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[stinglovebee]

The Season’s Scandal Master List

[stinglovebee]

master list

Lord Bridgerton was not at all what she had imagined. 

In her head, Anthony Bridgerton was a mellifluous, weasel-faced little fellow, like most English politicians, the type who melted in charm and said luscious phrases with the aim of calming his interlocutor, but which had no meaning at all. Upon seeing the English Lord standing beside the bookcase, however, she stopped abruptly.

Anthony Bridgerton was not mellifluous and not at all little. His broad shoulders and chest stood out against the impeccable fit of his dark blue coat. Accurately tailored dark pants covered his lean hips and long legs. The linen shirt and neckerchief were spotless white. Looking at him, Lucretia had the almost irresistible urge to ruffle her perfectly coiffed dark hair and undo the perfect knot in her cravat.

He probably wouldn't like that at all, she thought as she entered the room.

The hard line of his chin signaled resolve and discipline, he wouldn't have the patience for that kind of play, which made the urge to mess up even more tempting. She had to admit he was far too handsome for an Englishman, her fiery Italian heart couldn't help but approve of his splendid masculinity. He reminded her of the statues of Greek gods and heroes in the palace gardens in Palermo. But looking into his eyes, the momentary female approval immediately evaporated.

Though the eyelashes were thick and long, the eyes themselves were a tragedy. Cold, hard, impersonal brown eyes that spoke of a frigid nature—eyes that studied her with an impassiveness that was almost insulting. It was a pity that such a splendid man had eyes in which there was not a glimmer of passion.

“Viscount Bridgerton” He said in an English accent you would only found in the upper echelon of British society. “How has Your Serene Highness been?”

The mention of her honorific was a reminder of the purpose of this visit. He bowed, and she responded with a curt nod. Lucretia walked to a green and ivory serge sofa, sat down, and motioned for him to sit in the armchair opposite her.

“I know you've come to see my Mama, but she can't see you right now. I think you'll have to make do with me.”

“I wouldn't describe your company as something I have to settle for.” he said politely. “But I'm sorry your mother couldn't see me. I had been informed that she would be awaiting my arrival.”

“She forgot about you.” Lucretia was pleased to inform you. “She's with the modiste, and any thought of you has slipped her mind.“

“Perfectly understandable when a woman is with her modiste.”He said with a charming smile, but it didn't reach her cold eyes. “Can we expect her to join us?”

Lucretia tilted her head, pretending she was thinking about it.

“Hard to know. The modiste is sewing the parts directly onto her body. That's the only way to get the outfit tight enough to cause a sensation, you understand.”

One corner of his mouth turned down just a tiny bit, in the slightest hint of his opinion of it.

“I understand.”

That veiled reproach to her Mama, even if it was very slight, gave Lucretia even more desire to provoke him.

“Oh my God, the gentleman disapproves.” she muttered in an affected British accent, hiding her mouth with her hand. “Totally inappropriate, but I assure you she still has the body for it, which makes it even more indecent.” Getting no reaction from the marble man in front of her, Lucretia straightened in her seat, arching a single brow in his direction. “Why do you want to see my Mama?”

“I came to see you both.”

“Both of us? At the same time?” She gave the most teasing smile possible. “My, my, Lord Bridgerton what a perversion…”

He tensed, and his broad shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

“I hope you will find my suggestion interesting when you stop making assumptions and become interested in the subject that brings me here.”

Lucretia grimaced.

“Judging by your countenance, I very much doubt it. Tell me, Lord Bridgerton, are you always this arrogant?”

“And are you always this impudent?” He questioned, starting to lose patience with the young woman in front of him.

“I'm afraid so.”She said unapologetically, a calm smile forming on her face. “Especially with arrogant men.”

She winked at him and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Am I to conclude that you know the reason for my visit?“

They had finally come to the heart of the matter. It was time to get serious.

“Ah, you Englishmen, always intruding in others affairs.”

“Your father has ordered you to marry, and has asked my government for assistance in finding a British husband for Your Highness.”

“Si.” She said with a nod. “I’m too far away to be thrown into a convent, so the royal council wants to get rid of me through marriage.”

“I am sorry that you see the situation in such an unfavorable light.” The hard line of his jaw told her he was just trying to appease her.

“How else could I see?” before he could respond, she continued. “It’s incomprehensible, I know, but I don’t see the need to get married simply to spare the Kingdom of the Two Sicily the embarrassment.”

“Most young women are eager to get married.”

“It is true.” She agreed. “And most of us have the strange idea that we should choose our own spouses and not accept that they are selected for us.”

“You are the daughter of a king, of illegitimate birth, but nevertheless of royal blood, of two ancient dynasties, may I add, your father legitimized you  and bestowed you a title.” Anthony continued before the girl could interrupt him. “And this acknowledgment implies that you have certain duties, and one of those duties is to marry well and properly.”

This made her angry.

“What about his duty to me?” She questioned, unable to hide her hurt. “The instant I became a problem, he threw me in a convent, the nuns beat me, for the simple fact that I’m a bastard and the embodiment of sin. My room didn't even have windows.” The girl shivered. “There were mice.”

“I’m sure your father is deeply sorry.” They were interrupted briefly by a maid carrying a tray of coffee, tea, and scones.

“Coffee or tea, Lord Bridgerton?” Lucretia questioned, getting up from where she was and heading over to the side table where the tray was set.

“Tea, please, cream, no sugar.” He asked, and the young woman frowned at such sacrilege, the man didn't even drink proper tea.

She held the cup out to him politely, their fingers touching for a split second, Lucretia could have sworn she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but she ignored the sensation.

The girl poured herself a cup of coffee with some cream and two cubes of sugar and returned to her seat.

She knew her father loved her, but he was King, and he had a Royal Council and a kingdom to appease and keep content. The French Revolution was still vivid in the minds of many royals.

“I am sure he is. Now that I’m beyond of his reach.” Lucretia grumbled, stirring in your cup to cool the coffee to the ideal temperature.

Something stirred in those cold eyes, perhaps impatience.

“My dear, you are never beyond his reach.” Anthony said with a scoff. “Proof of that is that I am here. If the King of the Two Sicily asked the British government to hand you over to him, we would do so immediately, and the men of the Scots Guard would be here to escort you to the next ship bound for the Mediterranean.” The condescending tone in his voice irritated her deeply. “But your father has decided that arranging a marriage for you is the best course of action, and in the interests of the alliance he prefers a British nobleman.”

“What if I don’t have the same preferences?”

“I am sorry that the orders I received to find you a husband did not include taking into account your considerations, Your Serene Highness.” He said it with an arrogance and tranquility that infuriated her. “But you are assured that he will be a Catholic.” He said taking a sip of his tea.

The man’s religion was what mattered to her the least. If they thought she would marry someone chosen for her and not for herself, they were sorely mistaken. She wasn't her sisters, she didn't accept intimidation.

“What a relief to know that a man is in charge of my future.” She said bitterly taking a sip of her coffee. “The pressure of choosing my own partner could prove too much for my poor, confused female mind.” Lucretia rested the cup on the plate again and turned to face the man in front of her. “Tell me, Lord Bridgerton, who is the lucky one?”

“I still don't have anyone specific in mind, for now, but he will be a noble, nothing short of a Viscount, a gentleman of good lineage, with impeccable background and connections. Besides…”

“And about the love?” She interrupted him.

The lord didn’t even blink.

“My most sincere hope is that you will develop an affection for any gentleman who is chosen for Your Highness.“

The answer was so absurd that the young woman felt like laughing, but the serious demeanor of the man in front of her made it clear that this was not a joke.

“I didn’t ask about affection, Lord Bridgerton.” She said. “I asked about love.”

“Real love takes time to develop, and we can't afford that luxury.” Anthony Bridgerton said seriously. “It is already mid-May, and your father will arrive in London for a state visit in August. My orders are that you will be betrothed by the time he arrives.”

Shocked, Lucretia could only stare at him.

“Two and a half months? How can I find a man and commit to marrying him in two and a half months?”

“Daphne...my sister met and married within a month.” He replied simply. “Given your situation, time is of the essence. Your father’s wishes are clear. Besides, I have duties elsewhere, and you…”

“Should I be hurriedly pushed into the marriage so as not to interfere with my father’s schedule or my lord’s duties?”

He stared at her with eyes cold and hard as steel.

“No, you are being hastily pushed into marriage due to your own indiscreet behavior, which could have ruined not only your reputation but that of your sisters as well.”

That hurt, especially since she wasn't entirely to blame, just one of the parties. Lucretia pressed her lips together but said nothing.

“The news of her exploit with the princesses has already appeared in an Italian newspaper specializing in scandals,” he continued. “It is inevitable that the news will end up here. We hope that her past imprudence, including her love affair with the French noble, will not come to light.”

It was useless to explain to this man that she had loved François. He 

would never understand. She’d bet Anthony Bridgerton had never felt a spark of passion in his entire life, and wouldn't know what love was if he were slapped in the face with the feeling.

“And what’s your point?”

“Rumors have the unfortunate tendency to grow and feed until there’s not even half the truth left. The only way it doesn't matter is for you to get married as soon as possible, and marry well.” Lord Bridgerton said it with such rapidity and sharpness that Lucretia had to concentrate on her words to understand. “Your father is offering a hefty dowry, and an generous annual income for you and your children, which helps. Besides, we are in full season in London, which means there are plenty of suitable gentlemen in town who might have the opportunity to meet you.”

With every word he spoke impassively, Lucia felt her anger rising.

“I’m not to be displayed in front of an audience of men while you choose one desperate enough and greedy enough to take me from my father’s hands for the price of a dowry and an income! I...” She broke off, choking. by anger and humiliation. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, but it was impossible. “I’m not to be sold, not even given away. No man should have to be paid to take me. No wonder your lordship only needs two and a half months.”

Not a muscle moved in the man’s face. Lucretia realized he wasn’t quite human. Made of marble, maybe, but definitely not human.

“I sense his resentment, and he’s understandable.” He said trying to appease her. “However, you will be displayed anywhere. Before accepting an alliance, any man will want to spend some time with you and get to know you. It is common for a young lady of the nobility or a higher class family to carry a dowry. and an income for the wedding. And as for the matter of time, we have already discussed that. Your Majesty's requirements are clear…”

“What gives any of you the right to order me around or control my life?”

Lord Bridgerton looked at her with the patient expression of an adult who tolerates the tantrums of a petulant child, which only served to her infuriates her even more.

