelings for Violet. He felt relieved, knowing the widow's intentions were harmless, and apologetic for his outburst. After discussing it with Kate, who had watched her own father remarry, he accepted that it was only right that his mother get a second chance at love. He confessed "I always felt that no man could replace father. Perhaps this is the unlikely solution that allows the coexistence of his memory and mother's happiness."

In his relief he mentioned to Benedict that Lady Y/n was not after his hand, to which Benedict weaseled the true information out of him. Smug he jested, "Well of course she is a homosexual, it is the only explanation as to why she resisted my charms."

Gregory emerged from around a corner, obviously eavesdropping, "You grossly overestimate your charms, brother."

Exasperated, Anthony grimaced, "You are both sworn to secrecy on this matter, it is extremely sensitive and possibly life ruining." Benedict nodded compassionately and Gregory smiled before running off to tell Hyacinth.

On the other side of the house, Penelope had confessed her discovery to Colin, who sought Eloise in confusion. "So Lady Y/n has affection for the fairer sex? Is such not illegal in London?" Eloise nodded at his questioning, "Yes, and it is illegal. Despite being absolutely harmless, it is too taboo to be brought up in court."

Colin paced the room, "And if the two of them are discovered they will no doubt be put on trial, what shall we do then?"

"I'm sure Simon and Daphne have friends in the high courts, we shall have to tell them should the family need to call in a favor." Colin nodded and with Penelope and his sister walking in tow, they found the couple in the drawing room.

Relaying the news, the Duke and Duchess were quick to accept the hypothetical responsibility. The group failed to notice Francesca and John, who sat in the corner quietly watching the interaction.

All had been sworn to secrecy as to not interfere with the budding romance, and by the time dinner arrived, everyone knew of Y/n's feelings save for Violet.

...

The next day Y/n arrived to the Bridgerton estate and was met by a very eager Hyacinth who walked her to the drawing room, "It is so wonderful that you are here. Mother has been positively bereft by your absence, mopping about as though-" She stopped herself, not wanting to reveal Violet's obvious crush, "that is to say she missed you." Y/n smiled at the young girl and her odd giddiness.

They entered the drawing room and the chatter went silent, all eyes flew to Violet, awaiting her reaction. Anthony broke the tension, "My apologies for the prior hostility, Lady Y/l/n, you are a fine companion to my mother." Violet was touched by the sentiment and stood to greet Y/n who responded gracefully, "Apology accepted, Lord Bridgerton. I shall make use of your approval and invite the Viscountess to lunch."

Gathering Y/n's hands in her own she nodded eagerly, "That would be splendid, thank you."

Y/n smiled and linked their arms, guiding her out of the room. Conversation erupted the moment they were out of earshot, the children began debating who would confess their feelings first.

...

"Where are we going to lunch?"

"I have prepared a feast at my house," Y/n exaggerated as they stepped into the carriage. Violet's breathe caught, she had not yet had the privilege of seeing where the Lady resided. Being invited into the home of someone as private as Y/n was not to be taken lightly, it meant she had earned the widow's trust.

Violet quickly remembered to respond in similar jest, "Let's say my hunger is so great that I devour this proposed feast and you are left with nothing, what then shall you do?"

"Eat you, of course," Y/n easily responded, not aware of the innuendo attached to her words. Violet flushed and looked out the window while pursing her lips together. She imagined them tangled in bed sheets, with Y/n's mouth trailing down her body. She shivered and crossed her legs tightly, trying to ignore the sudden fire within her.

Changing the topic, Y/n began, "Please ignore the state of the house, I am in the middle of redecorating and have accomplished little in my free time." Violet nodded in understanding, knowing that the young woman had inherited her husband's many duties to the Queen.

"On the contrary, I would love a house tour."

Y/n smiled brightly and grabbed Violet's hand, "I am absolutely delighted by that." She held Violet's hand for the rest of the journey, enjoying its warmth and running her fingers over the tendons, watching as they twitched.

Once they arrived, Y/n led the way through the house, "Let us start with the third level and work our way down." She showed Violet the library, indoor green house, and the multitude of guest bedrooms. Y/n seemed to get nervous as they got to the second level, purposely avoiding a room that had a large ebony door, intricately carved with the Y/l/n family crest.

Violet pointed to the room before Y/n could slip past, "What's in here," she innocently inquired.

The younger woman's voice cracked, "That was my marital bedroom." Violet squared her shoulders, not wanting to outwardly show her shock. Awkwardly, Y/n offered, "Would you like to see it?" In truth, she did not want to enter the space, as it held the worst memories of her marriage. She dreaded the room and all it stood for.

Not wanting to offend her host, Violet agreed, "Yes, if you would like me to." Y/n's hand reached for her own as she turned the iron knob. The door slowly opened to reveal a room shrouded in darkness, the closed curtains causing the room to be entirely devoid of light. While the rest of the house had undergone major changes, Y/n could not bring herself to return to this room for longer than necessary, feeling disgust over her memories of the bedroom.

Violet looked around the room, the accents of the room were a deep, dark green. The bed was black and the furniture was all leather. On the wall opposing the bed, there was a large stuffed deer's head mounted, surveying the room. She turned to look at her companion, seeing how small Y/n looked amongst the imposing decor. She moved a hand to the small of her back in comfort, "How often would you sleep here?"

"Whenever he demanded it." She said plainly. Violet nodded, feeling a surge of aggression towards the dead man. Lord Y/l/n had made his wife aware of the fact that he could not love her, carried affections for another, yet bed her on the regular. He was an imbecile, completely unaware of the invaluable woman he had married, content to treat her as a house pet. She exhaled her anger and inched closer to Y/n to put her hands on either side of her arms.

"Do you still sleep here?" Please don't sleep here, you don't have to sleep here, she thought. She looked into Y/n's eyes, trying to get her plea across.

"No, I never want to sleep here again." Violet pulled her into a hug, with one hand around Y/n's waist and the other cradling the back of her head. The memories of Lord Y/l/n's touch vanished as Y/n's senses were filled with Violet, the sweet scent of her hair, the soft caress of her skin, and the strong hold of her arms. They enjoyed the vulnerability of the moment, neither wanting to separate, fearing that it would be a long while till their next embrace.

Y/n sighed, "Lunch will be ready soon, we should probably..." she weakly offered. Violet removed her hand from Y/n's head and brought both down to her waist, keeping their bodies pressed against each other. She knew she was being selfish, to take this liberty in the very room that her companion had felt most trapped. Yet, it felt right, to reclaim this small intimacy, to give this to Y/n without the expectation of a sexual favor.

"We probably should. You know... I have quite the expertise when it comes to home decor. I would be honored if you allowed me to redecorate this room." Violet wanted to erase Lord Y/l/n, to unburden Y/n and allow her to live freely in her home without his ghost lingering.

The widow nodded and pulled away from the embrace, "That would be much appreciated. In fact, this could be your room for when you spend the night. I know that you will soon be in search of a dowager house, so in the mean time, if you need an escape, you can stay here." Violet's heart warmed at the thought.

"You would really give me the grandest bedroom?"

"As long as you intend to use it, yes." Y/n responded as if it were obvious. "Would it trouble you to come by in two days time? I have a painter on retainer and we can pick out furniture for your room."

Smiling brightly, Violet interlocked their fingers, "It wouldn't trouble me at all, shall we have lunch now?"

...

Violet returned home feeling as though her mind had quieted. She walked mindlessly through her home, letting her fingers dance along the walls. Although it was past dinner and the usual time they retired, her daughters had all gathered in the drawing room. Violet was startled by the congregation and entered the room. The women all turned to look at her, and Daphne was the first to speak, "How was your night?"

Hyacinth eagerly patted the spot next to her on the couch, smiling like the cat who ate the canary, "You must tell as all about the evening. What did you talk about it? What did you eat?" Eloise put down her book, giving her mother her full attention.

Feeling shy, Violet guffawed, "And what is with this sudden onslaught of inquiries?"

The room bustled once again as everyone feigned disinterest, Eloise reopened her book and shrugged her shoulders, Francesca tinkered with the keys of her piano and Hyacinth made an excuse, "We are simply invested in your friendships, MaMa."

Daphne was the only one that continued to look at her, "Did you have a pleasant time?" She asked softly.

Violet fixed her daughter with a strange look, she hesitated, "Yes, I did." Daphne clapped her hands once and her sisters turned their attention to her, "It is time for bed, ladies, I am sure MaMa does not want to be kept up by our incessant chatter." Sighs emitted from her younger siblings and they clambered off to bed.

Once it was just the two of them, Daphne tried again, "I know you went for lunch, and you obviously stayed for dinner, so what did you do in the hours in between?"

"I'm going to be helping Lady Y/l/n with redesigning a portion of her home, that is all," Violet turned her gaze away from her daughter, not liking the bitter taste the lie left in her mouth.

"That is all?" Daphne knew her mother was close to cracking.

"She is letting me decorate a room for when I stay there." Violet's leg bounced uneasily under her skirt, not liking the direction of the questioning, "I fail to see how any of this is your business, dear."

Daphne put her hands up in concession, "You are right it is not my business... Mama," She began, "we all so desperately want you to be happy. If you have found something-someone who helps you achieve that, then we are pleased for you." Violet's breath caught in her throat. Her children had always been perceptive of her feelings, but for them to catch something that she herself was only just beginning to accept and understand was on an entirely different level.

"How did you know-"

"When Anthony forbade you from seeing her, you sent letters to her every day. I think you forget that the Duke and I are a floor beneath you, we would hear you pacing at night in frustration." Violet put her head in her hands at her daughter's admission. Had this truly been so obvious to everyone else? How could she deny something that everyone already knew?

Daphne put a hand on her shoulder, "We love you, we just want you to be happy." With that she took her leave, and left Violet with her thoughts.

...

The next morning, Colin, Anthony, Daphne and Francesca invited their spouses for a group promenade.

...

Across the Ton, Y/n sat across from Lady Cowper, listening to her drown on about her husband's latest business deal. She had neglected her social calendar and postponed all meetings for the month following Lord Y/l/n's death, and it was now catching up with her. Dropping a few coins on the table to cover her coffee and croissant, Y/n stood.

"I feel in need of some fresh air, would you like to accompany me on a walk in the park?"

Lady Cowper nodded with a saccharine smile, not wanting their time together to end. Linking their arms, she pulled the younger woman tightly to her side, "I am so sorry to hear about the passing of your husband. How have you been?"

Internally rolling her eyes, she responded politely, "I have been as well as one can be, given the circumstances." As they made their way through the empty park, Lady Cowper tugged her towards a near gazebo. Hidden slightly behind a pillar, she asked conspiratorially, "Are you not relieved that he is gone?"

Y/n felt a shiver go down her spine and she separated herself from the woman, "I beg your pardon?"

"You do not have to lie to me, Y/n. I see the way you stare at women of the Ton," She purred, running her fingers across the collar of Y/n's dress. The widow felt bile crawl up her throat at the unwelcome and unearned familiarity.

She pushed Lady Cowper away, causing her to stumble briefly, "You forget yourself. Good day." She made to exit the gazebo and realized that she had an audience far in the distance, the Bridgertons.

...

They stalked towards their home in silence, contemplating what to do with what they had witnessed transpire between Lady Y/l/n and Lady Cowper. They come to the conclusion that it was a lover's spat of some sort, and hesitated to give their mother the news.

"I think Colin should be the one to say it, he is the gentlest," Daphne offered. Anthony nodded in agreement and watched as his younger brother swallowed anxiously. No one wanted to be the bearer of bad news, however, Violet was owed the truth. Colin finally nodded, and by the time they had approached the house, he had planned exactly what to say.

Finding her in the study, Colin slowly approached his mother, "I am sorry to interrupt you," Violet looked up at him with a smile, stilling her quill.

"You are not interrupting, I am simply writing to Lady Y/n about our plans for tomorrow." He gently took the quill from her hand and placed in on the side of the table.

"About that, are you sure that Lady Y/n is available?" She cocked her head to the side, "Why, of course. We made these plans just yesterday."

"I suppose, what I mean to ask is if Lady Y/n already has a companion who accompanies her on similar outings..."

Violet stuttered, "I-well, I do not know. I have never thought to ask... Is there a reason you are wondering?" Violet's heart rate slowly ticked up as she watched her son press his lips together in apology.

"This morning, we witnessed Lady Y/n having a quarrel with Lady Cowper, it seemed... passionate." Violet's heart sank.

"Oh."

"Would you like me to write to her to cancel tomorrow's plans?" Violet nodded silently and left the room. She bounded up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. Shaking, she felt hot tears stream down her face.

That no good trollop Cowper, Violet thought as she envisioned the Lady caressing Y/n's face. She barred her teeth and let out a sorrowful hiss before dissolving into sobs. She pounded her fist on her bed, raging at her own naivety. Of course a beautiful woman such as Y/n would have the women of the Ton accosting her, and to think that she would be the one to capture the widow's heart was improbable at best. She cursed the very day that Lady Cowper was born, wishing a long insufferable death upon the woman.

She had been a fool and given her heart to someone who clearly did not feel the same for her. Perhaps Y/n would offer Lady Cowper the bedroom...

[midnightscramble]

Oh dios mio. I've re-read your Portia x reader and I've got to say that it's absolutely amazing and I can just imagine Portia thinking 'How would her hands feel on her' the sensational touches she would receive. I really hope you have a great day, love. ☺️

Sugar, Sugar Part 3 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thanks for your continued support! If this is not what was envisioned feel free to request again (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: The women start to feel more and more attached to each other. Penelope confronts her mother. In a moment of weakness, Portia breaks their agreement, consequences follow...