“There’s still the matter of your mother…”

Lucretia had a bad feeling, knowing she was about to hear more horrible statements about her life and her future. As if what she’d already heard wasn't insulting enough.

“What about my mother?”

“I have orders to remove you from your mother's custody…”

She straightened up on the couch.

“What?”

“You need to realize that she can’t go on living under her mother's roof.” He said controlling signs of impatience. “Your mother is born into royalty, she is a member of the House of Habsburg, married into the House of Luynes, but she fell from grace by scandalizing society leaving her husband for her lover, and then leaving the lover for a new lover.” Lord Bridgerton remained impassive. “This is an unacceptable environment for any young woman about to be introduced to society, and I have no doubt your mother will agree with me. Your reputation cannot be questioned.” He said categorically.

Lucretia wondered what would happen to her reputation if she slapped the handsome lord in front of her.

“Any man who loves me enough won’t mind that.” She said “And I would never marry a man who doesn’t accept my mother.” Lucretia said through gritted teeth. “I could never respect or love him.”

His sneer was the last straw. Lucretia jumped to her feet.

Lord Bridgerton rose too.

“Love, Your Highness, is a luxury that people of royal lineage can rarely afford. You certainly cannot.” Anthony said already without any trace of patience.

“You are wrong, my lord.” Lucretia disagreed. “I can afford to marry for love. And I can also wait as long as it takes to find this man. In the meantime, I can continue to live with my mother. Her Imperial Highness, the Duchess of Luynes, the scandalous woman to whom you apparently despise so much, a woman rich enough to support her daughter in dignified comfort.” She placed the cup she had in her hands on the table. “I will not make a loveless marriage for the sake of my father or the lord. And my reputation be damned!”

“You cannot even think of defying your father. You must marry.”

“Write to the Royal Council, Lord Bridgerton, and tell them I will marry when I find a man I love and who loves me. And I don't need the help of a boring lord to do that.”

With that, the young woman turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

[stinglovebee]

I'll look after you (but I won't stop complaining about it)

requested by anon: Hi I love your Bridgerton sister fics! They got me to finally watch the show. Can I request an Anthony x Bridgerton!reader fic where it’s “4 times Anthony protects the reader and 1 time she protects him”?

requested by anon: Okay but, a twist to the story and instead of the typicall bridgerton!sister being stung by the bee, what if it’s Anthony, and everyone worries about him because of what happened to their father, and it’s specially the youngest bridgerton!sister who has a reaction like him in the show out of fear of losing her brother/father figure?

requested by anon: anthony x bridgerton sis where reader is around 15 and she has a really big fight with colin or eloise and she goes on a walk to calm herself down, falls down a hill and anthony finds her after looking for her for a while? but like fluffy pls

summary: four times Anthony protected his sister and the one time she protected him (albeit it was from the ton)

After Edmund Bridgerton, the 8th Viscount Bridgerton, died, his son, Anthony, made a promise. He sat at his father's death bed, staring down at the cold corpse that had once been his beloved father, and promised to look after his siblings - all eight of them - and to try, in any way possible, to guide them as an elder brother and as a father figure.

Whilst his siblings did not make this promise an easy one to keep Anthony kept trying. But right now, at this exact moment in time, Anthony wanted to throttle his sisters.

He vaguely wondered if anyone would find their bodies at the bottom of the lake, only to be yanked out of the thought by a pillow smacking him in the chest, the intended target oblivious as she glared at her twin.

"What is so wrong with wanting marriage?" Y/N yelled, throwing her hands up at her sister.

"It shackles you for life!" Eloise yelled back. "It silences you and your dreams."

"Oh, not this conversation again," Y/N groaned. "El, not everyone wants the same things as you. Is it so wrong for me to want to be married and happy? There are plenty of things you can still do when married."

"Not if you marry some old man who treats his women like objects!"

"Nope, absolutely not," Y/N said, getting up from the sofa, throwing the cushion she'd been hugging at Eloise, "I am not having this conversation again. Marry, do not marry, I do not care. But I am not going to sit here and listen to you call me an unintelligent woman simply because I dream of being married one day."

The door to the drawing room slammed shut. Eloise huffed, sitting back down on the sofa, crossing her arms.

Anthony pulled back a page of his newspaper, eyeing Eloise. "Is it so wrong for your sister to want marriage?"

"She does not understand what it can do to a woman, brother," Eloise replied. "The consequences, the silencing..."

"It can be a positive thing, El -"

"I have heard far too many horror stories of women being treated like cattle to view it as a positive thing. We all saw what nearly happened to Daphne when she came out."

"That was entirely my own doing -"

"This is what I mean!" Eloise exclaimed, sitting forward. "We do not get to choose our husbands. Our husbands choose us or our fathers and brothers choose them for us. Not once does a woman get a say in who she marries."

Anthony exhaled through his nose, seeing that he clearly wasn't going to get anywhere with Eloise. He folded his newspaper shut, setting it down on the coffee table beside him.

"I'm going to go check on Y/N," he muttered, standing up from the sofa.

Whilst Anthony knew Y/N and Eloise were devoted to one another, he also knew that when they argued, it got mean, very quickly. The marriage argument had been one they'd had many times before and it never ended well.

Eloise could never quite seem to understand why any woman would want to willingly be married. Y/N never quite understood why Eloise was so opposed to even the idea of marriage. What was so wrong with wanting a future for herself where she was ostracized to the edge of society?

It took him fifteen minutes and five servants to work out where Y/N had gone. As much as he adored Aubery Hall, he did curse its extensive grounds, especially when his siblings ran off.

Another ten minutes later and Anthony was finally down in the woods of the grounds, walking through patches of bluebells and snowdrops, peering behind trees and bushes.

He looked behind a fairly large oak tree and stopped, casting his eyes down. Y/N looked back up at him, her face blotchy from her tears.

She didn't say anything, turning her head away and looking straight ahead at where the river cut through their lands.

Anthony crossed his arms, leaning against the tree. "This is an argument you have had before. We all know how it goes."

"I know. Does not stop it from upsetting me or being infuriating."

"It reminds me of the argument I so often have with Colin about travelling," Anthony replied. "If he had it his way, he would be gallivanting around every corner of this world, spending as much money as he likes. I am the one who has to bring him back down and tell him that whilst we have money, we do not have enough money for that."

Y/N gave him a small smile. "It is utterly exhausting. I have tried to explain to her multiple times that marriage can be a good thing. If you find the right person."

"I can attest to that."

"Five words I never thought you would say, brother," Y/N said, looking up at him.

"This argument is not worth your tears, Y/N."

"Oh, I am aware, I was not crying about that." She looked a little sheepishly at Anthony's raised eyebrow. "I was so angry I did not look where I was going and I twisted my ankle, falling down a rabbit burrow."

Anthony stared at her for a moment. Then, he burst out laughing, leaning back, putting a hand on his chest.

"Yes, yes, laugh away," Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"No! I fell down a rabbit burrow!"

Anthony snorted. Y/N reached over and pushed her brother's leg, knocking him off balance. He stumbled to the side, catching himself.

"Are you going to just stand there and laugh or will you help me up and back to the house?"

"Alright, come on then."

Anthony held his hands out to Y/N and she placed her hands in his, letting him help her up to her feet, hopping awkwardly. She put her foot down and winced, pain shooting up from her ankle.

Without uttering a word, Anthony turned around. Y/N, snorted but climbed onto his back, using her good foot to propel herself up.

"I feel like I'm ten again," Y/N said as Anthony gripped her legs.

"I don't," he grunted. "When did you get so heavy?"

"Don't be rude. Come along then," she said, nudging him with her foot.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "If I fall down a rabbit burrow, it'll be your fault."

"Bloody hell."

Daphne whacked her sister with her blue mallet. "Language."

Y/N shot her a withering look. "It's just family, we are quite safe." She tilted her head up, looking at the tree. "How on earth are we to get that out?"

It was a well-known fact that Y/N Bridgerton did not know what gently meant. Especially when it came to pall mall. One well-aimed hit later, her purple ball was stuck up in the tree, nestled amongst the branches.

"We'll have to climb."

"No, Y/N, do not -"

Daphne trailed off as Y/N dropped her mallet and put her booted foot on a stump next to the tree. She pushed herself up, pulling her dress up over her knee and climbing up onto the lowest branch.

She could see the purple ball wedged between the fork of two branches. If she climbed up another branch and crawled forward, she could definitely grab it.

The panting of breaths came from below as Colin, Benedict and Anthony rushed up to Daphne, all looking up at the tree.

"Is she climbing the tree?!" Colin exclaimed, both delighted and slightly concerned.

"Of course she is!" Anthony snapped. "Y/N, get down at once!"

"Let one of the boys get it, Y/N," Daphne added.

"I'm up here now!" Y/N yelled down, climbing onto the second branch. "I might as well get it!"

Y/N crawled forward again, the leaves shaking at the sudden movement.

"Someone should get her down," Benedict muttered, following Y/N's movements. "Knowing our dear sister, she will fall down. She's not exactly gentle."

"Y/N!" Anthony yelled, moving to the bottom of the tree trunk. "Mother will kill me if you fall!"

"I've almost got it!"

Y/N leant forward, her fingers brushing against the purple ball. Instead of the ball falling into her grip, she lost her balance entirely and teetered forward and off the branch.

Her arms flailed as she struggled to find anything to grip on, her sibling's yells of panic from below silencing her own yelp of surprise.

Y/N was falling until she wasn't. Arms wrapped around her just before she hit the ground, her body smacking into Anthony's. The force knocked them both to the floor, Anthony taking down Benedict at the same time.

The three siblings hit the ground, hard. Anthony's head smacked against Benedict's chest as Y/N knocked her own head into her older brother's chin.

"Oh, my go - are you three ok?" Daphne exclaimed, crouching down beside Y/N and helping her sit up, a concerned hand on her back.

Y/N rolled off her elder brother and to the side, coughing slightly, winded from her collision with her brother.

"Anthony get off me," Benedict grunted, pushing his brother off him.

Anthony stumbled to his feet, swaying just a bit. "I'm fine," he muttered, dusting his jacket down. "Just another victim of Y/N Bridgerton."

Something landed on top of Anthony's head with a fairly loud thud. It rolled off him and bounced onto the floor, rolling down to Y/N's feet.

"Oh!" She said, bending down and picking it up. "I did get my ball after all!."