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, fingering (Portia receiving), oral (Portia receiving), bottom Portia, internalized homophobia, angry-ish sex, no Beta read

The next night, Portia arrived to the bakery earlier than the agreed upon time. She walked down the aisles, vaguely looking through the shelves as she focused on listening to her baker bustle around the kitchen, obviously preparing for their meeting. She heard a deep sigh of satisfaction emit from the kitchen. As if on its own accord, Portia's mind produced images of Y/n, cheeks flushed and head thrown back as sweat slid down the column of her throat. Blinking back to reality, Portia felt desire settle in her abdomen, sinking as gracefully as a stone falling through still water. She pinched herself, such thoughts were improper, especially since she knew that Y/n's sigh was most definitely attributed to a baking related achievement.

She could not shake the warmth that tinged her cheeks pink, nor how Y/n's soft sigh seemed to echo in her ears. For the rest of the evening she sat with hands beneath her thighs, worried she would be overcome with the want to touch her sweet baker. If Y/n noticed her sudden hesitancy, for once she was polite enough not to mention it.

For the next week, Portia dreamt only of the young baker. While not particularly proud of the development, the Lady selfishly felt eager to sleep after their evening meetings. She could no longer deny her feelings for the other woman. In fact, the harder she consciously fought against it, the more radical her subconscious became in reminding Portia of her sinful desires.

Having experienced so little romantic pleasure in her life, Portia was content to keep this secret to herself, reap the blessings her dreams bestowed upon her. As long as she did not act upon it, it would be a non issue, she simply had to control herself.

...

Well practiced in self control, she continued to see Y/n every evening. However, on the thirteenth night of their agreement, Portia felt her resolve begin to crumble.

Sitting across from each other, Y/n unveiled her latest temptation, a pastry shaped like a heart. They sat in silence, the air around them was alight with electricity, leaving Portia feeling frozen yet energetic. The baker's eyes were soft, and something in her posture was different than other nights. She seemed to have forgone her usual bravado and crassness, that manifested in slouched shoulders and easy movements. Now, Y/n was still in her own unease, face dashed with hopefulness and vulnerability.

Portia swallowed, if she accepted the treat, then these meetings would come to an end. However, the alternative of rejecting the treat made her mouth taste bitter. Her knee bounced under her thick skirt as she considered. The dessert was precious, she wanted to pick it up with her hands and run her fingers along the flaky edges to appreciate its perfection.

Her voice grew quite as she spoke, falling off into a whisper, "Although it is delicate, and undoubtably exquisite, it does not tempt me..." Per usual, the baker gave her a kind smile, yet, tonight's held an element of disappoint. Portia wanted to rectify that, so she reached out and took the baker's hand, "You are so skilled, I'm sure tomorrow you will catch me."

Y/n intertwined their fingers and smiled subtly, "I suppose I must be satisfied with the thoughts of tomorrow," neither moved to extract their hand.

...

Portia returned home, feeling an unfamiliar ache in her chest which urged her to go back to the bakery and beg for a taste of the baker's heart. While it soothed her to be able to touch Y/n, she felt a pang of guilt from causing the subtle distress the baker experienced over tonight's rejection. It had all felt so different, as though they were speaking another language, one which Portia seemed to mispronounce every time she attempted to speak.

Sitting at her vanity, she brushed through her hair, trying to find a calming rhythm. A knock sounded at her door and having been so deep in thought, she jumped at the intrusion. Penelope entered slowly, looking rather sheepish.

"Mother, I must ask you an uncomfortable question..."

Portia sighed, "On with it," she prompted.

"I heard a rumor," Penelope could not out right say she had been following her mother, "that you have been having midnight rendezvous with a baker in town." Portia felt her throat constrict and if she hadn't already been sitting she surely would have lost balance. Goosebumps raised on her arms and a shiver climbed up her spine.

"She's my friend, who happens to have a very busy day and is only available at night." The excuse was rushed and Portia's eyes shifted away in an effort to hide.

"So you do not deny it?"

Portia mentally cursed herself, denying it altogether would have been much easier but now it was too late, "No, I do not."

Penelope continued, seemingly talking aloud rather than asking an actual question, "Then why lie to us and say you are off to bed, when you are really leaving to see a friend..."

The Lady's blood ran cold, she looked at her daughter and watched in abject horror as Penelope pieced it together. "You fancy the baker," It was stated as fact, almost light heartedly as her daughter was all too pleased with her own deduction.

"Penelople-"

"There is no use in lying, Mother. Although, shocked as I am, I must remind you of something," Penelope raised an eyebrow before quoting the woman, "It is foolish to be unreasonable about what you can achieve."

Portia's eyes watered as Penelope threw her cruel words back at her, before she could come up with a retort, her daughter had fled. She was left to reflect upon the brutal advice. She knew in her heart that she wanted the baker, but it would be unreasonable to believe in the possibility of having her. When she retired for the night, she committed herself to enjoying tonight's dream, as it was the last one she would allow herself to have. She wasn't sure how she had so stupidly let herself become hopeful, after all, Lady's don't have dreams.

...

The next morning Portia accompanied her daughters and their husbands to the Hawkins Hot Air Ballon Event. Although in a depressed state, she choked through an apology to Penelope on the carriage ride over.

"I am sorry. I-" Portia scrunched her nose and sniffed in discomfort, "You are right to have been so angry with me..."

Penelope pressed her lips together in sympathy, "I do not want to fight with you, Mother."

"Nor, I with you. If it is Mister Bridgerton you truly want, then you mustn't waste your time with any other." With a closed lip smile, Penelope nodded and gazed out the window. While their relationship was far from healed, this was certainly an improvement.

Penelope bit her lip, "Do be careful, with your baker. I do not want to see you hurt."

Portia chuckled, "You need not worry, it will be over by tonight." Her daughter eyed her with concern but dropped the subject.

Once the carriage came to a halt, Portia plastered on a smile, ready to make the most of the day instead of dreading the evening to come. She watched as Penelope left and realized that Mister Bridgerton was already watching her daughter with an eagle's eye. She smiled, knowing Penelope would be successful.

She herself filtered in and out of stands, pausing at a stall with various jams and pastries.

"Would you care for a sample, my Lady?" She nodded and was handed a lithe, croissant with sweet apricot jam in the center. Without thinking, she took a bite. As her tongue hit the jam she felt bile rise in her throat. Pulling back she realized she had officially broken her deal with the baker. Her mouth went bitter and all hunger was lost. Out of politeness, she finished the pastry and inquired about where the stand's main store was located in the Ton. She darkly thought about how she would need a new baker eventually.

...

Evening fell, and Portia made her way from the Event directly to the bakery, with the full intention of ending her late night escapades with Y/n. When she arrived, the usual table was not set, in fact all the chairs had been put up for closing. She heard grunting coming from the kitchen and the sound of metal being tossed into a sink, loudly echoing into the store front. Portia flinched slightly.

She called out for the baker, "Y/n?" Silence stung through the air and Portia approached the kitchen warily.

With a red nose and watery eyes, Y/n glared at her, "What do you want?" She wiped at her cheeks, trying to make the evidence of her hurt disappear.

Tentatively, she took a step forward, "I came for our usual meeting-"

Y/n flexed her jaw before seething, "I know that you made an inquiry into hiring Mr. Thompson for your baked goods."

Portia went to deny it but was cut off, "Do not lie to me..." Y/n stalked forward, and by reflex Portia stepped back.

She connected with the wooden prep table and her heart beat loudly in her ears. The baker's hands rested on each side of her, gripping the edge of the table fiercely. With their faces near inches apart, Y/n accused, "Did you like what he had to offer..."

"No," Portia choked out, lip quivering with emotion.

"Do you think he could satisfy your hunger like I could?" Portia shook her head and flushed, unable to speak. She watched as the baker's eyes darkened and the pinch in her eyebrows relaxed.

"Allow me to tempt you tonight?" Y/n's eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips, coyly asking permission.

As if she were emerging from water and gasping for breath, Portia responded, "Yes-" The baker cut her off and surged forward to connect their lips. Y/n's tongue slid across her bottom lip and Portia instinctively opened her mouth, encouraging the woman to deepen the kiss.

Inhaling through her nose, she felt faint as her mouth was thoroughly devoured. Y/n's deft tongue caressed her own and Portia sighed into to kiss. Strong hands came to rest on her waist, slowly grabbing the fabric and scrunching it up. The Lady mewled at the possibility of the touch which she had only ever dreamed of. She slid her fingers into the baker's hair, reveling in the softness of the locks, and how right it felt to cradle her head. For the first time in her life, Portia experienced an unbridled pleasure from sharing a kiss.

She shivered in anticipation as Y/n parted her legs. The baker disconnected their mouths and moved her kisses dow Portia's neck. Her hand stopped as she palmed the Lady's inner thigh, and she nipped at Portia's ear, waiting for permission.

"Please," Portia whined needly, moving her face to try and chase the baker's lips. Y/n gave her a sweet peck, and rubbed their noses against each other. Not wanting to deny the woman further, she moved her hand to cup the woman's sex. Their foreheads connected and Portia let out a contented sigh as Y/n ground the palm of her hand against her. The baker watched as her eye's fluttered shut and her breathes became shorter. Moving her thumb to rub the Lady's clit, she traced along her lips tantalizingly slow, watching how her hips twitched forward. Having gathered enough wetness, she slowly sunk her fingers into Portia's opening. Her neck flexed as she let out a silent moan, and her knees became weak at the sensation.

Pinning her further onto the table for support, Y/n moved a hand to her lower back, encouraging Portia to thrust her hips to meet her fingers. With cheeks as red as her hair, Portia delighted in the guidance, and surrendered all control to the baker. Rhythmically, Portia began to meet her every thrust. However, once she had gotten comfortable in the pattern, it changed. Y/n curled her fingers, dragging them along Portia's walls in a come hither motion. Portia's hips stuttered and a cry left her mouth out of ecstasy. Y/n felt Portia start to tighten around her fingers, and she knew the woman was close.

Portia's abdomen tightened, and she was surprised with herself, not entirely familiar with the sensation. The baker gave her little time to think about it as she dropped to her knees. Portia was confused by the action until she felt a hard lick journey up her inner thigh. Although slightly miffed, she would not deny the woman any part of her. Portia's hands clutched at the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as Y/n sucked her clit between her lips. She gasped sharply and barred down on Y/n's fingers, falling over the edge. Administering kitten licks and slow pumps, Y/n helped Portia through her orgasm until she felt her walls stop spasming.

Y/n removed her hand slowly and rose to her feet, giving Portia a tender kiss which the woman met in earnest. Her hands rested on the baker's shoulders as she rested her head in the crook of Y/n's neck, wanting reprieve after such thrilling intimacy. Y/n chuckled and held the Lady, "Now, can I tempt you with an actual dessert?"

Portia laughed but didn't move from her position, "it would only be appropriate."

[midnightscramble]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request a part two to the recent Portia x female reader. It's put together wonderfully. I've been looking for fanfics like this 😭✊

Sugar, Sugar Part 2 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: thanks you so much, I appreciate your kindness and am glad to be of service! I took a lot of liberties with this so if it is not what you want feel free to request something else (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Portia negotiates with Y/n, who is much more intuitive than she thought. A deal is struck between the baker and the Lady. Penelope follows her mother into town, and debates the contents of her next column.

Warnings: Anxiety, brief nail/skin picking, discussion of being widowed, no Beta read

Mornings at the Featherington estate were not to be described as anything but dreadful. Foul moods persisted in all the women and the men knew to take their breakfast separately. Portia sat with her daughters around a small table and they sipped their tea quietly. With squinted eyes they peered at each other over the rims of their cups.

Flatly, Portia began, "I will be going into town on business today. Penelope, Mrs. Varley will accompany you to the Cowper's garden party."

"I am not in need of a chaperone, and besides I am certain that I will not be welcome there, so I will not be attending."

Portia sighed and put her tea cup in it's dish, "Now is not the time to turn down invitations. Since Cousin Jack, or whomever he was, took off, the Ton has been especially gracious in not associating our good family name with his poor behavior. Let us not make light of their tolerance. You will go to the Cowper's party, that is final."

Penelope inhaled sharply, "Fine. If you would excuse me, I am going to take the rest of my breakfast in my room.” Portia scoffed and waved her hand towards the door, inviting Penelope to leave.

…

Once Portia’s carriage took off, Penelope began her covert exit. She had absolutely no intention of attending the Cowper's garden party. It served no purpose to her, as anyone that Cressida invited would surly be aware the unpleasantness between the two, and thus be tight lipped or quick to quip around her. She would rather spend her afternoon in town, lurking in shop corners and listening to other's converse.

...

Arriving at the bakery, Portia felt a chill run down her spine once the aroma hit her nose. Her stomach sank in anticipation, she could not let the comforting environment fool her, Miss Y/l/n was a business woman, and if she had made it this far then she was obviously cunning. Portia never liked cunning women, they saw through her too easily, identifying her as one of their own.

Y/n's head popped out from behind a shelf at the sound of the shop bell, "Ah, Lady Featherington, wonderful to see you again, how did you enjoy the sweets?" She smiled at the redheaded woman, whose sharp edges and dark dress looked completely out of place among the pastel deserts that surrounded her.

"I'm afraid my daughters and their husbands had gotten to them before I had a chance," She should have lied, said some sort of pleasant remark about the pastries, to butter the woman up. However, it seemed as though regardless of how many times she ran through the interaction in her head, she was unequipped in the moment. She took a deep breath and turned to examine a shelf of bagged goodies with faux interest.

The baker's smile faltered, feeling an odd dissatisfaction at Portia's statement. She pursed her lips to contain her feelings, "Well did your daughter's enjoy them?"

Portia turned back around, "Yes, they have sent me with a list of what they would like to order for the foreseeable future."

"Wonderful, let me go get my ledger and then we can discuss. Why don't you take a seat and I'll be back in a minute." Before the Lady could respond, Y/n had already moved to the backroom kitchen, leaving Portia on her own in the front of the shop. She took a seat at one of the tables and drummed her fingers on the surface. She looked out the windows, surveying the mostly empty part of town.