Y/N looked behind her frantically, desperately trying to find an escape as Cressida Cowper walked towards her, her friends walking alongside her.

She was not having a good day and she did not need Cressida Cowper to make it any worse.

"Y/N!"

Bloody hell. "Cressida," Y/N said, curtseying politely.

"You look beautiful. As ever," Cressida added snidely. "Anyone asked you for a dance yet?"

Y/N gritted her teeth. "No, not yet."

"Oh, shame. Mr Patrick, Sir Carter and Mr Norris have all written their names in my dance card."

"Well, I hope you enjoy all your dances."

"Hmm, I suppose I will."

Cressida brushed past Y/N, tipping her glass of lemonade onto her dress and down her chest. Y/N gasped, the cold liquid startling her. Cressida sniggered and sauntered off to another corner of the ballroom.

Y/N inhaled shakily, closing her eyes. She turned her back to the rest of the room, feeling her throat closing as the tears threatened to fall all over again.

A jacket sleeve brushed against her arm and Y/N knew instantly it was Anthony. He shielded her from the rest of the room as he unbuttoned his jacket and put it around her shoulders, handing her his handkerchief.

"Come on," he said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her along with him.

Anthony walked out into the corridor outside the ballroom and then into another empty room. He shut the door behind them and Y/N sat down heavily on the sofas, hanging her head low.

"I have half a mind to go yell at Miss Cowper," Anthony muttered, walking over to her.

"Not that it would solve anything," Y/N replied, straightening up. She dabbed under her eyes with her fingers, shaking her head. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"Getting me out of there before I made a scene."

Anthony smiled softly. "If anyone made a scene, it was Cressida." He sat down next to her on the sofa. "We do not have to go back. We can leave."

Y/N shook her head, pulling Anthony's jacket tighter around her shoulders. "No. I do not want her to win. Give me five minutes and I'll be fine."

"Very well, then."

Y/N dropped her head to Anthony's shoulder, closing her eyes momentarily. "Thank you, brother."

Anthony kissed her forehead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Anytime."

The rain lashed against the windows. A loud boom of thunder sounded from directly overhead and Y/N flinched, digging her nails into the leather of the chair she was sat in.

She didn't know what it was about storms that frightened her so much - whether it was the loud noises, the bright flashes of lighting, the sound of trees being felled - but this was the worst one they had had in years.

Anthony glanced up at his sister, pausing his writing. "Alright?"

Y/N nodded tightly, clutching her book in one hand. "Fine."

Another boom of thunder and she closed her eyes, jumping in her seat. Anthony set his pen down and pushed his chair back, walking over to his sister. He snatched up her book, putting his thumb on the page she was on, and closing it to look at the cover.

Pride and Prejudice was written on the front, each letter covered in gold foil. "Would you like me to read to you?"

"If it means distracting me from this god-awful storm, yes."

Anthony smiled, sitting down in the chair opposite his sister. He opened the book again and found the start of the new chapter. "Colonel Fitzwilliam's were very much admired at the Parsonage, and the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasure of their engagements at Rosings."

Y/N leant back in her chair, closing her eyes. Anthony's voice was calm and didn't flinch once, even when lighting struck almost outside his study window. His mere presence had calmed her down from the panic building inside her.

As Anthony reached the end of the chapter, he glanced over at his sister. He smiled softly upon seeing that she was fast asleep, her head drooping to one side. He concluded the chapter, gently tucking a piece of paper in between the pages and closing the book.

It had been many years since he'd last carried anyone other than Hyacinth and Gregory to bed. Even then, they were beginning to get a bit too big and a bit too old.

Anthony gently lifted Y/N up into his arms and crept through the corridors of Bridgerton House. He laid her down on her bed and pulled back the blankets and duvet, placing them on top of her, smoothing the edge down.

"Night, Y/N," he whispered, standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

Anthony did not regret marrying Kate Bridgerton neé Sharma one bit.

He just regretted his mother's penchant for big ball's and extravagant celebrations. Anthony had hardly had time to take in his new wife and admire her as viscountess - it felt as if the entire ton had been invited to the ball.

Almost an hour later, Anthony finally found his wife again, walking up to her and taking her hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

"I missed you," he murmured, leaning into her neck and sniffing.

Kate shoved him gently. "Anthony, behave."

"Apologies."

"Your mother seems very determined to introduce me to every member of the ton tonight."

"Again, apologies."

Kate chuckled, smiling widely. "I forgive you, my lord."

The string quartet began readying themselves for another dance, couples moving into position on the floor with practised ease. Anthony held his hand out to his wife, smiling.

"Care for a dance, Viscountess Bridgerton?"

"I would adore one, Viscount Bridgerton."

They danced three times in a row. Which was preposterous for any courting couple but unheard of for a married couple. But Anthony and Kate were so in love with one another, that no one seemed to really mind.

In fact, both were so enamoured with one another, that they did not seem to realise the line of people wanting to talk to them slowly dwindling down to nothing.

"Is it me," Kate said quietly, "or has no one been over to talk at us for a while?"

Anthony sipped on his lemonade and looked around, raising his eyebrows. "No, I do believe you are correct in that statement."

It was suspicious, Anthony thought, that they had been left alone for as long as they had. His eyes scanned the ballroom - he spotted Daphne and Simon, both pretending to look interested in a conversation with the Cowpers, and suddenly realised.

"I do believe my siblings are deflecting anyone that comes our way," Anthony murmured to his wife.

"Whatever do you mean?"

He pointed over to Daphne and Simon. Then he guided Kate's eyes to the left, where Colin and Eloise were listening to Lady Trowbridge.

"Oh," Kate said, understanding. She looked around the room, her eyes latching on to one Bridgerton in particular.

Y/N stood with Mr Dorset, pretending to be engrossed in Lord Lumley's conversation. She was surrounded by numerous other gentlemen, all waiting for her attention.

"Oh, Lord Bridgerton!" Portia Featherington crowed.

"I knew it couldn't last," Anthony muttered, turning his back.

"Lady Featherington!" Y/N exclaimed, pulling Mr Dorset with her as they walked over to the lady. "I have been meaning to ask you all night about your stunning dress."

"Oh, really? It's new in from Paris -"

And just like that, Portia Featherington forget entirely about the newlywed couple she'd been marching towards.

Kate caught Y/N's eye as she walked back to the wall. She mouthed a thank you to the younger girl, smiling when Y/N winked back at her, blowing her sister-in-law a kiss.

"I do believe, we have Y/N to thank for a bit of peace," Kate said, leaning into her husband. "She seems to have gathered an army to distract the ton."

Anthony looked over at her, a fond smile taking over his face. "Of course she did," he muttered. "Well, I suppose, annoyingly, I'm in her debt now."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Kate asked, letting Anthony wrap his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

"No," He replied, sniffing Kate's scent and pressing a kiss to her bare skin, "no, it is not."

[stinglovebee]

♥️

Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

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

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

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

Word count: 3.6k

Continuar lendo

[stinglovebee]

Okay so I just binged all of Whatever the Poets Say and I am obsessed. May I be added to the taglist please? 💕😊

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 18

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut! Loss of virginity. Fingering. P in V. Porn with a plot. Slight cockwarming? But not really? Idk that’s what I felt like it was I’m sorry

Author’s Note: Yes! This is your first tag lol. Sorry for the late update, but hopefully it’s worth it 👀

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me

“We will take things as slow as you need, my love.”

Slow was not what she wanted, truthfully. Slow was agonizing; it was lighting a fire in her stomach that was spread lower and lower. It was not nerves that were making her tremble. Benedict’s observation was only half accurate. While she was shaking, she was not shaking because she was nervous. She was shaking from anticipation. All she wanted was him and all she needed was his touch –of which he had taken from her too quickly.

Back pressed against his chest still, she huffed some, considering what to do. She hesitated for a second then slowly unbuttoned her night gown, allowing a rather scandalous look into her cleavage. While she was still covered, the sides of the dress opened enough to expose her skin down to her stomach, resting on her shoulders precariously. Benedict looked bewildered as she took his hands in her once more.

“Benedict, please,” she insisted. As he tried to answer, she sat up, turning in to face him on her knees. His legs still spread, with her sitting between them now.

His brow furrowed for a moment as she placed his hands on her shoulders. Her hands rested on top of his, slipping her fingers between his now, and she slowly slid their hands down. The fabric of her nightgown slipped with their movement, sliding down her arms. The silky expanse of her skin was exposed to the air –exposed to him. The feeling of his calloused palms against her bare skin as her nightgown slipped off her was intoxicating, only adding fuel to the fire that was no longer a slow inferno. No, it was now a wildfire, spreading throughout her body and lingering in the places that his skin touched hers.

The angle that they sat at was a bit awkward, but as she guided his hands further down, pushing the neat fabric with them, she made sure to keep his hands on her skin. Benedict did not fight her; he allowed her to move him as she pleased, setting her own pace. If he was honest with himself, he would let her do anything she wanted to him even if she wasn’t trying to figure it out herself. But this was their moment to learn together, and he was not going to interfere with that.

Their hands slid over her chest next, back into place from earlier. Her nightgown was still covering her breasts, though it was certainly threatening to fall further down if she removed their hands. Benedict watched her for a moment, waiting to see what she wanted him to do next. However, when she didn’t make a move, he gently squeezed.

The sound that escaped her lips was positively sinful and Benedict was determined to hear it again.

She swallowed hard after a second, taking a breath. Then she pushed his hands away, allowing her nightgown to fall to her waist. She had nothing underneath it; no corsets, no chemise. There was never a need to wear such things to bed. But to suddenly know this –to suddenly be so aware that she was, in fact, naked under her nightgown did spurred something in Benedict. Seeing her bare before him –she was his. All his. And she was…perfection.

While she did not hide herself from him, allowing him to gawk further, she did keep her eyes anywhere but him. There was no shame she felt about her physical appearance; there was enough confidence in herself to know she was pretty. But she was suddenly aware that Benedict was staring at her, seeing her for the first time. And she was worried to see his face. Worried that –what if he did not like what he saw? There was certainly no way to back out now; not with how much scandal it would cause. Or the fact that she had given more to him than she probably should have as an unmarried woman. And that would be a mark in her ledger forever, she wouldn’t be able to find another husband if Benedict decided he –

“You are…the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on,” he suddenly whispered, voice laced with awe as he fell back into the pillows of her bed.