She was unable to inspect the view thoroughly, as Y/n came back out, with her ledger tucked under her arm, holding a tea cup in each hand, and balancing a plate with pastries on her forearm. If the baker had not interrupted her window gazing, she would have caught a glimpse of familiar red hair, dodging into an alley way to not be seen by her mother.

Placing the cups down, Y/n explained, "My apologies for the wait, I figured some hot chocolate would be appropriate. It's a French recipe I've been tampering with, do tell me if its too bitter?"

Portia smiled politely and took a sip. Surprised, she hummed in delight, "That is quite good, not bitter at all..." The baker smiled widely, and felt her cheeks warm at the genuine compliment. Portia put her cup down and moved her hands beneath the table, picking at the skin around her nails as she prepared herself to breach the next topic of conversation. Y/n pushed the plate of pastries between them, and grabbed one for herself to encourage the other woman to follow suit. Portia didn't take the bait.

Irked, Y/n was about to offer verbally, but Portia beat her to speaking, "Shall we discuss the payments for your fine sweets?"

She tossed her hands into the air in frustration, "How do you know my sweets are of fine quality if you have not tried them?" The other woman widened her eyes, this was not going the way she had anticipated, and the baker seemed to care little for conversational etiquette.

"I am not some pet. I cannot eat on command," Portia scoffed, "but if you must know I am not keen on sweets." Y/n narrowed her eyes, everyone was keen on sweets, and the lie was far too blatant given the way she eyed the pastries. Sucking on her teeth, she figured that this must be part of Portia's negotiation strategy. Y/n had never had a stingy client, hesitant one's sure, but never frugal. They did not negotiate, in fact, they threw extra money at her to express their satisfaction once they realized her talent for baking. In this regard, Portia was unlike other members of the Ton.

"Well that is because you have not tried mine." The baker smiled cockily, her eyes holding an intensity that made Portia stutter her response, "I- That is quite the claim, Miss Y/n."

Y/n leaned back in her chair with raised eyebrows. Portia's cagey behavior somewhat reminded her of herself after her husband had passed, a time where she could barely make ends meet. It clicked with her in an instance, the Featheringtons must be experiencing financial troubles.

She hummed, "Well, then allow me to make a proposition." Y/n leaned forward and put her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together, "Every evening you shall meet here with me for an hour and I will tempt you with desserts. For as long as you can withstand, you will not have to pay for your orders."

Portia pressed her lips together, trying not to seem too eager for the deal, "That sounds fair, are those the only conditions?"

Without breaking their gaze, Y/n moved her head to the side in suspicion, "If I hear that while at some social gathering you partook in dessert, then the agreement is off."

"Deal." The baker inhaled and her eyes darkened slightly, something deep inside of her, something nasty and possessive, was all too pleased with this turn of events. Portia was her client, and her client alone. Only her sweets would grace those plump ruby lips- She sat back to try and clear her head.

"Now, what would you like to include in your order?"

...

Penelope watched the interaction of the two women, noting her mother's odd behavior. Portia seemed to teeter between being relaxed by the other woman's presence to flummoxed by it. In her pocket sized notebook, she made note of the strangeness.

...

Evening struck, and as agreed upon, Portia made her way back into town. She made a flimsy excuse to her children about turning in early and made a swift departure. Unconvinced, Penelope followed after her.

Although she knew this was purely business related, she could not stop the way her heart pounded in her chest. It was scandalous to be out this late, on her own, still dressed in dinner attire. However she was undeniably excited to see the baker. She had prepared topics of conversation ahead of time, knowing that a lapse in silence would goad her into eating.

Illuminated by candles strewn here and there, the bakery's ambiance felt particularly hypnotic, lulling Portia into the safety of it's warmth. A table in the center of the seating area was dressed with cutlery and a platter in the middle, covered by a silver cloche. Coming from the kitchen with two cups in hand, Y/n smiled at Portia. She knew that there was not a treat in the world that would tempt Portia on the first night of their deal, so she elected for baking a simple passion fruit cake, decorated with whipped cream and drizzled jam atop.

"Take a seat Lady Featherington," She placed, what Portia noticed to be, two cups of coffee on the table. An odd choice given the drinks well known abilities of appetite suppression.

The woman sat across from each other and Y/n uncovered the dessert. Portia narrowed her eyes and sniffed, "While it does have a delicious appearance, it does not tempt me."

Y/n hid her smirk behind her cup before taking a long sip, "I will keep that in mind when planning for tomorrow's temptation."

Portia nodded and began her scripted questioning, "How did you learn to bake?"

The two women engaged in conversation easily, sharing light hearted details of their upbringings and current lives. Portia had to abandon her planned topics, as Y/n seemed more interested in hearing her talk, asking her questions. The intense attention of the baker made her flush. In all her life, no one had listened to her speak with such devotion to detail and scrutiny of exaggerations. Upon multiple instances, Portia found herself having to change routes as Y/n identified her lies and gave her a pointed look, alerting her that she had been caught.

The hour expired and Portia gathered herself as Y/n bid her a goodnight, "I will see you tomorrow."

"You shall."

...

Portia was smiling as she got ready for bed, remembering the way Y/n threw her head back when she laughed. The memory proved contagious as she found herself chuckling softly.

A knock sounded at the door and Portia's smiled dropped as she was brought back to reality, "Come in."

Phillipa entered her room slowly, smiling brightly, "MaMa, I think I have done it..."

Portia lost her breath for a moment, "Do you mean to tell me- its quite early, how can you be sure?"

"A woman knows when she's with child," Phillipa airily responded while shrugging her shoulders. She rushed forward to hug her daughter.

"Oh, Phillipa, I am so proud of you," She cradled her face in her palms and gazed at her hopefully. "You must get plenty of rest, and pray for a boy." Phillipa skipped out of the room and started giggly, leaving Portia to assume that Mister Finch had been waiting outside the room for her.

As she tucked herself into bed she realized that she no longer needed the services of the baker. In truth, she did not want their meetings to cease. She began to reason with herself; it would be good to keep the house filled with sweets, in case guests arrived at calling hour, she did have one single daughter after all.

Settled, she allowed herself to fall asleep, thinking of tomorrow's meeting.

...

When said meeting arrived, Portia had elected for a simpler gown, feeling like she did not have to put on a show for her new friend. It was a deep purple piece that had loose sleeves, the material heavy enough to keep her warm and light enough to not constrict her movements.

The tables had moved since their last meeting, with chairs stacked upon all but one, an obvious sign of the store having been closed. Adorned with a table cloth and two sets of plates, the baker had set up a table by the window. Y/n emerged from the back, handing Portia her tea cup directly, and motioning for her to follow to the table. The red head followed quickly, smiling at the familiarity. It was only the closest of confidants who could greet her wordlessly.

"I present to you..." Y/n picked up the cloche, "chocolate chip cookies." She could tell the Lady was underwhelmed and was incredibly pleased with the outcome.

The two women sat across from each other, both playing their own game, with the same goal of extending their meetings.

"They do not tempt me, I suppose we shall just have to fill the rest of the hour with conversation." Portia pursed her lips innocently.

"Wonderful, I had a topic in mind," Portia tilted her head curiously, "What was your husband like?"

Portia stuttered, "I well, I got married my first year out, the Featherington family was quite respectable. He was charming enough and titled, there was not much more I could ask for."

Y/n hummed and sipped her tea, "Did you not care much for a love match?"

Taking a moment to think about it, Portia let her eyes wonder around the room, "I was raised without the expectation of one. It seemed to be an extra expense that only fools could afford," she took a breath, "did you love your husband?" For an unidentifiable reason, Portia felt her chest pinch while she waited for the response.

The baker looked down at the table, allowing a small smile to grace her lips, "In a way, I did. He was my dearest friend, but we discovered our incompatibility as husband and wife after we had gotten married."

Confused, Portia pressed, "Incompatibility? As in you argued frequently?"

Scrunching her nose, Y/n shook her head and hesitated to respond, "Incompatible in regards to how a man and woman couple..."

Picking up on the implication, she nodded in agreement, "I completely understand. My husband and I were similar, although it did result in the births of my three daughters, and I would suffer it again in a heartbeat to obtain them. Do you have children?"

"No, there was a singular attempt on the wedding night and then we ceased trying, we came to an agreement of sorts."

Portia could not withhold her gasp, "You only tried once?"

The baker laughed, "With him, yes." Portia blanched and let a laugh escape her out of surprise. It seemed her baker never ceased to scandalize her.

"Do not be confused though. It was a part of our agreement, to free each other, and have relations independent of our marriage. My husband was very compassionate and tolerant, I was very lucky to have found him." With a sudden change of thought, Y/n cocked her head at Portia, "Did you ever take on a partner aside from your husband?"

The red head laughed, "No, there was one man who almost charmed me. He used my desperation for respect and security against me, it was a very confusing, vulnerable time for my family. My affection for him turned out to be nothing more than chasing the feelings he imparted on me, not for the man himself." Cousin Jack had been an ugly reminder of her inability to connect with men.

Y/n nodded deeply, "When I first met my husband, his attention felt like basking in the sun. I learned quickly that same feeling could be found in anyone showing me attention, it just so happened that he had been the first."

"Perhaps someone should write a book, to help guide young ladies through courtship," Portia offered and they both laughed.

"I'm sure if we put our minds together, we could cover it all," Y/n joked.

They spent the rest of the evening laughing back and forth, discussing hypothetical chapters of their romantic guide.

"And I can write the final chapter," Y/n put her hands in the air and slowly spread them as if the title would appear "how to find a lover you actually like," Portia laughed indecently at that and felt he cheeks turn red at the thought. She wondered distantly who the baker invited into her bed, but could not bring herself to imagine Y/n being touched by a man.

Portia wanted to know more, desperately so, however the distant sound of the towns bell tower reminded the women that the hour had ceased. Her questions would have to wait until tomorrow.

...

Penelope watched from a distance as her mother stood from the table. She signaled her carriage to come to her, as to arrive home before her Portia did.

The young woman would continue to track her mother's evening movements until she could identify the reason for them. If this were a simple friendship, the baker could surely visit the Featherington estate during calling hour, and thus its complicated nature was revealed.

She knew it was high time to include her family in the Lady Whistledown column again, it was the only way to avoid suspicion from the Queen. With her sisters behaving themselves, relatively, the burden of being the subject of gossip would have to fall to her mother. However, Lady Whistledown had a reputation for correctness, delivering the truth with accuracy and totality. Penelope would not be able to publish until she discovered exactly why her mother was making nightly visits to the town's favorite baker.

[midnightscramble]

Hi, how about a violet Bridgestone x reader, courting story maybe where violets kids feel like reader is replacing edmund? Thanks!

Promenading with Widows Part 1 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author's Note: This is dedicated to @blueberrycoffee19. No author is perfect and bear in mind that asks are taken as guidelines. Please enjoy and Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet befriends a mysterious stranger in the park. Lady Y/n arrives at the Bridgerton estate during calling hour, confusing Violet's children. For the first time in years, Violet skips Sunday mass. A meeting is arranged to clarify intentions.

Warnings: ankle injury, implied period typical homophobia, implied period typical sexism, discussion of spousal deaths, strong argumentative language (Anthony yells at Violet), brief religious guilt.

The morning mist had yet to settle across the Ton. Nevertheless, Violet decided to brave the slight chill in an effort to clear her mind. Having the innocent intention of supporting their mother, the Bridgerton children had all congregated back to the family estate for the anniversary of Edmund's death. With spouses and grandchildren in tow, the house was more crowded than ever, leaving little space for the woman to breathe.

Taking a single footman with her, she had fled to the town's lustrous garden, caring little that five in the morning was not an appropriate time to be walking along through foliage. Ordering him to man the carriage, she began a quick paced stroll, letting her frustration and annoyance empower her stride. Violet failed to notice the changing scenery, continuing onto an unmarked dirt path that weaved through the un-manicured trees.

Light weakly filtered through the leaves, casting an inconvenient shadow across the path, perfectly concealing a divot in the dirt. Violet's ankle rolled and she yelped as she fell forward. Catching herself on her hands, she hissed through clenched teeth. This was not the relaxing walk she had been hoping for. She tried to apply pressure to it and stand, only to collapse again with a groan. Violet finally took in her surroundings, and quickly came to realize that the route she was on seemed thoroughly neglected, with weeds and vines covering portions of the path. Bleakly, she wondered how long it would take for a search party to find her.

A twig snapped in the distance and Violet's heart hammered, she glanced in every direction to try and locate the culprit. In the far distance she caught sight of what appeared to be a woman's figure. Relieved she called out, "Hello!"

A startled gasp came from the woman, "Oh!, Hello there?" Lady Y/n could not track where the disembodied voice had suddenly emerged from.

"I am in need of your assistance, you see I've fallen!" she called to the stranger.

Lady Y/n's eyes widened, "I see, keep talking and I shall find my way to you!"

...

Y/n offered her arm to Violet, allowing her to pull herself up from the path. Unbalanced, she swayed slightly while trying to maneuver on one foot. Rather brashly, Y/n pulled Violet's arm around her shoulder, and brought an arm to her waist, successfully taking the weight off her injured side.

Dazed by the foreign contact Violet started to ponder aloud, "Where on Earth did you come from?" Y/n chuckled in surprise, causing Violet's cheeks to burn in embarrassment. While the situation they were in was precarious, that did not mean social graces would be abandoned. "Pardon me. I meant to inquire as to-"

Sending the brunette a sideways look, she interuppted, "From the other side of the garden."

Violet rebuffed, "There is another side of the garden?"

"You must be from the central Ton." Y/n hummed as she made a quick study of the woman as they walked. By her clothes, she could tell Violet was of high status, no doubt a Lady of some kind, or even a Duchess.

Slightly irked, Violet chewed on the inside of her cheek before defensively responding, "Yes I am. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton." Despite her imposition, she managed to make the introduction with her head held high. If she hadn't felt sorry for the woman's pain, Y/n would have laughed at the irony.