Finally, her attention returned to him, taking in his wide eyes and slack jaw. Truly, Benedict Bridgerton was mesmerized by his future wife. She was a siren, entrapping him with her beauty and grace. Everything about her was just so enticing for him –slow seemed to have been stolen from his tongue and mind as he reached out and took hold of her hips. Her nightgown still rested at her waist, but Benedict was growing impatient, lifting her up carefully to allow the fabric to fall further down her body and pool on the bed at her knees. She looked down again, feeling the cold air of her room wrapping around her exposed lower half. But Benedict lifted her chin, coaxing her into looking at him.

“Let me show you how good you can feel,” he whispered, free hand holding her hip gently and pulling him closer. “Let me show you how much I adore everything about you, my love.”

She nodded once, slowly, as if she was considering otherwise. But the small smile that spread over her face said it all. “Show me, Benedict.”

Like a man starved, Benedict pulled her in by her chin and kissed her passionately. This kiss was different from the ones they had shared previously. This kiss was frantic, and hungry. He was kissing her like this was the last time he ever would. But they had kissed enough that she knew how to react to his movements, no matter how strong they were this time. She wrapped her arms around his neck, falling into him as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. Benedict hummed in delight, his tongue parting her lips carefully –testing the waters. She followed his silent command, opening her mouth and allowing him to slip his tongue in.

Hand dropping from her chin to rest on her other hip, Benedict rolled them over. Their kiss broke as she looked up at him with wide, lust filled eyes and swollen lips and her back against the sheets again. He hovered over her, hands resting on either side of her body now as he looked over her naked form lovingly. Bare beneath him –like he had dreamed of so many times before –and she was even more angelic than he ever imagined. His deepest imaginations had nothing on reality. Every freckle, every curve –he wanted to remember everything.

“Let me paint you one day,” he whispered, looking her over slowly before finally meeting her eyes.

“Naked?” She asked, looking surprised for a moment.

“Naked, clothed, I don’t care. Let me paint you.”

She nodded excitedly, smiling brightly up at him as she reached up and pulled him back into a kiss. Benedict wasted no time returning the gesture, while also reaching down to remove her nightgown entirely. He threw it across the room, not caring where it went. Her hands moved from his jaw, back down his chest. Her touch was more confident now –she had done this once before. She didn’t need to be nervous again. The drag of her nails against his skin caused Benedict to hum in excitement, the sound vibrating against her tongue as they kissed.

It was when her hand paused just above his belt line, where his pants hung on his hips, that she finally looked up at him with concern. But Benedict simply smiled at her reassuringly, one hand resting on hers as he helped her slowly unbutton his pants and slip them over his hips. Her eyes dragged down his chest, flicking up to his face a few times, before she finally took in what she had only read about in books.

“That’s…that’s going inside me?” She whispered in surprise, as if she was trying to determine how it would be possible. “Is it…will it fit?”

Books did not necessarily explain the process; they simply indulged in it. It was not a guide; there was no explanation of the starting points. Just that it…worked. Typically, at least.

Benedict couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding as he reached up and ran his thumb over her cheek gently. “I promise it will. I need to help you feel ready for it, though.”

“And it is going to hurt,” she stated knowingly, frowning some.

He nodded again. “A bit, yes. If I am as skilled as I like to think I am, hopefully it won’t though. Not terribly, at least.” He paused for a second then his cheeks turned a bit red. “Have you…well…”

“Have I what?” She asked, frowning some.

He took a breath, trying to keep himself from feeling foolish. Benedict was the expert here; he needed to know. It was to help her feel good. “Have you ever…touched yourself? Under your skirts?”

She stared up at him, brow furrowing as she processed his question. It was a question she had never been asked. Not by a man, at least. Annalise had certainly told her about the sensation of…touching one’s self. Had explained that sometimes, men just weren’t very good at making women feel good. That sometimes, “a lady must do it herself. Like with most things in life.” Anna had made it clear that it was not a bad thing to do, even if Lady Everly had said otherwise. Her stories were what usually made her want to touch herself, but lately…

“I…I have, yes,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up. But she couldn’t say it was from embarrassment –it was a new found confidence she suddenly felt. “To the thought of you, if I am truly honest.”

They watched each other for a moment, Benedict’s body going rigid at her admission. He was hard against her thigh, and it took all her willpower not to look at him. Their eyes were locked, staring each other down as Benedict imagined her, alone in her bed, touching herself –to the thought of him. It made his stomach turn, realizing that she truly wanted this just as much as he did.

“Can I touch you, love?” He asked, tone rushed but soft as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

There was no hesitation in her quick, “Yes, please,” and Benedict grinned at her eagerness.

His mouth was on hers again with a new found urgency, his pointer and thumb holding her chin as he kissed her hard. His other hand, which was sitting on her hip, had begun to drift down. She shivered from the drag of his fingers over her skin, her hands tightening in his hair at the touch. Distracting her from the sensation of his hand so close to her most intimate places, Benedict pulled his mouth from hers to kiss along her jaw. Her head fell back, allowing him to trail kisses from her jaw down her throat. His fingers flicked just barely between her legs, spreading them so he could better access her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes closed as he ghosted his touch over her arousal. Benedict kept his hand still, allowing her a moment to get used to his touch there. She was radiating warmth, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself there. But he knew better; he knew she needed to adjust. Keeping her attention anywhere else, he dragged his lips from her throat over her collarbone, then down further until his tongue lapped at one of her pert nipples. Her gasp at the sudden sensation caused her hips to buck, meeting his hand in a gentle grind. The friction of his hand against her most sensitive place was overwhelming for a moment as she pulled at his hair again. Benedict’s teeth grazed over her nipple now, nipping at it before he sucked it into his mouth.

His hand that rested between her legs now shifted, fingers lightly dancing between her wet folds. Benedict couldn’t help but groan at how aroused she was; her slick coated his fingers as he pressed a single finger into her. She inhaled sharply, involuntarily pulling back at the sensation. While she had touched herself before, his one finger was bigger than her own and the stretch stung some.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone softly as he stopped his movements. She took a breath, nodding once.

He picked up his movements once more, slower this time. She didn’t flinch now as he pressed into her, slipping one finger in. She did squirm some at the feeling of him inside her, but even as he simply waited for her to adjust, she couldn’t help how her body clenched around his middle finger. His palm pressed against her mound as he relaxed his finger inside her and he looked up at her face.

“You are doing so well,” he promised, pressing kisses over her cheeks and lips as he pressed his finger deeper inside of her. “I’m going to start moving, is that alright?”

She nodded frantically, her hand gripping his upper arm as he slowly pulled his finger out then pushed it back in. It slipped in far quicker this time, eased in by how wet she was already. Her nails dug into his skin as he quickened his pace, sliding his middle finger in and out of her with ease. She had stopped flinching now, instead arching into his touch as she chanted his name like a prayer falling from her lips. Her hips were bucking up, meeting him between touches, as a second finger slowly pushed its way into her folds. The stinging returned, but it didn’t last as both his fingers settled inside her.

Benedict waited a moment, allowing her to adjust once more, before he continued his movements. She dropped her hands to the sheets, clutching them tight as he sped up once more. His name dripped from her lips, breathy and sighing in pleasure as he brought her closer and closer to ecstasy. She knew what that felt like –sort of, at the very least. She had brought herself there before, but it had never been this intense; never this…tight inside of her belly.

“Oh, Benedict,” she sighed, just barely more than a whisper as she tumbled over the edge. Her entire body tensed, clenching around his fingers as she came undone.

Benedict leaned in, catching her breathy moans with his mouth as he kissed her through her orgasm. Her hands found his face once more, holding him close as she returned the kiss with a new found hunger and need. If Benedict was a man starved, she was a woman on the brink of death and he was her only life line.

As her body finally relaxed, and her breathing was coming down from her high, Benedict pulled back from her. His fingers slid out with ease, coated in the ecstasy that she had just experienced. His forehead rested against hers gently, his signature grin gracing his lips. She took a breath, closing her eyes for a moment before finally smiling up at him. He took in every piece of her –the blissful smile on her lips, swollen from his kisses, the way her hair was mused from her reactions to his touch –planting the image permanently in his mind.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice soft but laced with lust. She could feel just how hard he was against her still; feel the warmth of his length pressed into her thigh.

“Amazing,” she admitted, though there was no shame in her voice as she reached up and touched his cheek. “Better than amazing. I feel…I feel…almost weightless.” Her fingers trailed across his jaw, taking in how he felt with tingling fingertips. But that tingling –it was all over and fading. “I need you, Benedict. All of you –please.”

It felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Her sweet voice –so sure, so confident –pleading for him. While she certainly was not begging for him, it was close to that. Benedict thought he could come then and there. But he nodded, moving now to hover over her on the bed. His hands rested on either side of her head, with a knee between her legs as he gently spread her further.

“I love you,” he reminded her, a smile on his lips. “I love you more than you will ever know —but I can show you.”

Her eyes lit up, her smile reaching her eyes as she rested her hands against his cheeks. “I love you too.”

Benedict pulled back, sitting on his knees in front of her now. She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching as he stroked himself slowly. The way his eyes roamed over her body ignited another fire in her belly; she wanted him so bad. It almost hurt. It was like he was drinking in her image —spread for him on her back; slick with her first orgasm from his hands; waiting for him.

Freeing his cock, he reached for her legs, pulling her gently down the bed and closer to him. She almost laughed from the sensation —an involuntary reaction, really —as he hooked his hands under her knees to spread her out further for him and pull her close enough that his hips were pressed against her inner thighs. Her throat bobbed, swallowing hard as he took himself in his hand once more. Then, with one hand supporting himself, he rested above her once more.

Chest to chest, with her pert nipples brushing against him each time her chest rose in breath, Benedict smiled down at her. Her body tensed when he pressed the tip of his cock against her folds —but he didn’t press in. He simply ran the head over her slick, allowing her to feel what was coming.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he ordered gently. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

She simply nodded in response, closing her eyes as she prepared herself. Benedict watched for a moment before he slowly pressed forward, slipping himself into her carefully. Her hands immediately reached up, grabbing his arms and digging her nails in. Even though he hadn’t even penetrated her yet, she was tensed up. Expecting the worst; expecting pain.

“Relax, my love,” he whispered, maintaining his weight on his elbow while reaching up with his free hand. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers and whispering her name softly. “It’s okay. We can stop —if it hurts —“

“No,” she quickly interrupted, shaking her head. She opened her eyes to finally look up at him. “Please don’t stop, Benedict. Please.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand once more. Shifting his weight some, Benedict slowly pushed forward once more. Her hand squeezed his tight as her other hand’s nails dug into the skin of his arm. He leaned in, capturing her mouth with his as his hips rolled forward, finally and properly allowing himself to enter her. The gasp that escaped her lips was swallowed by his kiss though, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth and distract her from the sting.

Her eyes were screwed shut, trying to ignore the sting of him stretching her out as he paused. He was almost bottomed out, but he wanted her to adjust; to get used to the feeling. Her nails in his shoulder only dug deeper —certainly he’d have marks afterwards —as she returned his kiss with a new found fervor. She shifted under him, feeling how much he really filled her, before trying to pull him closer to her by his shoulder. Benedict took this as a sign to continue, easing his entire cock into her folds finally as their hips finally met.

There was no helping the moan that slipped out of Benedict’s mouth as she clenched around him. She was tight around him as her head dropped back onto the pillows. Any discomfort or pain had subsided, and she simply laid there and basked on how full she felt with him inside her. It was…it was remarkable. Benedict hovered over her, relishing how amazing it felt to be buried inside the woman he loved. Staring down at her as he memorized how blissful she looked by his having him there.

“I’m going to move now,” he murmured, untangling their fingers for a moment to push her hair from her forehead. He held her chin gently, meeting her eyes with a smile. “You look beautiful, you know.”

“There’s…you’re going to move?” She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Benedict laughed, unable to help it. “Did you really think this was all?” When she nodded sheepishly, he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss her again, grinning into it. “You are a brilliant woman. You’ve taught me quite a bit since we met. But tonight, I am going to teach you something, my love.”

As she opened her mouth to ask what he could be teaching her, Benedict pulled out almost entirely. She whined at the sudden loss of him; how empty she felt suddenly. But his hips snapped forward —not terribly hard but enough to cause her to cry out in surprise. Benedict grinned, a bit deviously, as he repeated the motion once —twice. Three times now. It was slow, careful; she needed to get used to it and he didn’t want to hurt her.

However, the breathy, “Oh,” simply confirmed all he needed to know: she felt good.

As his pace picked up, she reached up to take his face in her hands and pull him into a deep kiss. Benedict shifted, allowing him to continue his quickening thrusts, while kissing her back. Her hands left his jaw and ran up into his hair, pulling at the roots. He hummed at the feeling, but he gasped when she nipped at his bottom lip. Clearly feeling confident, she slipped her tongue back into his mouth as his thrusts got harder.

Their tongues tangled together as the sounds of skin on skin filled the empty space of her bedroom. Her knees had pulled themselves up instinctively, with one of her legs wrapping around his waist as if to pull him even closer. Her hips had begun to move to meet his movements as well, feeling him fill her entirely and chase his touch more and more as the coil inside her tightened.

Benedict pulled back from the kiss, training his lips down her cheek, and over her jawline. The trail of messy kisses was hot against her skin as he nipped at her throat next, earning an excited yelp from her. He kissed her neck again, smiling into the soft skin there as his hips began to stutter. His weight shifted again, with his forehead now pressed against her neck as he reached down and wrapped both her legs around his waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her as his movements got sloppier, driving himself deeper into her.

The coil is her belly suddenly snapped, and she cried out his name as her orgasm washed over her senses. Every part of her was on fire; tingling from head to toe as she pulled at the hair on the back of his head. But Benedict didn’t stop his thrusts, they only became more erratic as he chased his own release. Feeling her come around his cock brought him even closer than before, and pulling her through the waves of her orgasm only turned him on more.

She cried out as she came down from her release, overwhelmed and sensitive, because he was still pounding into her. But just as sudden as her orgasm was, so was his sudden removal from inside her. She whined at the loss —both from feeling suddenly empty without him as well his back under her hands —as Benedict pulled back, releasing himself onto her stomach.

His forehead pressed against hers, his breathing heavy as he closed his eyes. She reached up once more, taking his face in her hands again. Her eyes were on him, taking in the blood that had rushed to his cheeks as he came. Felt how hot his skin was against hers. It was a beautiful, almost haunting sight. One that she would dream of every night until she could see it again. The sticky feel of his release on her belly was less than ideal, but it was certainly the least of her concerns.

There was no guilt or shame inside her. She did not regret what they had just done. If she was honest with herself, she wanted more; but the sensitivity of her body was too overwhelming at the moment. She needed to recover; certainly Benedict would need to as well, right?

After a moment, he finally rolled off of her and onto the bed. He ran his hands over his face, then looked at her with that grin of his and rested his hands on his chest. His eyes trailed over her cheeks, down to her swollen lips, and then over her body. He blushed a bit, as if he just realized where he had finished.

“Oh hell,” he chuckled, running his hand over his face once more. Then he rolled over to the side of the bed, searching around the room for a moment. She watched him curiously as he snatched his ascot tie from the floor and returned to her. “I don’t think you wish to be covered in…that all morning,” he explained, wiping away at her belly to clean her up.

“I suppose you really must marry me now,” she whispered, unable to keep herself from laughing as well. The image of him cleaning himself off her body was one she would not be forgetting any time soon.

“As if I had plans to not marry you,” Benedict scoffed, tossing the soiled tie to the floor once again.

He pulled the blankets back over their bodies and laid on his side, inching himself closer to her. His cheek rested in his palm and he looked over at her with a lazy grin. She turned to lay on her side as well, hands resting under her pillow as they gazed into each other's eyes. It was a silent gaze, saying everything and nothing all at once.

But she couldn’t help herself, simply smitten by how lovely he looked. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Benedict?”

His brow furrowed for a second, his cheeks reddening as he casted his eyes down. “I…” He didn’t know what to say. No one had called him beautiful before. Handsome, lovely, good looking. But never beautiful. And dear god, it made his heart ache suddenly. She thought he was beautiful. “I do not deserve you.”

“None of that now,” she corrected, reaching one hand out to brush his cheek. “You deserve to be loved, and I love you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes once more. “And I love you, my soon-to-be Mrs. Bridgerton.”

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

[stinglovebee]

A woman’s fault - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony regrets staying the night with Siena and leaving his wife alone at home.

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of agnst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 632

A/N: Oh well, I should have assumed that this would happen sooner or later. I did enjoy the books (’till the one I’ve stopped reading, that is) and the TV show a lot. This isn’t based on the books thought, because I’m a KatexAnthony shipper and show!Anthony just hits me different. Thanks @pollyrepents​ for reading it first and reassuring me.

Keep reading

[stinglovebee]

did she have a cookie?

requested by anon: I would like to request a Bridgerton!sis imagine in which the reader drinks the tea that Benedict had mixed the powder thinking of it as ordinary tea. And Colin and Benedict try to keep her out of trouble. And she gets emotional at the end. A fluffy ending. Thank you

a/n: just like editing, i cannot make a just happy fic

summary: Don't drink the tea unless you want to have a trip of a lifetime

Summer at Aubery Hall was always enjoyable. The late nights spent outdoors, playing games until the sun had long gone - being able to gallop across the fields without stopping.

It all brought Y/N so much joy and excitement. But, naturally, her mother had to ruin it with the mention of suitors and marriage and all the grown-up things Y/N didn't want to think about.

Since she'd woken up that morning, she had been avoiding her mother. Y/N had skipped breakfast, hidden in the library, and was now up near the nursery, searching for anyone to free her from her bordem.

She could hear Colin and Benedict in the nursery and approached the door, wanting to know what they were on about.

"What are you two doing?"

Colin turned in his chair to face the nursery door. "Talking, why, what are you doing?"

"Avoiding our mother," Y/N grumbled, walking further into the nursery. "She will not stop talking about suitors and marriage and it is driving me insane."

Colin pulled out the chair to his left and Y/N sat down in it with a huff, crossing her ankles. "You look like Eloise when you do that."

"Of course I do, she is my twin," Y/N snapped. Coline raised his eyebrows and Y/N groaned. "Sorry."

"Is she truly that awful?" Benedict asked, pouring Y/N a cup of tea before leaning back in his chair.

Yes. "No. Well, yes, but I know she means well. I just want to enjoy our time here before we return to London and society and -"

"All the joys that come with it?" Colin suggested.

Y/N nodded. She sat up in her chair, leaning forward. "She does not pester you two."

"Probably because we are men," Benedict replied. "Besides, Colin is not here enough for her to pester him."

Colin smirked, bringing his tea to his lips. "That was my plan all along, dear brother."

Y/N sighed, reaching for her tea. "I understand that this is my entire future but," she sipped the tea, "would it truly be so awful if I became a spinster? I hate society anyway."

Benedict looked thoughtful for a moment. "It would be lonely, I think. Always on the outskirts of events. From what I have seen - and been told - there is not really any place for an unmarried woman in society."

"That seems like society's problem," Y/N muttered. She blew on her tea and took another sip. "Not mine." Y/N hesitated, holding her cup close. "Marriage scares me."

Colin and Benedict shared a look.

"Not like that you idiots," Y/N hissed, catching their look. "I know enough about that. I meant in the way that I have to spend the rest of my life with this one person - unless they die of course... we can always hope."

"Where are you going with this, Y/N?" Benedict asked wairly.

"What if the person I marry starts off lovely but then turns into a horrible human being?" She asked.

Colin sighed softly. "Then, we would sort something out. There is always a solution, one way or another."

Y/N drained her tea, grimacing at the aftertaste. "Urgh, Benedict, you need to work on your tea-making skills, this is disgusting."

"What are you own about?" Benedict asked, frowning. "You love my tea."

"Well, not this one. It was disgusting," Y/N said, setting the cup down and pushing it away.

Benedict looked at the cup. His eyes slowly widened as he realised that there was another cup directly next to it, still full of steaming tea. "That was my tea."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Colin, she drank the tea," Benedict said, slowly, looking at his brother.

Y/N frowned. "It is the same tea. Is it... not?"

Colin opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. He turned to his sister. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Brother, you are scaring me slightly."

"No, no, it is nothing to worry about," Colin replied quickly. "I think," he added quietly. "It is just that I gave Benedict this new tea I brought back from my travels and it has a certain... effect on an individual."

Y/N blinked. "Colin Bridgerton, did you just drug me?"

"No, no, no, I drugged Benedict."

"And inadvertently drugged me!" Y/N exclaimed. "Oh, my god, we have dinner with the Sharma's and Lady Danbury tonight. Colin, is there a way to reverse it?"