"Should I address you as such, Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton? Or do you have an actual name?" Violet guffawed at the gall of this woman. She was somehow biting in a delightful way, and the smirk she adorned allowed her company to know her comment was in jest.

Violet found herself smirking back as she responded, "Violet, Violet Bridgerton."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady Violet."

...

Arriving at the gates of the garden, Y/n raised an arm towards Violet's carriage, waving it over.

Sniffing in posture, she nonchalantly questioned Violet, "I presume you shall make it home without furthering your injuries?"

Violet laughed at the teasing, "Perhaps you should see me home yourself..." She trailed off as the forwardness as her words registered. She stammered, "That is so I -I can properly thank you for you assistance- all that you've done for me." While blessed with many gifts such as beauty and intelligence, Violet had always been lacking when it came to navigating social relations outside of her home.

Even her one true friend, Lady Danbury, had been intricuintly tied to her family in some way. Violet never understood why she had such difficulty acquiring female friends. Perhaps it was the unwelcoming nature of other women in the Ton, too keen on gossiping and subtle social competitions. However, with this fine stranger she had met today, she knew she was not unwelcome. Her sudden nerves could only be attributed to feeling intimidated. She wanted this mystery woman to like her.

"Perhaps later in the day, I'm afraid I have some business to attend to, or you could join me on such ventures?" Y/n smiled and removed her hand from Violet's waist and allowed the footman to take over.

Violet released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, "Sounds wonderful," as she was being ushered into the carriage it occurred to her that she did not know her strange savior's name.

She called through the open carriage window, "Forgive me for the overdue introduction, I did not catch your name," Y/n smiled up at her softly.

"Lady Y/n Y/l/n." Violet's smile faltered as it dawned on her. She had spent the morning promenading with the recently deceased Lord Y/l/n's widow who, intriguingly, was not in mourning attire.

...

Back at the Bridgerton estate, Violet changed into shorter shoes that pressed loosely around her ankles. The house had awakened in her absence and despite having their partners to keep them in check, it appeared as though the collective presence of her children caused them to revert to childish bickering.

"Daphne, you cannot claim to have been father's favorite, especially given that he is not here to testify on his own behalf," Anthony huffed, licking the tip of his finger a diligently flipping a page of the Bible.

Rolling her eyes, she stripped the book out of his hands, "He undeniably favored me, that is why I want to be the one to read the scriptures of mourning aloud after mass."

Sitting at the small table playing cards with his sister, Gregory piped up, "Why are we remembering him tomorrow when in fact the anniversary of father's death was two days ago-" cut off by Hyacinth, she answered "Because MaMa delights in Sunday services, now please, If you would only play your hand my winning would be immienent."

Feigning a yawn, he stretched out, "Sorry dear sister, it appears the game must wait till tomorrow."

She reached out to pinch him, but her hand was caught by Eloise, "It is not fair to play such games with him, Hyacinth," Gregory smirked victoriously, "He is not of your caliber of intelligence, I dare say playing with him is so unchallenging that you may as well be playing with a child."

Affronted, Gregory stood up, "If anyone needs me, I shall be in the garden practicing my archery,"

From her position on the couch, Violet finally felt the need to interfere, "Gregory, do take someone with you, I do not want a repeat of what happened Christmas Eve when you received the bow and arrow, and thought it brilliant to make off into the night to hunt pigeons." She looked at him pointedly and his ears burned with embarrassment.

Looking towards the other men in the room, he defended himself, "I killed eight pigeons-"

"And impaled your hand." Violet raised her eyebrows and the room quieted, "Francesca dear, would you and Lord Kilmartin accompany Gregory, I know I can trust the two of you not to encourage him beyond his capabilities."

"Of course MaMa," the couple smiled kindly and Gregory followed them out the room, Hyacinth trailed after them shortly.

...

A footman led Lady Y/n up to the parlor, announcing her presence to Violet, "The Lady Y/n Y/l/n."

Violet stood abruptly, smiling with inhibition. "Lady Y/n," she went up to her and put a hand on her arm, "I am so glad you took up my invitation,"

Playfully she nudged the other woman, "How could I deny the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton?" Violet threw her head back and laughed. Benedict crossed the room and placed himself in front of Violet, "I assume my mother has somehow arranged for us to meet?" He suavely took her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it. Violet's eyes bulged and she was about to ramble an apology, but stopped when Y/n eyed her over his shoulder.

"My apologies for your confusion, Mister Bridgerton. I am here to call upon Lady Violet," Y/n smiled warmly at the woman, "and invite her on a buisness outing."

Miffed, Benedict retracted but gave the woman a leveled stare. "Oh, that would be lovely, should I change for the occasion?"

"You look splendid as you are," Y/n intertwined her arm with Violet's, causing the woman to blush faintly, "Now tell me, do you like art, Lady Bridgerton?"

...

In the carriage, Y/n explained that Violet would be accompanying her to a private viewing of a new gallery that would potentially be on display in the royal palace.

Violet pondered, how was it that Y/n had that sort of connection, to preview art and decide if it met their formidable Queen's standards. She pursed her lips and decided to prod, "My deepest condolences on the passing of Lord Y/l/n, he was a domineering figure in this community." While the Lady had meant it as a compliment, Y/n knew all too well of his "domineering" nature.

"Yes, it was a great loss for the community," she answered diplomatically. Violet bit her lip, they were already two hours into their journey to the gallery. If she offended Lady Y/n, she would most likely face no repercussion, as the woman was obligated to return her home regardless. So, she pushed on, "and a great loss for you?"

Y/n met her eyes quickly, evaluating whether Violet could be trusted, "A great burden indeed," Violet hummed at the double meaning and let you continue, "It seems the only thing I have gained is a great deal of responsibility."

Violet was not sure she had ever met such a character like Y/n, who spoke in entendres and cleverly concealed her enjoyment of agency and independence. The woman was a cat, sweet looking to those who underestimated her, and formidable to those who saw through the guise. Violet liked what she saw.

Having gotten her answer, she changed the topic, "Is it tough being alone in the estate? After Edmund passed-" she restarted, "Even with the company of my children, I felt lonesome."

Y/n shrunk slightly against her seat, "I... Yes, it is rather lonesome..." She bit her lip, "In truth," Violet perked up, "the late Lord Y/l/n was a man who took up space. When he entered a room he consumed it, and when you get accustomed to such... life without it, while peaceful, is empty." She looked down at her hands, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.

Violet reached for her hands, she found it peculiar how touching this woman came so naturally to her, like their skins were meant to meet. Lady Y/n had soft hands, cold yet not overly icy, perfectly complimenting Violet's own, which had a tendency to run hot.

As she gazed upon her fondly she started to understand her strange savior, "I have noticed that it is particularly difficult for young women, such as yourself, to be married to older Lords. The language of love changes vastly between each generation."

Y/n barked out a laugh unexpectedly, "He did not love me, he had been pinning over Joanna Cowper since they were babes!" Violet blanched and her lips turned up at the sudden tone shift of conversation.

"You must be joking."

"He wrote her letters every morning and every night until the day he died. He admired her 'pious nature' and 'endless devotion towards sensibility', in fact he would often implore me to be the same."

Violet laughed, unable to imagine the unconventional widow behaving sensibly, "Oh, I cannot even fathom what that would entail for you."

"Lots of kneeling and begging for salvation." Y/n put her hands up in mock prayer and Violet laughed loudly. A shiver ran up her spin and she briefly felt sick with herself for laughing at something so blasphemous.

...

By the time they had arrived, the evening had turned to morning, and the two Ladies began inspecting each piece, passing comments between each other. The artist stood nervously in the corner, while renowned in his field, the possibility of being hung in the palace was no small feat.

Y/n turned to Violet, "So which do you favor?"

"I do so love the ones of valleys, however the depictions of roman battles are quite compelling," Y/n nodded encouragingly then looked over her shoulder at the footmen who stood against the wall. Understanding her silent command, they dismounted Violet's favorites and passed an envelope to the artist.

Violet spluttered, "Are you certain- I am not sure if they will be up to the Queen's-"

"They are beautiful Violet, you have quite the eye for this," Y/n winked and started towards the exit, with Violet trailing eagerly after her with flushed cheeks. For someone who's late husband had the ability to consume a room, the same was proving true to his wife. Violet felt as if she was in the belly of the beast and wanted to be nowhere else.

...

The roads were unnaturally empty in the Ton upon their return. Y/n commented on such, "I suppose most would be attending early morning mass," Violet's face fell. She had missed the service.

...

"Anthony, how many times must I apologize?" Violet paced as her son's face turned red with anger.

He smoothed a hand through his hair, "I came all this way, with my pregnant wife, to memorialize your late husband and my father and you are out galavanting with some conniving widow!"

"She is not conniving-"

Anthony took three long strides to tower over her, "Do you think she is actually your friend, MaMa." Violet backed away and let her face pinch up in distaste, she did not like this version of her son one bit.

"It is all a little too convenient that near weeks after her husband dies she is promenading with you, coming to our home and introducing herself to Benedict. You may as well have been associating with some common harlot-"

Violet snapped, "Anthony! you will not say such things in my house-"

"Oh, but it is not your house, Dowager Viscountess, it is mine, and as long as you are in my house, you will not see her again." He crossed the room and stared at the fireplace.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Violet tried to explain herself, "You all arrive here, bombard me with your sudden appetite for immortalizing your father, whom we have been without for fifteen years, and expect me to act like that is a novel idea? I visit your father's grave everyday-"

"You didn't yesterday." He gripped the fire mantel tightly.

"I was preoccupied,"

"Is this friend of yours more important than family? More important than father?"

"I will not compare the two, it is completely different-"

He looked over his shoulder at her, "It really isn't... I do not know what is compelling you to abandon him like this but I hope it is worth it."

...

Alone in her room Violet sat, slumped over her Vanity. She was not sure how the day had gotten away from her so quickly. She had been peacefully sent adrift by Y/n only to be caught in Anthony's rip-current and dragged back ashore, unable to escape the land she is tied to. Violet knew Anthony would turn the woman away if she called upon her again, and she rather not Lady Y/n think it was on her account. She resolved to write a letter, warning the young widow of the situation:

Dearest Lady Y/n Y/l/n

I am writing to you because our acquaintance has made quite the stir within my family. I would not think it wise to meet again until the ill will curried for you by my children dwindles. Although we cannot meet in person, I hope writing to each other will nurse our blooming friendship.

Yours,

Dowager Viscountess Bridgertion

...

Six days later, at precisely twelve in the afternoon, a footman strolled into the parlor. "Lady Bridgertion, a gift has arrived for you from Lady Y/l/n." All chatter in the room ceased as Anthony had taken it upon himself to make everyone aware of the poisonous widow. The footman placed a small package on the table and exited swiftly, not wanting part in the drama that would inevitably follow.

Hyacinth approached slowly, "Anthony, it would be rude to return a gift..." His younger siblings all looked at him with curious, pleading eyes. Feeling his resolve crack, he kept the letter that accompanied the gift and handed the package to Hyacinth, who eagerly rushed to their mother.

"Well go on," he tiredly took a seat.

Violet licked her lips, Y/n had not responded to her letters, despite sending one each day since they parted. She laid awake most nights in anticipation. Pacing her room she would occasionally look out her window, wondering if this was the moment her correspondence would be returned. Now, the moment was upon her. She looked across the room. Selfishly, she wanted to open it in the privacy of her bedroom where no one could taint the precious gift from her friend. Regardless of her true desires, she began prying at the corners of the delicate packaging.

Inside was a book titled Precaution, Violet thumbed through the pages and quickly realized that there was discrete notes left on the pages, the young woman's way of secretly communicating with her. She closed it delicately and shrugged innocently towards her son. Bored, Anthony opened the letter:

Dearest Dowager Viscountess Bridgertion,

I searched long and far for a book that truly encapsulates the over zealous views of your eldest son. While he may think me cheap company, clawing at the rungs of high society to pull myself higher, I hope this book may help him make that determination. Of course, a woman as vile as myself thoroughly enjoyed reading it. I hope the gore, madness and lust brings you similar unsavory pleasure and persuades you to let me marry your Benedict... I only jest.

I do hope it is Anthony who reads this letter first, I await the day you narrate his expressions. Looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Lady Y/n Y/l/n.

Anthony rose and clutched the letter in a tight fist, "She must be dealt with, this is highly inappropriate," Hyacinth snatched it from his hand, nearly ripping it in two. She started reading aloud to the room and Anthony went after her. Their siblings erupted in laughter while they listened to Hyacinth. Violet hid her laugh behind a polite hand, cheeks warming at Y/n's brazenness.

Daphne giggled, "Anthony, you are the one who must apologize, you do know Lady Y/n is in the Queen's court and you have sufficiently earned the Queen's ire last season and now Lady Y/n's as well."

"I simply wish to know her intention with all this," He seethed. A hand cusped his bicep and he turned to see his lovely wife Kate coming to soothe him. He released a breath and she smiled at him, "I think it best that the Bridgerton children remain uninvolved, perhaps leave the investigation up to Penelope and I ?"

He sighed in concession, "Very well, my love."

[midnightscramble]

YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD????? IM OBSESSED

I will say, I was NOT expecting that cliff hanger in "Good luck, maid!" omg. If you're open to it could you do another part? this story is addictive 😭

Good Luck, Maid! Part 4 (Violet Brigerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thanks so much to everyone who left kind words in my inbox, there were many requests for Part 4 and I chose at random which to answer but I hope it satisfies you all. If not feel free to make another request (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet tries to digest the information she has learned about Portia and Y/n. Colin and Penelope share news that intertwines the families forever. Violet becomes physically ill at the prospect of losing Y/n.

Warnings: insecurity, jealousy, panic attack, Violet has hateful fantasies about Portia and Y/n (slightly nsfw), no Beta read

Lady Featherington, her daughters and their husbands entered the family room. Portia approached with her usual charming smile and open arms, "Violet," she exclaimed as she took the woman's hands in her own, "How good of you to invite us!" Taken by surprise, Violet startled slightly at the unwelcome touch. Portia cocked her head in slight confusion but disregarded the action out of politeness.