"Well, I assume throwing up would work, but I fear it might be too late," Colin replied, trying not to laugh.

"Colin, don't you dare laugh," Y/N snapped. "This is not funny!"

"Alright, both of you calm down," Benedict said, holding his hands out. "Y/N, you will be fine. Will keep an eye on you and stop you from making a fool of yourself."

"That does not reassure me in any way," she grumbled. "Fine. But do not tell Anthony or mama, I am embarrassed enough as it is."

"If they find out we shall simply blame Colin," Benedict told her, patting her hand sympathetically. "I blame Colin a lot, it makes my life easier."

"I am still in the room!" Colin exclaimed.

"Fine," Y/N grumbled. "But if I start going mad, please just knock me out or something."

High Y/N was not something Benedict nor Colin had been prepared for.

It had taken about twenty minutes for the drug to actually start working. At first, it had just been like she was a little tipsy. A stumble here, a giggle there. But then the tipsy turned to drunk and soon it became clear that Y/N was high as... well, a high person.

"Mother is going to kill us," Colin muttered, holding Y/N's arm tightly.

Benedict nodded. "As is Anthony," he added. "Why does this house have so many stairs?"

Y/N missed a step and both brothers lurched forward, catching her before she lost her balance entirely. Their younger sister just giggled, swaying happily between them.

"Benny, you have such pretty eyes," Y/N said, her voice unusually high-pitched. "Oh, look, that's gorgeous."

Y/N freed herself from her brothers and dashed down the final few steps, rushing over to a bronze statue. Benedict winced, fully expecting her to fall flat on her face as she jumped the last step, but Y/N kept her balance.

"Y/N, do not," Colin swooped over and took the statue from her, "touch the statue."

Y/N crossed her arms and looked grumpily at her brother. "You have gotten meaner since you came back."

Colin gaped at his sister. "Excuse you!"

"What, it's true! You are incredibly annoying!"

Y/N turned on her heel and flounced down the corridor, heading towards the dining room. Benedict took one look at his brother - who still looked incredibly offended - and snorted.

"Don't take it personally, brother," he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Does she actually mean that?"

"Everyone means it."

Colin shot his brother a withering look. "Come on, before she breaks something."

Somehow, Benedict and Colin managed to arrange the seating so that Y/N was sat in between them, opposite Eloise and Miss Sharma - but far away from Anthony and Miss Edwina. They were both hoping it would minimise the chaos caused and mean that Anthony was none the wiser.

"Peas make me sad."

"What?" Colin asked, turning his head sharply to look at his sister. "Peas?"

Y/N nodded, gently prodding a pea with her fork. "They are such a sad vegetable. It must be quite lonely to be a pea."

Eloise stared at her twin across the table, utterly confunded. She looked at Benedict and Colin, reading their shared glance in an instant. "What did you two idiots do to her?" She whispered.

"We didn't do anything," Benedict whispered back. "She drank the wrong tea."

"Please explain," Eloise said, raising her eyebrows.

Benedict sighed. "Colin had this tea -"

"That makes you feel like you're floating on a piece of grass?" Kate cut in, keeping her voice quiet.

Colin blinked at her. "You know it?"

"I tried it once. I ended up floating on my back in a river because I thought I was flying."

Eloise turned from Kate. "You drugged my sister?"

"Our sister."

"At this moment in time she's mine," Eloise told him. "You two drugged her."

"We did not -"

"Miss Sharma, you look very beautiful tonight," Y/N said dreamily, resting her chin on her hand as she stared at Kate.

Kate pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to laugh. "Why thank you, Miss Y/N."

"I wish my brother would just admit he lo-"

Benedict leant over and clamped a hand over Y/N's mouth, drowning out the rest of her sentence. He knocked his knife off his plate and onto the floor, the noise temporarily silencing the dining room.

"Everything alright, Benedict?" Violet asked warily, glancing over at him.

"Fine, mother," Benedict replied, quickly letting go of Y/N. "I knocked my knife."

After a few more wary glances their way, everyone eventually went back to their conversations.

"Our dear sister evidently does not have a filter," Colin muttered, picking up Benedict's knife and handing it to him.

"I only hope dinner ends before she talks to Miss Edwina," Benedict replied, slapping Y/N's hand gently as she went for his potatoes. "Otherwise Anthony may murder us."

Luckily for both brothers, Y/N's dream-like state was beginning to wear off. Instead, they were faced with an overly-emotional Y/N whose body was trying to detox from a drug she'd never had before.

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. Anthony made a speech which Y/N didn't so much as acknowledge - she was too busy staring mournfully into a candle - and then everyone excused themselves, almost all deciding to retire for the night.

"She looks so sad," Y/N said softly.

Benedict turned, seeing that his sister had stopped halfway up the stairs. "Who does?"

Y/N pointed up at a painting high up on the wall. "She looks so very sad."

Benedict looked up at Colin, who just shrugged. With a sigh, Benedict pivoted and jogged back down the stairs, standing next to his sister.

He looked up at the painting, one he hadn't necessarily realised was there before and squinted slightly. "I suppose so, yes."

"I always see her when I leave my room," Y/N continued, her voice small, "yet I never asked who she is." She looked up at her brother. "Is that what will happen to me?"

"What will?"

"I'll just be... forgotten about? No one will ask who I am when they look at my portrait?"

Benedict stumbled over his words for a moment. "I... Y/N, I don't think -"

"If you think about it, I suppose that's all we are," Y/N said quietly, her voice catching occasionally. She sat down on the steps and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her hands around her ankles. "All that is left of our father is a painting in the study."

And suddenly, the amusement of the night vanished. Benedict felt like the air had been sucked right out of him. He looked up at Colin and cursed quietly when he saw his brother had vanished.

"Y/N..." Benedict sighed, sitting down beside her. He clasped his hands together, glancing at the signet ring on his little finger. "Father is not just a painting. He is in this house, he's in all of us... he's in Anthony's infuriating pocket watch -"

"But the image of him is gone. All we have is an artist's impression that probably is not even that accurate," Y/N countered. "I know he is still here but I do not remember what he looks like. Because the painting is just that - a painting. Someone's depiction of him as Viscount Bridgerton. Not my dad."

Benedict closed his eyes. He had nothing to say to his sister because she was right - as always. Memories are fleeting and the mind can warp things in many different ways. How his sister remembered their father was possibly entirely different to how Benedict remembered him - how Anthony remembered him.

"I would like to go to bed now," Y/N said softly, lifting her head up and looking at Benedict.

"Of course."

Benedict stood up and held out a hand to Y/N, pulling her to her feet. They walked up the rest of the stairs, side by side, in silent company. Y/N only spoke once - and that was to utter a small night to Benedict as she headed to her bedroom.

Utterly stumped, Benedict exhaled slowly, putting his hands on his waist. He dropped his head, looking down at the floor.

"Where is she?"

"Well she was - oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, she was here!"

"Colin Bridgerton, I swear -"

Benedict leant over the bannisters. "What are you two doing?"

Anthony and Colin both looked up at him. Colin had evidently found Anthony in his study for his older brother was wearing nothing but his dress shirt and trousers, looking utterly exhausted with a slight hint of concern. Benedict stared at them expectantly.

"Where's Y/N?" Anthony asked, taking the stairs two at a time.

Benedict glanced at Colin. "Did you tell him -"

"Of course, he told me!" Anthony exclaimed, raising his voice only slightly, not wanting to wake the rest of the household up. "Y/N is his soft spot - of course, he buckled and told me. Where is she?"

Benedict nodded at the door behind him. "She went to bed. Anthony, I didn't say anything to bring it on -"

"No, it's fine. I've been expecting someone to have a moment about father whilst we're here - grief is unpredictable." Anthony wanted to add I would know but decided against it. "I had mine this morning."

"The grave?" Colin asked softly.

Anthony nodded tightly. "I am still incredibly pissed that you two drugged her."

"We didn't -"

"You were going to drug him," Anthony snapped, pointing at Colin and then at Benedict. "You, shush." He softened slightly, adding, "but thank you for looking after her."

Benedict gave him a tiny smile. "She's not asleep," he said, pointing at the door.

"I know, she's not."

Anthony brushed past his brother and knocked quietly on Y/N's door. He waited a few seconds before he opened it, stepping inside with gentle footsteps.

"They told you?"

His sister's voice was quiet. She was curled up on the top corner of her bed, hugging a pillow and looking out the window. Her dress was still on and she'd had a half-hearted attempt at taking her hair down. Anthony slowly walked over to her, perching himself on the edge of her bed.

"Colin has a soft spot for you."

Y/N smiled half-heartedly. She picked at the tassels on the corner of her pillow, looking out at the grounds. "I knew coming back here would be hard," she said quietly, "because it always is. I just did not expect this year to be so difficult. I suppose being high does not help."

Anthony nodded. He crossed his ankles, exhaling softly. "When we first returned here after... after the incident, it was incredibly difficult. His presence is still here - I can almost feel him watching me, sometimes."

"I went into your study earlier, looking for you," Y/N said quietly. "That's when I saw the portrait. I have seen it before - there's one back in London as well. But it just occurred to me that... it is simply a depiction of him. Of him as a viscount, not him as a father."

"I see." Anthony sighed. "That portrait looks down on me every single day of my life and I have studied it until my eyes went blurry. I sometimes look to it for advice - asking what would you do? But I know that it is not our father. It is simply Viscount Bridgerton. Our father smiled, for one."

Y/N ducked her head, smiling at that. Anthony pushed himself further back onto the bed and laid down next to her. Y/N rolled into his side, still hugging the pillow.

"I remember when Daphne first began to learn the pianoforte," Anthony continued, his hand absently tracing circles on Y/N's arm, "he used to dance around the room with you. He would lift you up and let you put your feet on top of his shoes and then you would do a waltz around the room together."

Y/N closed her eyes, a few tears escaping down onto her cheeks. "I wish I had something, so I knew what he looked like in those moments."

Anthony reached down to his waistcoat and pulled his father's watch out. He grabbed Y/N's hand and gently placed the object in her palm, folding her fingers over it.

"I carry this with me everywhere I go. It reminds me of him and it reminds me that he is still here - in the little things we all do. He had this on him every day of his life, up until he died. So, whilst it is not a painting, it is still something of him when he was our father."

Y/N rubbed her thumb along the back of it where EB was engraved. She sniffed softly, carefully dabbing under eyes. "Thank you. For this and for not getting mad at me for being high."