"Good of you to join us," Lady Danbury interjected. She laid a gentle hand upon Portia's forearm, "Sorry to steal you away, I simply must show you what Violet has done with the garden. She is much to humble to show you herself, but I have no such qualms," The women smiled at each other and Portia allowed herself to be steered out of the room, with the rest of the Featherington household trailing after her.

Looking over her shoulder Lady Danbury gave a warning stare to Violet, now was the time to collect herself. Alone again, she released a breath through clenched teeth. Blood rushed to her head and the room seemed to increase in temperature. Portia Featherington was the Lady who had captured her dear Y/n's heart. Pursing her lips, she began to pace the length of the room. She was feeling agitated by Portia's presence. The way she waltzed into the drawing room as if she owned it, as if she owned Y/n, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. Oh, how Violet despised her. The friendship between their daughter's was the only reason she offered Portia the privilege of tolerance and now with the marriage of their children she had even contemplated becoming friendly. Such contemplations ceased.

She rested her palms on the cool wooden frame of the couch. She closed her eyes and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. A headache was migrating from her eyes to her temples. In an attempt to soothe herself she applied pressure to the area. Her mouth tasted sour and she felt bile working its way up her throat as she thought about Y/n. It was by miracle alone that of all the times Portia had visited her home, that she had not run into her former maid. She briefly thanked Eloise's insistence on having her brothers chaperone her rather than Y/n. Although unreasonable, she was tempted to order Y/n to stay in her quarters until the Featheringtons departed, just to ensure she remained hidden. She tsked herself, she was not that cruel, nor was it her place to have such possessive feelings for the young woman. Y/n may be a part of her household, but she was not indentured to it, and such authority over her would only be plausible if they were man and wife.

Violet pressed a fist into her chest, feeling her heart beat erratically. If she could only know how the younger woman felt. Until she spoke to Y/n, she could only assume that the opportunity for Portia and her to cross paths had simply never arisen, thus why she settled for Violet. However, Y/n had seemed so resigned in the morning, having no reaction at all to Hyacinth's rushed plans to gather the two families together. Was it possible that the maid no longer cared for Portia, and thus had no reaction to the idea of her presence? Violet's mind eased slightly at the thought.

A footman came through the door, "Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton have arrived, my Lady." She nodded her thanks and straightened her posture. Despite all the excitement, she had missed Colin greatly, and she would not allow Portia to mar the enjoyment of this reunion. She heard the young couple's excited chatter before she saw them, and felt herself soften at their giddy smiles.

"Lady Bridgerton" the couple spoke over each other, "Mama".

Colin wrapped his mother in an embrace, and she let her shoulders relax into the hold. "I've missed you, you must tell me of your adventures," she said honestly.

He chuckled at her tightening grasp, "All in due time Mama, I was hoping we could gather everyone together so I may not repeat myself," Violet loosened her grip at his words.

Taking a step back she smiled politely, "Yes, they all went to the gardens-"

Colin linked his arm between his mother's and Penelope's, "Fantastic" he interrupted, "we shall join them then?" Although phrased as a question, he had already begun to move the women with his powerful stride. Violet noted the unusual giddiness of her son, and how he kept moving his lips to the side to stop what seemed to be a smile.

The walk to the garden was faster than she would have liked, even with trying to stall them with conversation.

...

It was almost humorous how the sun decided to beat down and disrupt what was supposed to be a dreary winter day. Not a single cloud was in sight, leaving all exposed to the warm beams. There seemed to be no hiding from it. Violet squinted at the light. Her lips pulled back in a grimace, openly expressing her displeasure, although it was misinterpreted by those around her as a subtle smile.

Hyacinth, Eloise, and Francesca dropped the cricket equipment they had been setting up and jogged to meet them. The Featheringtons also swarmed around Colin and Penelope, embracing them and drowning the couple in questions. The noise of it all was aggravating her headache, and she involuntarily twitched whenever Phillipa's voice rose above the crowd. She put a hand just above her brow, covering her delicate irises from further torment. Sweat droplets were forming at the nape of her neck, sliding down until they reached the all too tight collar of her dress. She briefly considered tugging at the constricting piece of fabric, but ultimately decided it to be un-lady like. With effort, she avoided eye contact with the verbally rambunctious group, her gaze only being caught by Lady Danbury’s concerned stare.

All eyes turned to Colin as he clapped his hands together to establish order.

The whole group became silent. He delicately cradled his wife's hand as he spoke, "Dear loved ones, we have the most precious of announcements to make," He looked down at his wife, smiling ear to ear. Penelope continued, "We are with child!" Pandemonium erupted as congratulations were slung at the young couple. Colin looked at his mother expectantly, and Violet smiled widely at him, "What wonderful news, a true blessing," she said genuinely.

She registered Portia's presence behind her, and bit the inside of her cheek when the Lady's hand came to rest on her back. "I suppose we will be seeing much more of each other."

She knew the other woman had mostly said it in teasing jest, however Violet felt bile burn her throat at the prospect. "Yes, we shall," Her voice was airy and almost swallowed by the contious chatter around them.

Portia smiled sweetly and moved to stand by her daughters. The air only seemed to be getting warmer, thickening as the heat sucked water from ground. Violet tried to discreetly gulp but the air proved itself too dense to be swallowed. As her vision blurred, she grabbed onto one of the metal lounging chairs to stabilize herself.

In the distance she heard Eloise ask, "Mama, are you okay?" By the time her question had registered, Violet's eyes had already slipped closed and she felt the full effects of gravity as her knees gave out.

...

Her forehead pinched as she felt a wet cloth make contact with it. Her eyelids felt too heavy to open, but she came to realize that she now lay upon her bed. A soft hand brushed against her cheek, "Come on now, Lady Violet," Y/n gently coaxed. Violet's eyes fluttered open and she moved to kiss the hand stroking her adoringly.

"There you are..." Y/n hummed with affection and Violet suddenly felt very silly at their position. As she moved to sit up, a firm hand pushed at her chest, pressing her down until she conceded. She huffed in faux anonymous, covering her delight at the reassuring contact.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I got worked up," Violet looked at the woman hovering over her, currently inspecting her for any injuries she sustained from her fall. Careful hands sought her own, and she allowed herself to be moved as Y/n kissed the palms of her hands. Violet sighed contentedly, her mind still fuzzy from her fainting spell. The heat that bombarded her earlier had dulled to a fine warmth, beckoning her back to sleep. She almost nodded off, interrupted by the cool cloth sliding from her throat to her clavicle. She gasped in shock and suddenly became aware that she had been stripped down to her slip. She looked shyly at Y/n, both of them aware of her hardening nipples.

She bit her lip before speaking, "May I have you," it was bold, and very unlike her to ask so forwardly. While she did genuinely want the woman, it was the jealous, immature side of her that desperately wanted an affirmative answer. If she could lay her claim to Y/n, Portia would surely be forgotten. She sat up and grasped Y/n's arms, trying to bring them together, "Let me have you."

Wincing in discomfort, Y/n unsuccessfully tried to pull away from Violet's grasp, "You are in no state, Lady Violet."

Her eyes began to sting at the refusal. She had lost the privilege to touch Y/n, a privilege that would no doubt be returned to Portia. She could see it now, the way Y/n would gasp as the redhead palmed greedily at her chest. Portia's tongue gliding up the side of her neck, teeth grazing at her delicate shoulder, and Y/n's mouth opening as she moaned in ecstasy. She was sure the woman would take Y/n roughly, over a piece of furniture as if Y/n were some kind of animal, not caring enough to gaze upon the woman's exquisite features. It sickened her beyond belief.

Once aware of herself, Violet looked down shamefully, and relaxed her grip. When Y/n used her thumb and forefinger to raise her chin, Violet became reinvigorated, "Please, I need to feel you, I need to know you're mine." Violet's round pleading eyes did more begging than the woman’s words did. The reason for Violet's sudden change in behavior dawned on Y/n, and now it was her turn to look down in shame.

"I take it that you are aware of my history with Lady Featherington?" Violet nodded silently, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"If I could undo it, I would," she peered up at Violet's sympathetic face, "please understand, this short time with you has been more enlightening than my years with her." Her eyes shifted between Violet’s, trying desperately to communicate the enormity of her feelings.

Violet's lips pursed at the compliment, hiding her smile, "You do not have to lie to me-" Y/n brought her forehead to Violet’s and lightly kissed her, "I am not lying." Violet sighed in relief and reconnected their lips.

They separated for breath but kept their closeness, Violet quietly exhaled into the space between them, "You have no idea how much I care for you, it is near impossible."

"I have some idea," Y/n nuzzled Violet with her nose, "I am similarly entranced with you." Y/n pulled away suddenly, "I almost forgot, I was supposed to tell Mr. Bridgerton when you awoke."

Violet laughed, "Well you best not keep my son waiting, he may decide to come check on me himself."

"I'll return shortly," She looked once more at Violet, kissing her tenderly before departing.

...

With the weight of worry lifted off her chest at Violet's waking, she moved quickly down the long halls of the Bridgerton estate.

Y/n had to admit, it was difficult to deny the woman anything. It would be a lie to say she was not tempted, that she did not have a devastating desire for the Lady. As she watched over Violet's fragile sleeping form, she promised herself to take care of her, to never let harm come to her and to never be the one to bestow it. When Violet awoke she had looked positively primal, with her luscious locks voluminous from the humidity and eyes almost black from her expanded pupil. As divine as she was, Y/n knew that the blush on her chest was not attributed to lust, but heat stroke, and the darkness of her eyes a product of her head colliding with the ground. Y/n could not go to bed with the woman, not in that state. She would make it up to Violet in sure time.

Y/n found Mr. Bridgerton in the study and alerted him of Violet's consciousness. Relieved, he requested lunch be brought up to her and Y/n nodded. On her way to the kitchen she pondered what the Lady would prefer. Perhaps a cold soup to lower her body temperature? Or maybe fruit and pastries to liven her up-

"Y/n," the maid stopped dead in her tracks at the all too familiar drawl of her name.

[midnightscramble]

Hiya, could you do a Portia Featherington x female baker reader. Of course you have all creative freedom. Thank you, love. ;P

Sugar, Sugar Part 1 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thanks for the request! Love this idea and am so joyed to write for it. If it’s not to your liking feel free to make another request (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: The stress of running a doomed household is getting to Portia. In an effort to get her daughter and Mister Finch to produce an heir, she employees local baker Y/n to fill the house with goodies.

Warnings: Portia has anxiety, slight derogatory references to religion, memories of a neglectful marriage, period typical misinformation about pregnancy and fertility, No Beta read

“Mama, I swear, Albion and I have been trying. It is simply in God’s hands. A baby shall appear within my belly when he deems it so.” Philippa shrugged and looked towards the vaulted ceiling as if it was the heavens. Portia pinched the bridge of her nose at her daughter’s idiocy. She walked towards the window and looked out upon the street, shaking her head while cursing her daughter’s religious education. Of all the books Penelope had convinced the late Lord Featherington to supply her with, it had to be the Bible that Philippa happened upon. The very same girl who could not remember her Hail Marys.

Spinning on her heel, exasperated, Portia looked towards her daughter, “It is absolutely in your hands. God gave mankind free will. Free will which you will use to become pregnant. Are you sure that Mister Finch is doing his part, is he doing all a man can to enhance his virility?”

"There is only so much Alby can do, Mama. He has many allergies, it is near impossible for him to eat the foods that are meant to increase his bravado." Philippa yawned resignedly.

"Well, have you noticed any particular type of food that effects his, uhh," Portia raised her eyebrows and whispered conspiratorially, "appetite for you?" Philippa gasped despite her mother's careful phrasing, causing Portia to roll her eyes.

Offended, Philippa tsked, "Mama, that is very improper of you to ask. But if you must know, he rather enjoys sweets before the act."

Of course, Portia thought, when does the man not want sweets. "Then I shall have the staff fill your room with treats and you are not to leave until you are sure you are with child."

"You cannot trap us in our room!"

"I very well can! All of our futures are dependent on your and Mister Finch's coupling. I cannot count on Prudence to put her pride aside and measure up to the task. Penelope has not a suitor insight while she chases Mister Bridgerton's coattail. Please Philippa, if you do not do this we will lose everything." Her ears ran hot as she tried to reason with her. Was it possible that she was the only one who understood the enormity of the situation?

Slouching, Philippa huffed "Fine, although my only request is that the sweets not be from the kitchens. I'd rather it be from Y/l/n Pastries and Delights. The shop has gained quite the following with-"

"Yes, yes. I will take care of it, now off you go! I expect you to be glued to his side by the time I return with the order."

...

The carriage ride into town was bumpy and unpleasant. Perhaps Portia was overly sensitive due to her soured mood. She despised having to haggle, especially with someone as well connected as the Ton's premier baker. Since the death of Lord Featherington, Portia had been careful to reduce the size of the staff and have the kitchens purchase day old produce from the markets. While she preferred to be frugal in such times, this expense would prove to be important. Never did she think her family's future would rely on a man's appetite.

Coming to a halt, she peered out the carriage window. Her destination was at the edge of the Ton, surprising her considering the supposed popularity of the bakery. Gingerly stepping out of the carriage, she tried to settle herself. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Men, older men in particular, were simple creatures. With a delicate balance of sexual innuendo and pseudo helplessness, she was sure to emerge victorious.

The shop bell jingled, causing Y/n to look up from her place behind the counter. "Welcome in! what can I do for you, Lady Featherington?" She smiled brightly at the auburn haired woman. The aroma of the shop washed over Portia gently, reminding her briefly of the display of sweets she had at her own wedding.

Portia smiled tightly and approached the counter. To be known about the Ton was both a blessing and a curse. There was pride in being instantly recognized by strangers, yet it made discrete deals such as the one she was trying to procure all the more difficult.

"Hello, Dear. I was wondering if I may speak to the head chef?"

"I am the head chef." Portia released a guffaw, "Pardon me, I'm afraid you misunderstand, I am looking for the shop owner."

Y/n smiled kindly, Portia was not the first to make this mistake, "That would be me, Lady Featherington."

Portia's smile dropped momentarily. A woman shop owner was hard to come by. Sure, there were lady bakers in the Ton, but none owned the shops they worked in. "How modern," she complemented, "I was hoping it would not be too late in the day to place an order for tonight?" She was in fact hoping that it was too late, and thus the remaining goods would have a reduced price given how long they had been siting.

"As a matter of fact, I make night batches to supply to the local families. It seems everyone is partial to dessert before bed," Y/n jested slightly. Although her heart rate picked up a notch, Portia released a laugh to show good nature. Reevaluating the situation, she looked around the shop, "Well I'm not sure what I should order..."

Reading the hesitancy in her eyes, Y/n offered "Why don't I give you an assortment. That way you can come back tomorrow with a list of what was enjoyed, hmm?" She was used to having to sell herself to the people of the Ton, none were quick to trust a female shop owner.

Portia's smile relaxed at the prospect, "That would be lovely, thank you." Y/n started packing up one of each dessert. Absentmindedly, she made conversation, "My condolences on the late Lord Featherington. When my own husband died, it nearly sent me to ruin."

Eyes widening, Portia scrambled for an appropriate response to such an abrupt topic change, "Thank you..." She drifted off, not sure what to say. She studied the young woman, wondering what she was getting at. Their eyes met briefly and Portia looked away, feeling caught.

Filling the silence she continued, "My condolences as well, was it your husband who started this fine establishment?" Internally she grimaced. She knew it was none of her business, yet the oddity of the situation drove her to seek some sort of explanation.

"We started it together. I had to petition to the province to assume control of the estate. They wanted to give this shop to my eleven year old cousin, can you believe that?"

She sucked in a breath, "Yes, yes I can." Portia was becoming all too familiar with inheritance laws.

Y/n placed three full boxes on the counter and grabbed a paper. "Now, I am going to write which box contains which sweet," she beckoned Portia closer to watch as she wrote.

"This box has", rather than listen, Portia found herself distracted in watching Y/n's hands move as she emphatically described how each pastry could be identified. Her fingers twisted as she mimicked the pipped icing atop a miniature cake. The subtle flexing of her hand when she grasped the quill left Portia wondering what strength those hands possessed. Y/n seemed to have a good work ethic, leaving no doubt in her mind that she would be behind the scenes with her staff, kneading dough, working till sweat dripped down the column of her throat- Portia's mouth suddenly felt very dry and she cleared her throat, causing Y/n to pause. Embarrassed she rushed, "Thank you, I shall return tomorrow. You can hand these off to my footmen." She spun around on her heal and in three long strides she exited.

Y/n called after her, "Have a nice night, Lady Featherington!"

...

Feeling rather worn, Portia told Philippa's maid to have the sweets brought directly to her daughter's room. She retired early, settling in the king sized bed with the latest issue of Lady Whistledown. Seldom did she wish to know the true identity of the infamous writer. However, it was nights like these that she wanted to meet the woman face to face. She was curious, how had she made it so far? Was there a man behind the publishing? If it was truly a Lady behind the gossip expose, she may be the most independent woman of their time.

Oh, to be so free, she thought.

Turning, she blew out her bed side candle and tossed the pamphlet to the floor. Even with her husband dead, she was still chained to his decisions, his name, the failures he had made and hid from her. It would have scorned her if not for the fact that she had no emotion left to give the man.

She had never truly been dependent on him, at least not in the traditional sense. There were women like Violet Bridgerton, who mourned her husband years after his passing, pious and properly. For Violet had loved him, and in turn was dependent on his love and company. Portia, on the other hand, had tried to love her husband. She gave Lord Featherington her youthful devotion, drawn to his coy smiles and cold disregard for her. There was a certain safety in giving her heart and hand in marriage to a man who was distant. Who showed his affection in gifts rather than touch or word.

Their relationship, transactional at best, had entirely ceased upon the birth of Penelope. Lord Featherington had given up on the prospect of a male heir and moved to the opposing wing. From then on, the bulk of their interactions consisted of sitting across from each other at breakfast and linking arms at social events. Both were too content to break the newly developed pattern. It was almost pleasant, to look upon each other and feel no obligation to pretend.

Tonight was like any other night in her marriage, spent alone. She was normally untroubled by the empty side of her bed, cold and firm from being unoccupied. Closing her eyes she resigned herself to ignore the sudden deficiency. She told herself that it was of most importance to fall asleep quickly. Tomorrow she would have to be sharp to negotiate with Y/n.

Reminded briefly of the baker, thoughts of little cakes with pipped icing, quills, and the smell of bread paraded through her mind as she succumbed to sleep.

[midnightscramble]

unsure if you’ve already been asked this or it’s planned but would love to see a part 3 for good luck, maid! if you’re open to it 😆 not picky about what’s in the plot but might be cool to get a situation that forces either one to confess their attractions to each other ☺️

Good Luck, Maid! Part 3 (Violet Bridgeton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: I only write based on requests left in my inbox, this is the first formal request, and thank goodness for it, I was itching to write more for Violet! Thanks for the detailed ask (if it's not to your liking feel free to request again, don't be shy!) Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet implores a friend to find out the circumstances around Y/n's previous employment. Y/n and Violet have another accidental meeting late at night. Violet's feelings manifest.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, touch starved Violet, fingering (Violet receiving), technically they do it in public, period typical homophobia, brief discussion of skewed power dynamics, no Beta read

Lady Danbury had been quick to agree to Violet's request for tea, and by midday they sat across from each other in the Danbury estate's drawing room.

After the exchange of usual pleasantries and talk of bubbling gossip around the Ton, Lady Danbury had surmised the true purpose of their meeting. "I take it you are ready to discuss the unspeakable?" Palming her cane in one hand and delicately bringing the teacup to her lips, Agatha raised her eyebrows in her usual prompting fashion.

Violet suddenly went to stand. Wringing her hands together she walked towards the piano, admiring the vase of flowers which sat upon it. She nervously rearranged them and cleared her throat, "Yes, it seems as though I have developed uh, how do I phrase this..." Violet turned to look at her. Patient as ever, Lady Danbury raised her chin and let a soft smile grace her lips.

"I have developed feelings for a member of my staff."

Lady Danbury threw her head back and cackled in response, "By the way you were behaving, I had thought you were going to say you had developed feelings for a criminal of some kind. To have feelings for a member of staff, while frowned upon publicly, is surprisingly common. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Dear." It never ceased to surprise her the shame that Violet Bridgerton would inflict upon herself for being like the rest of high society.

Inhaling through her nose and feeling her eyes start to sting, Violet lowered her gaze to the ground, "And if these feelings were criminal, then what, Agatha?"

Humming, Lady Danbury pondered the question. "You are no criminal, Violet..." She put her teacup on it's dish. Sitting forward with both hands on her cane, she motioned for Violet to sit on the couch across from her.

Violet sat and smoothed her dress as Lady Danbury openly stared at her. "Violet, do you mean to tell me that you are experiencing a liking of the fairer sex?"

By instinct, Violet opened her mouth to deny such a notion and then swallowed the words before they could escape, and instead answered with a simple "Yes." The woman across from her lent back in consideration. Briefly, they sat in silence.

"You are right. In this country, if you were to even speak of such things, it would be reprehensible by the law. However... in this house, such is not the case," she reached forward and grabbed Violet's hand, "You are no criminal to me, Violet, regardless of what society may say."

Choking on a sob, Violet covered her mouth with her free hand. "Thank you, Agatha. You have no idea how dear you are to me," she sniffled and tried to collect herself, "I was worried you would not find me suitable for your company once I told you."

Releasing her grip on Violet's, Lady Danbury spoke light heartedly "Nonsense. You may worry no more. Now, tell me, who has caught your eye?" Violet chuckled lightly, of course the woman would not be concerned with the controversy of the matter at hand, always more keen to hear the details of romance.

"Eloise's maid, we had to let go of mine, and Miss Y/n replaced her" Her cheeks tinted pink as she continued, "Just last night we had an encounter in the kitchen. I was restless and wandering and there she was. We spoke and it was as if we really saw each other. By the way she looked at me, it was almost as if she could see through me."

"And you are sure she was not looking through your night dress?" Lady Danbury laughed at Violet's Gasp.

"Oh Agatha, you are terrible," Violet swatted at Lady Danbury and they fell into a fit of laughter.

Once they regained composure Lady Danbury wondered out loud, "You seem quite taken with her, and with such haste, how is that possible?" Violet nodded in understanding, she had been wondering the same thing herself.

"I can't be sure, I find myself thinking of her frequently. It has become undeniable. In fact, I find myself concerned with her well being..." Violet looked imploringly at her friend, "Particularly her past."

Narrowing her eyes at Violet's words, Lady Danbury felt a smugness settle within her. She knew that Violet was tempting her with a challenge, and oh, how she loved to play games. But of course, this was mostly to help quell Violet's anxieties, not flex her own societal prowess.

"What do you know of her already"

...

The sun had set in the Ton by the time Violet returned home. The chilled night air prompted the fireplaces to be lit and extra blankets to be spread across beds. Although satisfied with her day and comforted by the support of her friend, Violet was still buzzing with anxious energy.

Knowing she would be tired the next day if she did not seek rest soon, she decided to brave the cold wood floors with bare feet in an effort to get to the study. She would read herself to exhaustion if she had to. Descending the grand stairs she squinted through the darkness, overhearing giggles coming from another corridor. Focusing, she made the voices out to be Hyacinth and Gregory, no doubt snooping through the letters that Colin had sent Anthony about his travels. She smiled softly, and listened to their childish joy, until the sound of the study door creaking open forced her to veer down the opposing hallway.

Colliding with something, she gasped. Strong hands gripped her waist, and they tumbled towards the wall as her own hands landed upon lean shoulders. Y/n pulled Violet flush against her, in an effort to keep them both from falling. With a shaky release of breath and heart beating out of her chest, Violet's eyes flickered across Y/n's face.

As Y/n went to move away, Violet's grip tightened, her fingers flexing into the material of Y/n's uniform as she steadied herself. Her heartbeat had slowed slightly, but not settled as the excitement of their position dawned upon her.

The woman's eyes took in the pink dusting of Violet's cheeks and quickly dilating pupils. Violet's hands shook as she slid them across Y/n's shoulders and toward her neck. With bated breath she waited for a response of any kind. Would Y/n push her off, tell her she was as bad as the Lord she worked for before, and leave the Ton in fear of Violet ruining her? Before her thoughts could spiral anymore, she felt Y/n's hold on her waist loosen and her hands migrated up towards the sides of her breast, stopping before making contact. With the slightest of pressure on her ribcage, she was guided backwards a few inches until she was pressed against the wall.

Shooting forward, she brought their mouths together. Every thing she had imagined in no way measured up to the soft caress of Y/n's lips against her own. With one hand she cradled the side of Y/n's face, smoothing the apple of her cheek with her thumb as she tried to commit the very feel of the woman to her memory. Her other hand grasped at her neck like an anchor.

With greater confidence, Y/n snaked her hand inward and cusped the woman's breast, causing Violet to release a gasp into the kiss. She slowly swiped her tongue across Violet's lower lip and gently prodded into her mouth. Y/n ran her thumb over Violet's raised nipple, feeling it tighten at her ministrations.

Despite the cold night air, Violet's skin was hot to the touch and the all too familiar warmth of arousal grew in her lower belly. Her legs clenched together in need as she tried to relieve the aching. Once Y/n noticed Violet's squirming she broke the kiss and lowered herself slightly to lick and suck at Violet's neck. Perfectly positioned as to not break contact, Y/n dropped her hands to Violet's legs. Through the soft fabric of her nighty, Y/n felt her way from the outside of Violet's leg to the inner crease of where they strongly pressed together. She swiftly parted them with force, filling the space with her own leg. Violet sighed heavily and let her head thud against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. Not allowing the woman a moment of reprieve, Y/n's hands wrapped around her waist and forced her upon her leg. Violet's hips involuntarily bucked at the first contact, and a hearty moan clawed its way out of her throat.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, she dropped her forehead to Y/n's shoulder and breathed heavily. She could feel the slick of her arousal cling to her night dress at the point where Y/n's leg pressed into her. She could hardly believe herself, rutting into the other woman like a wild animal, out in the open, with only the protection of darkness. She flushed at her own indecency. Y/n tugged on her nightgown, causing her breasts to become exposed. Her head shot up as she quickly searched the hall, it was useless, the pitch black of night was thicker than tar. Lips enclosed around her nipple, licking softly at the peak and then tugging it sharply with teeth. She yelped and immediately bit into Y/n's shoulder to quiet herself. Breathing through her nose, she felt Y/n's fingertips drag the bottom of her nightgown up towards her. With great anticipation, she felt Y/n gently remove her leg from between her thighs and continue the slow drag of fabric upwards.

She raised her head and met the other woman's eyes, "Please, touch me, I-" Y/n's hand cupped her radiating sex and she ground the heal of her palm into the Violet's clit and traced the opening of her lips. Not knowing what to do with herself, she laid soft kisses on the column of Y/n throat, mewling slightly as Y/n's fingers entered her wetness. Her eyes shut as Y/n rhythmically entered her, her own clenching creating a delectable drag when Y/n removed her fingers.

"Ohh, please, Y/n please," Violet begged in a whisper. She whimpered as Y/n's pace increased and her fingers started to curl into her as if she were searching for something. And indeed she was, Y/n felt for the spongy texture of her walls and ran her finger tips against it with pressure. Violet nearly choked at the sensation, even with all her experiences with Edmund, she had never felt such delight. Her legs closed, as if she were worried Y/n would suddenly remove herself. Violet's mind became hazy as she lost herself in their love making. She could feel Y/n everywhere, Y/n's mouth had consumed her entirely, her long fingers had graced her insides, and she was sure that the woman had somehow penetrated her mind.