Anthony let out a breath of laughter, resting his chin on top of his sister's head. "Technically, you were not to blame for that."

"I thought the tea tasted weird."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You should get some sleep," he said, preparing to move.

Y/N grabbed his wrist. "Can you stay? If you are busy, you do not -"

"Of course, I will stay," Anthony said firmly, lying back down. Y/N smiled tiredly at him and his heart ached as he caught a glimpse of eleven-year-old Y/N, clinging on to him when he returned back after being away.

"You are the best brother," Y/N told him, reaching down and pulling her duvet up and over them both.

"Well, I am the only one who did not get you high."

"Gregory had no involvement but I am sure if he had been old enough, he would have been the instigator."

"Oh, of course, he would. You know, Greg actually shares father's love of pranks."

Y/N lifted her head, looking at Anthony. "Really?"

"Mmhm. He once put glue, in Benedict's shoes. Benedict was furious, naturally..."

Anthony proceed to tell Y/N all the stories he could of their father until her eyes could stay open no more and his voice was hoarse. He knew he was never going to be his father - but he hoped that he was close enough.

[stinglovebee]

summary: during the new social season of 1814, not only the Viscount Bridgerton must find a good match to his younger sister Miss Eloise and a suitable Viscountess for himself but he is also entrusted by the Parliament with the task of finding a suitable English husband for the rebellious legitimized daughter of the King of the Two Sicilys, the most desirable young lady he ever set his eyes on— who seems to take special pleasure in vexing him—.

fandom: Bridgerton

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/ OC

warnings: none-yet-

master list

It was curiosity that moved the Viscount Bridgerton to accept Lord Castlereagh's invitation for a meeting in his cabinet at the Office of Foreign Affairs in Whitehall.

Castlereagh was a key member of Great Britain's diplomatic relations, and at such a fundamental time, with the ink of the Armistice still fresh, and the diplomatic corps preparing to depart for France to negotiate the Treaty of Paris, the Viscount— an active member of the Parliament—, wondered what could be so important that the Secretary of Foreign Affairs invited him to his office on the eve of his departure to the continent.

Lord Bridgerton was received as soon as his arrival was announced, the two lords exchanged pleasantries about their families and businesses over a glass of brandy seated in the comfortable armchairs of Castlereagh’s study.

“Robert, I’ve known you for years, you were my father’s friend, shall we stop playing the diplomatic game and get straight to the point?” The Viscount asked, straight as usual. At nearly one-thirty, Anthony Bridgerton didn’t like to be coddled.

“It’s a matter of great importance, no crisis, but something that needs to be handled with some delicacy.” Castlereagh set his glass on the table, pouring himself another drink. “The King of the Two Sicily comes to London in August for a three-month State Visit, and with the diplomatic corps so strained by the war, it was suggested that you take care of the visit’s preparations.”

Anthony sighed. This seemed more like the sort of thing Hastings should be dragged into.

“Robert, my role in Parliament is as a member of the House of Lords, I’m not a government official, I don’t know what you expect me to do.” The brusque response came out before Anthony managed to close his mouth.

“The real issue is the King’s daughter.” Castlereagh’s expression turned serious.

“A Italian Princess?” Anthony raised an eyebrow.

Lord Castlereagh sighed, pressing two fingers to his forehead.

“His illegitimate daughter.” The older man said looking straight into the younger's dark eyes.  “Her Serene Highness the Marchesa di Montferrat, Maria Lucretia Johanna Donata di Savoia.” The diplomat pulled a folder from the table. “She is the only child of the King with his favorite mistress, His Majesty has genuinely loved the woman, and this love is reflected in the King's treatment of his daughter, all reports are that the King is a doting and affectionate father to his illegitimate daughter, even though the mistress has left him a few years ago leaving the girl to her father.”

“The  King recognize his bastard daughter?” The Viscount asked with some disbelief.

“He recognized her, bestowed a title and an honorific.” Castlereagh confirmed. “The girl was brought up among her legitimate siblings, she was later sent to France to complete her education in some reputable academies, from which she was eventually expelled, for even though she is the daughter of a King, she is tempestuous as a gypsy.”

“How old is the girl?” Bridgerton asked, pouring himself a second shot of brandy.

“She just turned Seven and ten.” Castlereagh leaned back in his armchair. “There was a scandal a year ago with a gentleman, right under the noses of the school governesses, nothing terrible happened to her, if you know what I mean.” Robert actually blushed, Anthony would even find the situation comical if he wasn't already feeling a headache starting to form. “The whole incident was completely hushed up, His Majesty married the man to some lady, and, by pressure from the Royal Council, sent his daughter to a convent to avoid tarnishing the other daughters.”

“And to make sure there weren’t any more scandals.” Lord Bridgerton nodded.

He knew all too well what it was like to deal with scandals, Daphne and Colin just to name it, although Daphne's scandal was avoided, and Colin took little blame.

“Exactly. The problem is that the girl always manage to run away, three convents were not able to discipline her. So the king decided that the best way to keep her under control and avoid a political incident, was to keep her under his watch. After a few years in France, Mademoseille di Montferrat returned to the royal palace in Palermo to wait until the Royal Council decided what to do with her.”

“And then?” Bridgerton asked rubbing his chin, increasingly curious to know where he fit into this story.

In response, Lord Castlereagh took a folded newspaper from his briefcase and tossed it across the table. Accustomed to the newspapers his mother and sisters read, Anthony had no doubt that it was a publication specializing in scandals. He scanned the article, quickly translating the Italian words, then lowered the paper, expression unchanged.

“How accurate is this description of the incident?”

“Altogether, the facts are quite accurate.” The diplomat nodded, downing his brandy glass in one gulp. “The girls were not compromised. They wanted to go out to see the carnival, it was just a girlish mischief, they were escorted back to the palace by their brothers who were at the festivities.”

“So nothing happened…”

“No.” Castlereagh agreed. “Anyhow, the King, under pressure, I must add, sent her to the hunting residence near Turin, and decided that at nearly seventeen it was time to find her a husband.”

“He acted well. The girl is no doubt a bad influence on the sisters.” Anthony glanced at the scandalous newspaper in front of him, published a few months ago. “Unfortunately they were unsuccessful in cover up her scandal this time.”

“No, unfortunately. The story got out, as well as the rumors of her difficult temper, the news has already spread all over Italy.” Castlereagh folded his hands in his lap.

“And the sisters?” According to the newspaper, two of the princesses were in the company of marchesa.

“They are being considered victims of their younger sister's influence.” The diplomat cleared his throat.

“So what’s the problem?”

“It wasn’t even a month since Maria Lucretia was in Stupinigi when she ran away again, this time she somehow managed to get to London and is living with her mother.” Castlereagh sighed.

Anthony massaged his forehead. A runaway mischievous noble girl.

The girl had already run away dozens of times, didn’t they think at some point of maybe locking the doors? Putting locks on her windows? Maybe double the guard? If it was with him the girl would already be on a lash.

“Despite the press, the princesses were not tainted, the girl is living with her mother, far from where she can cause scandal, what, after all, is the problem?” Anthony leaned across the table, trying hard to keep calm about the situation.

“The King’s daughters are instrumental in the negotiations to come, to strengthen ties between all the allied  nations, as usual, royal weddings are expected, and the King has five princesses of marriageable age.” Castlereagh looked like he was about to start perspiring. “During the London season, a husband must be arranged for the Marchioness, she must be immediately transferred to the custody of a suitable chaperon, and presented to the good English society.” The elder lord cleared his throat. “The King personally requested that she be placed under the protection of your family, at the suggestion of the Crown Prince, apparently he met your younger brother last year

Anthony immediately tensed in his chair. Shocked at the direction his day had taken.

Colin had met a prince, and apparently made a good enough impression that the man had recommended their family.

“The Dowager Viscountess was highly successful last season, marrying your sister Daphne to the Duke of Hastings, she is also a highly respected woman in our society.” The Secretary of Foreign Affairs continued before the Viscount’s silence. “The young woman needs a husband, a man of strong spirit, who will give her some children so that she can settle down.“

“And if she doesn’t settle down, is it her husband’s problem?” Anthony felt his irritation about to explode, and he knew full well that it never led to anything.

He already had enough problems, enough things to take care of and manage. This was Eloise's season, which was proving to be challenging enough, and he had every intention of finding himself a wife this year. The last thing he needed was a naughty young lady being placed in his custody, potentially someone who would be an even worse influence on Eloise.

He swallowed a few less polite words of frustration and took a deep breath, allowing Robert to continue.

“Exactly.” Continued Robert. “ Sicily is a point of extreme strategic importance, King Cesare Amedeo wishes to strengthen his alliance with Great Britain and believes that an English husband would be the best solution. A nobleman, of course, but naturally a Catholic one. Our government have agreed to help. In any case, the young lady is already in London. You will have carte blanche in the choice of men. The King is offering a hefty dowry, as well as a considerable annual income. Whoever the suitor may be, he must be informed that the King hopes to be able to see his daughter from time to time in Palermo with the children she will eventually have.”

“Is she unattractive?”

“Quite the contrary. I’ve been told she is very beautiful.” Castlereagh blushed slightly.

“So, let’s see the situation. The girl is beautiful, the father is a king, there’s a lot of money in the dowry. Despite her indiscretions, I'm sure there will be prominent Catholic families who would be eager for the union. And there's still a generous annuity on His Majesty’s part.”

“The King insists that the husband possess substantial wealth. No fortune hunter.”

“Does the girl’s opinion have any value in choosing a bridegroom?”

“No.” Castlereagh said dryly.

“Is this some kind of punishment?” Anthony asked in exasperation.

There was no other explanation than with as many capable people, he was the one being tasked with such a task.

“Many would kill for that Bridgerton chance.” The eldest noble said. “Maria Lucretia must be removed from her mother’s house and contact between them cut off. It seems that the mother visited the young woman often when she was in those schools for girls, and the King believes that the mother's influence is responsible for the girl being so indomitable.” Robert handed him a handful of documents. “Here are the Prime Minister’s official orders for you, together with the dowry specifications, and the document of all the boons being offered to your family for such services to The Crown.” the Secretary of Foreign Affairs rose from his chair with an air of end of conversation.

Lord Bridgerton didn’t even have room to protest the mission to which he was entrusted. Mission he hadn't asked for.