Her hips began to stutter and Y/n could tell she was close. She watched Violet's face contort in pleasure as she played her like an instrument and listened for the beautiful music she emitted. Her gasps and whines were enough encouragement for Y/n to double her efforts and add another finger. Violet's back arched and Y/n could feel her walls quake with her release. Slowing her ministrations, she continued to guide her through the entirety of her completion.

Once she was sure Violet had finished, Y/n gently removed her fingers but kept one hand flush with her still pulsing sex and the other moved hair out of her face. Violet looked at her owlishly, face burning from the activity. She looked something out of the paintings that her and Lady Danbury had par-oozed the day she admitted her desperation for touch; breasts proudly displayed and nipples now raised by the cool air, skin reddened with arousal and hair tousled from the friction of the wall.

"We should go to my room, and talk," Violet offered breathlessly.

...

Back in the safety of her room, Violet offered Y/n a nightgown to change into. Sitting on the bed, she watched as Y/n undressed in front of her. All the bravado she had moments ago vanished, and she sat on her hands to keep herself from reaching out. When the other woman finished changing, Violet opened the bed invitingly, "Since I have no obligations tomorrow and you are the only one permitted to enter my room, you can stay the night and we will be unbothered." She smiled softly and Y/n smiled back.

Her heart fluttered with contentment as Y/n climbed into bed and opened her arms to the other woman. With her head laid on Y/n's chest, Violet released a deep breath as she settled. Her eyes began to close in relaxation until a thought crossed her mind, "was that your first time with a woman?"

"No," Violets chest tightened and her heart picked up as she listened intently, "The last house I worked for, the Lady and I became close..." Their earlier conversation came to the forefront of Violet's mind as this new information clicked into place. It was not a Lord per say who had misused Y/n, but a Lady. A Lady who Y/n undoubtedly got caught with and thus came the termination of her employment.

Her hand went to Y/n's, "It is quite a miracle you are here today," Violet thanked her guardian angels for bringing Y/n safely to her. Of all the things that could have happened to Y/n, for her to only lose a job rather than her head was an act of divine intervention.

"It is, it really is. I heard that the Lord of the house had actually passed recently, and now there are only three people who know this secret, including you and I." Violet hummed, her eyes slipped closed and right before sleep took her an offhanded thought drifted through her mind, she vindictively wished that number would be reduced to two.

...

Violet and Y/n awoke as a knock sounded on Violet's door. Startled, Y/n leapt out of bed, ducked towards the ground and shimmied underneath it. Violet's heart raced as she dawned a robe and opened it just a crack.

Before her stood Hyacinth with a letter in hand, "Mama, you have been asleep all day," she drawled, "I know you haven't been sleeping well, however I figured you should sleep no longer as we have received word," the young girl shoved the letter towards her mother, "that Colin and Penelope will be returning from their honeymoon this afternoon."

"Oh, thank you Hyacinth-"

"And I took it upon myself to invite the Featheringtons over to celebrate their arrival. It is rather perfect timing, Eloise and Francesca are yet to leave so we will have ample conversation. I have alerted the staff of all preparations needed, don't worry a thing Mama," She leaned forward and kissed her mom on the cheek before skipping off. Violet scoffed and closed her door.

"It turns out I do have obligations." The women laughed at Hyacinth's behavior. Y/n got out from under the bed, and immediately started to arrange Violet's outfit for the day.

...

Calling hour arrived and Lady Danbury swiftly made her way through the long halls of the Bridgerton estate. Her heels struck menacingly against the wood floors. The butler guiding her to the drawing room felt as though if he did not keep pace with her, she would strike him with her cane.

“Lady Bridgerton you have a caller, the fine Lady Danbury is here.”

“Let her right in, thank you.” Violet stood from the couch and clasped her hands in front of her. She was sure her friend would have quite the shock when she told her of last night’s tryst with Y/n. The moment Lady Danbury had crossed the threshold, Violet could tell the woman was eager to speak.

“Violet, thank goodness I have caught you alone. I found out about your...friend's previous employment.” Violet cocked her head to the side, she had such a blissful morning with Y/n that she had nearly forgotten about the wild goose chase she had sent Lady Danbury on.

"Oh, what did you discover."

"She was working for the-" a footman cleared his throat as he entered the drawing room.

"My Lady, the Featheringtons have arrived." He announced. Violet nodded and waited for him to exit before resuming the conversation.

"You were saying Agatha?"

"Well that’s just it. The Featheringtons."

[midnightscramble]

Hello I want to request one of Agatha Harkness x fem! Reader smut 🥹

Like Lightning Part 1 (Agatha Harkness x fem!Reader)

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: So, so many liberties were taken (if it’s not to your liking feel free to request again, don’t be shy!) Happy readings to you.

Summary: To Agatha’s surprise and relief her neighbor Y/n is not under Wanda’s complete control, Y/n has a feeling her and Agatha have met before…

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, pwp, slight angst/comfort, touch starved Agatha, thigh riding (Agatha receiving), biting (Agatha receiving), bottom Agatha, top reader, no Beta read

There was not much to do in Westview. The smart dressed college kids she went to school with had invited Y/n to hang out by the water tower, the go to spot for wanna be delinquents. But every night was the same, they discussed the same things with slightly more fluency than the night before, almost as if it was a rehearsal.

Rather than endure any more of the pseudo intellectual ramblings, Y/n had taken to walking at night. She walked just about everywhere, weaving in and out of neighborhoods, even taking to the near by woods. Although she couldn’t put her finger on it, there was something about Westview at night that intrigued her. The air had a dream like quality, perhaps it was the mysterious fog that invaded the town each night, or maybe it was just her imagination.

Either way, Y/n felt a keen sense of safety on these walks. The city council had recently established a town curfew, meaning everyone was supposed to be in their homes by 8 pm. Two hours later and it was guaranteed that all lights would be out as people retired for the night. Everyone seemed so eager to comply with the rules that there was not a single soul left awake to enforce them.

That was until she saw an abandoned bicycle propped up against a tree near the edge of the woods. Cautiously approaching, she let her hands run over the handles. They were warm. Someone had recently ridden the bike. Y/n looked around the empty streets, and then towards the woods. The odds were that some kid thought they’d be rebellious and runaway for the night. She huffed and debated her options: continue her walk, or prevent a would be search party.

Always the good samaritan, she trudged through the fallen leaves, letting instinct guide her. It was almost as if a magnetic force was tugging her deeper into the woods. No, a child wouldn’t have made it this far, a child would have turned back by now- the sound of crickets chirping suddenly ceased, replaced by the low hum of radio static. She stopped in her tracks a peered into the darkness.

Choppily, a disembodied voice sounded as if it were right in front if her “We ha-ve eye-s on an-other host-age”

Y/n took off in a sprint before she could process what was being said. She dropped her keys somewhere in her rush to safety but didn’t look back until she had reached the familiar pavement of the roads. Still running, she made a beeline for home, and to her great relief a light emitted from her neighbor Agatha’s window. She ran up to the front door and pounded on it. Her heart was beating so fast she feared her ribcage would give way to its force. Finally the door opened, and Y/n collapsed into the door frame.

“Oh, well hello to you too,” Agatha sing songed.

“Please you’ve got to let me in, there’s something in the woods…” Agatha’s eyes narrowed slightly as she peaked over Y/n’s shoulder to examine the outside.

With concern in her eyes, she guided the young woman in. She wasn’t quite sure if Y/n was lucid or not. It seemed unlikely that Wanda would suddenly decide to give her a gift, and equally unlikely that her wife, Y/n, was in control of her actions.

Wanda’s spell on Westview had cruelly separated Agatha and Y/n. Day after day, Agatha was forced to watch Y/n wonder, flirt, and be a pawn in the whatever plot Wanda was acting out. The two had not interacted a single time during this whole ordeal, making Agatha’s days feel endless.

Y/n being one door down and yet completely out of her reach had been driving her slightly insane. Although, she did appreciate the proximity as it allowed her to keep an eye out for any threats.

“What happened did someone chase you?” Y/n paused and looked around, she had never been inside Agatha’s home before. In fact she had never even spoken to the woman, and yet she had the oddest sensation that being here with the woman was exactly where she belonged. Y/n dug through the deepest recesses of her mind, and looked at the woman in question.

It was only then that it occurred to Y/n the peculiarity of the situation. How was it that Agatha wasn’t asleep? Everyone in Westview followed the town’s curfew, yet here Agatha was, fully dressed in day clothes and awake as ever.

She ignored Agatha’s question and posed one of her own, “How is it that we are both awake right now?”

The dark haired woman sucked in a breath. Y/n never ceased to surprise her, she should have known her wife would move against the grain even when dark magic compelled her to fall in line.

“We must not be susceptible to lullabies…” She searched Y/n’s eyes for understanding. Her crypticness only seemed to agitate her wife further. If she wanted to get away from Wanda’s prying eyes she would have to convince Y/n to come down to the cellar, where her ruins are.

Agatha arched an eyebrow, “Care for a drink?” Y/n nodded and followed her to the kitchen. On autopilot she started making the woman a vodka soda, but as she reached to place it down on the counter Y/n grabbed her wrist.

“How did you know my drink?” Not releasing her hold, Y/n pushed into the woman’s personal space, trying to intimidate her. Backing her into the wall she asked again, “What do you know?”

Agatha swallowed, the longing that had built up these past few months had left her positively starved for her wife’s touch. The feeling of the woman's body pressed against hers made her release a whimper. Y/n eyes darkened, and her breathe became shallow at the small noise Agatha emitted. Her grip on the woman's wrist loosened and she soothingly rubbed the pads of her fingertips against the reddened skin.

Even with no memory, Agatha thought to herself, the woman before her was still her sweet Y/n. Still caring even when frustrated and fighting.

For a moment, they stayed in that position, tightly pressed against the wall, breathing the same air until the lights of the house suddenly cut out. Y/n gasped as they were plunged into darkness. She clung onto Agatha, "What's going on, please I need to know."

She slipped out of the hold and tugged Y/n's hand gently, "You'll have to come with me." Silently they walked down the basement stairs. Large stones with carvings were littered across the floor, coming together to make a pentagram and Agatha guided them to the center. Wisps of purple floated through the air, like cotton candy being carried by the wind. In awe, Y/n reached out and gently touched it, it crinkled and cracked against her fingers like electricity. She turned to Agatha, waiting for an explanation.

...

They sat across from each other on the floor, far more relaxed as the reality of the situation was brought to light.

"And you're working to stop Wanda?" Y/n clarified.

"Well, now we're working to stop Wanda."

"But who exactly are we?" Agatha bit her lip before responding, "I'm your wife."

Y/n's eyes widened, she wished she could say it was in disbelief but she was mostly impressed with herself. A slow smile spread across her face, cat like and absolutely predatory, "Is that why you liked me corning you earlier?"

Agatha flushed, "You have to understand, I've been alone for months," as the woman explained herself Y/n started a slow crawl forward, "and having to watch you-"

"You've been watching me?"

"No! I mean yes, but not like that." Agatha buried her head in her hands. She jumped slightly feeling Y/n's hand close around her ankle, using her strength to drag the woman closer.

Once there was little space between them, Y/n carded her fingers through Agatha's hair, "That sounds awful, but I have to say, I'm glad you were alone" her grip tightened on the brown strands tugging her head back and exposing her neck, "I wouldn't want anyone else keeping you company."

Agatha's eyes closed as Y/n's lips met her neck, the feeling distracted her from the hand unfastening her jeans. She opened them when Y/n huffed with impatience. Agatha would have stopped to tease but she had waited too damn long for this. She made quick work of the pants and slid them down her smooth legs. The moment she was unoccupied Y/n hands were back on her, squeezing and rubbing every inch of skin almost as if she was confirming that Agatha was truly there.

Everyone else in Westview had seemed hallow, like a projection of a person, but Agatha was real. She was real and soft, and radiated heat.

Their mouths clashed against each other's and Agatha moved to straddle Y/n's leg. She slowly brought her hips down and rocked forward. Agatha broke the kiss as a shuddered breath left her. Purple clouds started gathering above the ruins, churning with energy. Peering above her, Y/n smirked at the display of uncontrolled magic. She could feel wetness gather on her thigh as Agatha's movements became rythmic, and the clouds above them rumbled.

Moaning into the other woman's mouth, Agatha's cunt clenched around nothing. Moving her hands to the woman's waist, Y/n forced her to move faster. Beads of sweat ran down Y/n's neck as the room grew humid, she looked at the beautiful woman above her, her wife. In act of pure possession she bit the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder, sinking her teeth in until she felt skin break. Agatha cried out and a loud crack sounded behind them, her hips stuttered to a halt and her toes curled at the sensation washing over her. Y/n ran her tongue over the bite soothingly and continued moving Agatha's hips until she pushed her away, overstimulated.

Cheeks flushed and out of breath, Agatha let out a laugh. Following her line of sight, Y/n turned to see what she was looking at. A spot on the floor was scorched.

It appeared as though lightening had struck.

[midnightscramble]

hello !!! I was wondering if you write fics based on songs ??

if you can think it, ill try to write it

[midnightscramble]

So, here’s my idea if you plan to make an part 2 for the Violet fic: Violet will try to get closer to the maid because of what she was felling but with the excuse she just wants to be friends to the maid and then get this felling away but end up going wrong and the felling just get strong.

It's just an idea that popped into my head, so if you want to add something I'd love it!!, your writing is really good, so I'm sure it will be good

Good luck, Maid! Part 2 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: thanks for the kind words! If it is not to your liking try requesting something else (don’t be shy!) Happy readings to you.

Summary: After an unexpected encounter, Violet and Miss Y/n grow closer and new feelings emerge in Violet.

Warnings: slight internalized homophobia, very tame period typical homophobia, jealousy, somewhat salacious thoughts/daydreams on Violet's end, no Beta read

Violet woke from a restless sleep. She turned to her side, flinging her hair out of her face. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, reflecting off the white sheets and illuminating the space around her, particularly the side of the bed Edmund used to occupy. Reaching her hand out she smoothed the cool sheet. Similar to dirt on the forest floor churning as spring arrives, the mattress that once so vividly held his imprint now rose to meet her fingertips. 

By the height of the moon she assessed that there would be three hours before the sun emerged. She shut her eyes in hopes of returning to sleep. With no such luck, she gathered the edge of her nightgown and gingerly got out of bed. Perhaps a cup of tea could settle her. 

Knowing it was considered improper, she silently made her way through the halls and down to the kitchen. The knotty pine door was left ajar giving her pause. She stood frozen, peering through the cracks when suddenly the door opened, leaving her face to face with Miss Y/n. The younger woman shrieked before she could register who it was. Once she had, her hand flew up and clasped over her mouth in silent apology.

Whispering, Y/n took a step forward leaving them no more than a foot apart, “Lady Violet, is something the matter?” 

Partially stunned into silence by their proximity, Violet stuttered “uh yes, I just came for tea. I am having trouble settling for the night.” Her nose twitched with unexpressed energy, feeling glued to the floor but wanting nothing more than to sprint back to the confines of her bedroom. 

“Allow me to take care of that…will Chamomile do?” Violet nodded dumbly in response and followed Y/n back into the kitchen. Violet reasoned that by agreeing to this impromptu late night company, she could get to know the other woman in a friendly manner.

As Y/n put the pot on, Violet awkwardly stood beside the kitchen table watching the silhouette of the woman. The nightgown she wore was simple, conservative even, but the way it tightened around her hips and pulled at her chest made Violet’s cheeks heat. Her hands felt restless, an urge to reach out and touch the other woman washed over her. For such a simple nightgown, it was causing complex feelings to arise in her. Feelings that were provocatively, decidedly so, not of a "friendly" nature.

Violet’s gawking was interrupted as Y/n turned to face her, and she flinched at being caught. Not revealing anything, Y/n moved the pot off of the fire and grabbed a cup. She had noticed Lady Violet’s staring earlier in the evening as she got her ready for the Kent’s ball, but had chalked it up to the newness of her company. However, upon this development, unfamiliarity would be a mislabel.

She had known the company of the other woman before, in fact the young maid found herself working for the Bridgerton family after being caught with the wife of her previous employer. To not draw attention to the situation, the Lord of the house released her from service with a graceful letter of recommendation, however made it very clear that if she were to be seen publicly with the Lady of the house, such grace and tolerance would not be repeated. 

Anxiety peaked within Y/n as she tried to avert her eyes from the not quite shear cotton nightgown that adorned Violet, “if I may ask, why does sleep evade you tonight?” Moving the tea to the table, she motioned for Violet to sit with her.

Not realizing she was biting the inside of her cheek, Violet released the chewy flesh and took a seat, “Sleep has been evading me as of late. It seems that once I’ve gotten comfortable, uncomfortable dreams wake me.” She looked down at her fingers, trying to remember the hazy details of tonight’s latest installment. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, and there is no cure for this?” She looked at her with sympathy, she too endured sleepless nights, although her’s were mostly from paranoia. Y/n rested her hands flat on the table, trying to soak in the coolness.

“Is there a cure for loneliness?” Violet wondered out loud.

Pausing, Y/n examined Violet’s face, the way her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes darted across the scratches on the table. She must have taken too long to respond as Violet’s eyes shot up to hers, searching for validation. The pair stared at each other in the faint darkness, acutely aware of the dense air forming between them, making it near impossible to breath. The safety of stolen glances was long gone, neither could gather the courage to look away, neither wanted to. Violet's eyes darkened as she envisioned Y/n hovering over her, holding eye contact as the young woman’s hands parted her legs. Her mouth opened slightly as if it were actually happening. Drawn back to reality, she closed it, but she couldn't shake the thoughts.

Violet’s tongue felt heavy, and she feared she would choke on whatever words left her mouth next. Luckily, Y/n beat her to the punch, “I’ve been looking all my life…  I had found it once, but it was only temporary.”

Abandoning all formalities, Violet moved her hand to clasp Y/n’s. The selfish need to feel the touch of her skin overtook her. “I’m sorry to hear that, was he umm.. a good man?” Questions raced through her mind; had Y/n been left penniless, spoiled and then abandoned, had she been ruined?

“I-I think so, but… he… was far above me. No one cares what commoners do with each other, however it would have been the talk of Ton if anyone had found out” Violet’s grip on Y/n’s hand tightened, somewhat in protectiveness and somewhat in jealousy. To think that someone in her social circle had taken advantage of Y/n and then thrown her away enraged her for more than one reason. 

Y/n cleared her throat, “would you like me to escort you back to your room?” Retracting her hand, Y/n intentionally broke the intimate moment. There was a possibility that if Violet knew the truth of what had occurred she wouldn’t dare touch her. Violet nodded and they walked in silence down the halls and up the stairs. 

Violet’s eyes searched the empty halls as she tried to gather her thoughts. She didn't want this time with the other woman to end, especially when she was just starting to understand Y/n... and what she wanted from her.

Y/n on the other hand was nervously looking over her shoulder after each corridor. Although most would not bat and eye at the Lady of the house needing assistance, the compromising state of dress they were in could fuel destructive rumors.

When they reached her door, Violet paused before entering "If I were to have another sleepless night and ventured to the kitchen, would I happen to run into you?" She tried to contain the hope in her voice to not appear pushy or eager.

Swallowing, Y/n struggled to find an appropriate response, "Perhaps, my Lady."

...

Once she was alone in her room, Violet’s jaw was clenched and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Although the subtle rejection had wounded her, she knew the girl was only trying to protect herself. She felt bile rise in her throat, who had made Y/n so guarded?

Once it was an appropriate hour, she planned to call upon Lady Danbury, who was bound to know what company Y/n kept prior. The search for who had dishonored Miss Y/n was about to begin.

[midnightscramble]

Guide: parts that are marked with an asterisk include NSFW themes (*=NSFW)

Author’s Note: feel free to request a character even if they are not listed, I am constantly trying to expand my horizon and would love to include your ideas in that. Happy readings to you.

Below you will find a selection of WandaVision characters to choose from.

Wanda Maximoff

Agatha Harkness

Like Lightning (Agatha Harkness x fem!Reader):

Part 1*

[midnightscramble]

Heyy, could you make an Violet bridgerton x maid please??

Good luck, Maid! Part 1 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The Masterlist

Author's Note: So, so many creative liberties were taken, if it is not to your liking feel free to request a part 2 with a more detailed ask (don't be shy!) Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet is in need of a new maid, Eloise implores the help of Miss y/n. Violet turns to a friend as she digests the new feelings being spurred on by y/n.

Warnings: slight internalized homophobia, age gap relationship, SFW, no Beta read

Anthony stormed into the drawing room in a fury, causing the rest of the Bridgerton family to look up from their places and the mindless chatter to cease.

“Mother, I’ve fired Miss Smith- she has irrevocably disrespected our family name. I’ve heard talk amongst the staff that she has been selling old clothes and pocketing the money.” 

Somewhat still startled, Violet looked upon her son with a grimace, “but what shall I do about the Kent’s ball tonight? I still need to get ready, and I hardly look presentable as is.” She pursed her lips in thought and turned her gaze to the rest of the room.

Before she could speak again, a very eager Eloise offered, “well that is simply unacceptable, you should have Miss Y/n help dress you tonight. However, dressing both you and I would pose a challenge to a timely arrival…So it would be most sensible if I did not accompany you tonight-“

Violet gently raised her hand, and smiled fondly at her daughter’s blatant attempt to weasel her way out of going, “That is a very generous offer, Eloise. Although, don’t let my acceptance be misconstrued, I am aware you look for any excuse to avoid these events.” Eloise shrunk slightly at getting caught but a closed mouth smile pulled across her face at her own victory.

“Thank you, Mother” she patted Violet’s hand and went to stand, “and not to worry, I will tell Miss Y/n of tonight’s change.”

…

Violet sat on her bed awaiting Miss Y/n’s arrival. She had only ever caught glimpses of the young maid. Eloise preferred to be alone most of the day and used her brothers as chaperones, so Y/n’s job had been significantly reduced, allowing her to spend the bulk of the day in the staff quarters.

She knew her daughter despised having social responsibilities, and with her upcoming trip to Scotland perhaps she would relieve her from forced outings until the departure. Such would free Miss Y/n to be the semi permanent solution to Miss Smith’s firing. 

In quiet reflection, she smoothed her hand across the comforter, tracing the designs. As busy as she kept herself, she could not ignore the subtle emptying of her house. While winter brought shorter days to the Ton, days spent by herself seemed to drudge towards the sweet relief of sleep. Although she loved Hyacinth and Gregory, their company could become quite tedious when their insistent arguments became less amusing and more predictable. Benedict was rarely home and when he was he joined the sibling banter. No matter where she went, a dreadful feeling of isolation followed.

Lost in thought, she did not respond to the initial knock at her door, “My lady, may I come in?” The muffled voice of Miss Y/n broke her from her trance. She rose from the bed in a hurry, “Yes, please do.” 

She stood with her hands clasped neatly in front of her, watching the door open with great anticipation. Miss Y/n’s face was revealed, and Violet’s mouth opened slightly. As if the world had slowed she watched Miss Y/n enter. Eloise’s maid was quite pretty. Her eyes held a wisdom that was uncommon for her age, and lacked the cruelty that usually accompanied it. 

Time quickly caught up with Violet as Miss Y/n stood in front of her, awaiting instruction. Violet smiled awkwardly and lowered her eyes, which proved to be a mistake as she looked upon Miss Y/n’s figure.

Stuttering slightly, “let us start with hair shall we”, Violet motioned towards her vanity and in a few short strides took a seat.

“Yes, my lady,” with expertise and nimble fingers Y/n plucked the pins holding Violet’s hair up, causing waves of the light brown locks to cascade down. 

Violet watched the young woman work through the mirror. She found herself entranced by the graceful movements of hands and suddenly envisioned them tangled in her hair, tugging her head back to expose her neck. She took in a sharp breath, surprised by the vivid imagery. Her eyes closed as she tried to ground herself. She felt her face get hot and opened her eyes quickly, and to her utter horror, her cheeks burned a bright red. 

It confused her, how could the simple presence of Y/n make her imagination run errant? Violet sat dumbfounded, perhaps her loneliness had caught up with her. She made a note to spend ample time with Lady Danbury after this, she was obviously feeling a deficit in emotional intimacy if her mind was playing such tricks on her.

…

Once at the ball, Violet let Hyacinth and Gregory run off with the Kent children to the garden, while she herself made haste to Lady Danbury.

“Ah Violet, wonderful to see you.” Lady Danbury smiled lightly and looked out at the crowd of young people dancing, “interesting how they can touch and dance so openly, yet it would be the talk of the Ton if they were to hold gazes too long in the courtyard.”

Violet laughed absently still thinking about the way Y/n hands flittered through her hair, “Yes. Interesting indeed, Agatha.” 

Lady Danbury glanced at her from the side, sensing her distractedness, reaching her hand out to Violet’s shoulder in concern she said “Violet, is something the matter…” 

It was the clear affection from a woman so formidable to the Ton that made Violet realize she was in fact not in a deficit of any kind. What she had felt for Miss Y/n today was a rather unique, isolated experience.

“Actually…” Violet pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder briefly, “shall we tour the gardens?” 

Catching on, Lady Danbury hummed in agreement, lacing their arms together as they began their walk, getting away from prying eyes. Once in the garden, Violet let out a sigh, unsure of how to phrase this.

“I felt something strange today,” Violet’s whispered words were almost carried away by the wind.

Ears peaked, Lady Danbury widened her eyes in questioning, “Should I presume this is about our earlier discussion of a certain garden being in bloom?”

With a guffaw, Violet nodded abashedly, “You always shock me with your blatancy, but yes, in a way it is about…that.”

In jest, Lady Danbury motioned towards the flora and fauna of the Kents grounds, “Well, have you found someone to tend your garden?” 

Violet laughed, “Not quite, I am afraid things are quite complicated.”

“Do you like them?” Lady Danbury questioned. 

“I am not sure…” came Violet’s quiet response. 

“Do they like you?” she tried again.

“Good heavens, most likely not.”

“Hmm complicated indeed.” She finally agreed. “I can only advise you to pursue what makes you happy, but you must know what that in itself is, Violet.”

Violet nervously sucked in a breath of the cool night air, “What if it were something unspeakable?”

“Why, Violet, I’d be impressed,” she laughed and grabbed Violets hands in sincerity, “We have all done unspeakable things, however between friends the unspeakable can be spoken without fear of judgment.”

Looking into her friend’s eyes, she squeezed the other woman’s hands, “You are a good friend, Agatha. For now I have nothing of tangibility to speak of... However, I may ask you to tea in the near future if that would be alright?”

“That would be perfectly fine, my dear, shall we head back to the party?”

“We shall.”

[midnightscramble]

Guide: parts that are marked with an asterisk include NSFW themes (*=NSFW)

Author’s Note: feel free to request a character even if they are not listed, I am constantly trying to expand my horizon and would love to include your ideas in that. Happy readings to you.

Below you will find a selection of Bridgerton characters to choose from.

Violet Bridgerton

Good Luck, Maid! (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader):

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3*, Part 4, Part 5

Promenading with Widows (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader):

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3*

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

Daphne Bridgerton

Eloise Bridgerton

Francesca Bridgerton

Penelope Featherington

Portia Featgerington

Sugar, Sugar (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader):

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3*

Lord Featherington Must Die (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader):

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Agatha Danbury

Cressida Cowper