With a formal farewell, he left, but nothing stopped him from making his way back to Grosvenor Square cursing his brother's Mediterranean tour and the Italian young ladies.

Lucretia loved living with her mother. They shopped, talked, and spent countless hours together. Deprived of her mother since childhood, save for brief annual visits while studying in France, she felt that she and her Mama were finally one real family.

Marie Charlotte de Luynes was a charming and opulent hostess with a large circle of close and influential friends she received at her elegant Piccadilly residence, a temporary address while her new home was built in St.James by Nash, a larger residence to house her sizable library, and the art collection that she had brought with her from Italy and France.

Living on the sidelines of society due to the scandal of her life, Marie Charlotte didn't pay much attention to social norms, and there was nothing she liked more than scandalizing the ladies of the Haute Monde.

For her part, Lucretia was having a great time with her mother. Anything she wanted to do was allowed, and she could go wherever she desired. With her mother, she found that freedom lived up to all her expectations. Marie gave her a generous allowance and all kinds of delicious suggestions on how to spend it, and if anyone knew how to spend money, it was Marie Charlotte.

Lucretia entered her mother's room to see if Marie Charlotte wanted to accompany her shopping, only to find her mother was already busy. Her modiste was fitting her into a blue velvet riding habit.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to accompany you today, my love. I have many appointments for this afternoon.” She spoke to her daughter in Italian, trying not to move. “My riding habit just arrived.”

“I am seeing.” Lucretia studied her mother for a moment.

The royal blue of the suit paired well with Maria Charlotte’s flaxen hair, and made her violet-blue eyes even more vibrant. The modiste, Madame Delacroix, wasn’t just adjusting her riding habit, the woman was actually sewing the pieces of clothing directly onto Marie Charlotte’s still slender body, thus achieving an outfit so skin-tight that it would no doubt cause a scandal among the ladies. the ladies.

“Are you wearing something underneath this?” The girl asked her mother as she threw herself on the soft pillows on the bed.

“Nothing.” Marie Charlotte replied with a mischievous smile, lifting her arm so the modiste could sew the side seam over her bare skin. “I’m terrible, am I not?”

“The worst.” she agreed, with a little smile that mirrored her mother’s. “But that won’t stop the other ladies from running off to copy your outfit.” Lucretia giggled, English ladies could turn up their noses at their Mama, but whatever Marie Charlotte wore, the next week ten other women were wearing the same. “In a few days Madame Delacroix will be stitching ladies into their riding habit.”

“Exactly.” Marie Charlotte nodded with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “But when they start wearing this fashion, I'll be doing something else.”

Even at the age of seven and thirty, she hadn't left the height of her beauty behind yet, able to easily pass for an older sister of her daughter, always small and slender, and with a strict beauty regimen,, Marie Charlotte’s daring yet impeccable sense of fashion still influenced the respectable ladies of society.

Lucretia smiled, fanning herself with one of her mother's feather fans.

“I suppose you already have some new sensation in mind.”

“But of course my dear.” replied Marie as a maid in olive green uniform entered the dressing room with a business card in a silver tray. “I just purchased four Turk horses, white and absolutely beautiful, and the carriage that Lord Wellington has ordered for me will arrive in a fortnight. In Luyne blue, it has mother-of-pearl inlaid on the doors and the softest chassis you can imagine. I will wear a feathered hat and lace veil, and I will glide through Hyde Park like a swan through water, making the other ladies envious.”

Lord Wellington was her mother’s latest lover, and one of the most famous Britons of the day. He was married, but lived apart from his wife. He was good-natured and very handsome, and very clearly adored her mother. Even though Marie Charlotte was evidently a very wealthy woman and in need of nothing, the newly made Duke showered her with extravagant gifts.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

“Not now, Hester.” Marie replied in perfect English, without a hint of an accent, as the maid handed her the business card. “God in heaven, can’t you see I’m only half-dressed? I couldn’t see anyone right now.”

“The gentleman claims he is here on a matter of great importance.” retorted the maid. “Said you were expecting his arrival. Shall I ask Mr. Porter to tell him you left?”

Marie Charlotte shifted position in step with the modiste, who was preparing to stitch the other side, and then took another look at the card.

“By God, is he down there now? I must have confused myself, I thought he would come tomorrow...” The woman broke off, giving her daughter a furtive glance. “Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hester put the business card on the dressing table, bowed, and left.

“Who is he?” Lucretia asked, curious about her mother's behavior and the furtive glance she received.

“I don’t know, my dear.” replied the woman. “Go shopping and have fun.” She tilted her head, glancing at the dressmaker, who was kneeling, closing the seam under her arm. “I’m afraid you'll have to hurry Genevieve. It’s not good to keep a man waiting too long, especially when it’s a political issue. They get impatient the poor things!”

Lucretia frowned suspiciously. Her mother's manner was unmistakably strange. She got up and walked over to the dressing table, as if she didn't want anything, and took the card before her mother could guess her intention.

“Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount Bridgerton.” She read aloud. “Viscount Bridgerton, I’ve heard that name.” She frowned, trying to remember where she knew him. Nothing came to mind. “And what is Lord Bridgerton doing here?”

Marie Charlotte sighed.

“A note came from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs saying that he was coming to pay me a brief visit and that I should wait for him.” She gestured toward the card, going back to speaking in Italian for privacy. “I can’t refuse to see him.”

Lucretia looked up from the card and studied her mother’s reflection in the mirror, noting how nervous Marie Charlotte looked and avoided looking into her eyes.

Like a sudden intuition. Lucretia understood exactly what the English Lord was doing there.

“They’re trying to get rid of me with a marriage, aren’t they? The same way they’re going to do with Christina, Amalia, Louise, Carolina and Antonia.” She saw the truth in her mother's face. “Isn’t it?”

Marie Charlotte sighed.

“I didn’t want you to know any of this until I spoke to Lord Bridgerton personally.”

“But that’s why he’s here isn’t it?” Lucretia’s blood began to boil.

“They’re here to discuss the possibility of marrying you, yes. Oh, my dear,” she added as she studied her daughter’s pretty face, “you’ve always wanted a home and marriage and babies.” Marie Charlotte tried to smile. “When you were little, I don’t even know how many times we planned your wedding, and dolls were the only toys you wanted to play with. Please don’t tell me that episode with François made you give up on love and that you intend to be a spinster, because I know her too well to believe that. Besides, I’d hate not to have grandchildren.”

“I want to marry for love, Mama! I have no intention of letting any lord choose my husband because the Royal Council has determined so.” Visit card clutched in hand, Lucretia began marching toward the door. “And I’m going to say that to this greasy little Lord, so he can pass the message on.”

“Lucretia, don’t do anything rash.” It was the plea made by her mother as she left. “Lord Bridgerton is a powerful man with a lot of influence in society. Remember what I always told you, you attract more bees with honey than with vinegar.”

“Oh, I intend to be sweet as honey,” promised Lucretia, opening the door to the room, “when I send him to hell.” Ignoring her mother’s irritated moan, Lucretia headed toward the stairs.

Marie Charlotte d'Albret, Duchess of Luynes, had been born an Archduchess of the House of Habsburg in Austria, and a diplomatic marriage had made her Duchess of Luynes at the age of sixteen, her husband, the last heir of the ancient and very rich Luynes Family, was twenty years her senior and a French ambassador to the court of the newly crowned King of the Two Sicily.

The tale was that the king had fallen madly and immediately in love with the Austrian beauty as soon as he set his eyes on her, and had wooed her as if the two were unencumbered. And Marie Charlotte ruled all the Court of King Cesare Amedeo di Savoie, whose sovereign was at her feet as before a goddess. She disposed of the favors of her lover, and was feared and courted by the ministry and foreign dignitaries. Marie Charlotte eventually ran away from her husband and lover after ten years in Palermo with the help of her new lover, Lord Lovejoy, the English ambassador nearly causing a diplomatic disaster. Rumor has it that she fled to escape the King's obsessive love, leaving in Palermo a daughter, who the King loved passionately.

Thanks to her lover’s favor, Madame de Luynes was an immensely wealthy woman, but the death of the Duc de Luynes in 1808 made her one of the richest women in Europe.

Lord Bridgerton had expected something different from the Duchess of Luynes' house, something worthy of her extravagant reputation. In this he could not be more wrong.

The residence she lived in was an elegant Piccadilly house, temporary, if rumors were to be believed. The butler could not have been more dignified and impeccable, and the drawing room was elegant and purely English, decorated in willow green and dark wood.

The drawing room held an enviable collection of books, and Anthony was perusing the titles when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He returned a copy of Homer's Iliad to its place and turned as a young woman stopped at the door to the room.

No one would mistake her for an English girl, and Anthony knew immediately that he had before him Maria Lucretia of Savoia, Marchesa di Montferrat.

Like a flash, the image of the young woman running through one of Italy's wildflower-covered meadows, barefoot and laughing, holding her skirts in her hands and with her hair blowing in the wind like sunbeams came to his mind. Strange, he thought, that his fantasy should evoke such a vivid scene, for Anthony was not a man given to the imagination.

There was an aura of barely contained energy around her that made her look incredibly vivacious in contrast to the conventional British decor around her.

The lady before him was tall, about six inches shorter than he was. She had long legs, a slim waist, and the generous curves of a courtesan—curves that the low-cut white muslin dress flaunted generously—surely her mother's influence.

She had the jade eyes that her father's lineage was famous for, her skin as fair and smooth as the foam that coats a cappuccino, there was nothing conventional about her. She didn't have that pink rosebud mouth that was so considered an indispensable requirement in a beautiful woman. Maria Lucretia's mouth was generous, and her lips were full and red like a ripe cherry.

Unable to take his eyes from that mouth, Anthony couldn't help but think that no man who knew this girl would care about conventional beauty requirements or her rebellious past. The society ladies would rave about her, but for any hot-blooded man, Lucretia di Savoia was the purest delight.

Anthony took a deep breath. He could understand why the King had tried to lock his daughter in a convent.

[stinglovebee]

The Season’s Scandal (A.B x OC)

The Season’s Scandal

summary: during the new social season of 1814, not only the Viscount Bridgerton must find a good match to his younger sister Miss Eloise and a suitable Viscountess for himself but he is also entrusted by the Parliament with the task of finding a suitable English husband for the rebellious legitimized daughter of the King of the Two Sicilys, the most desirable young lady he ever set his eyes on— who seems to take special pleasure in vexing him—.

fandom: Bridgerton

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/OC

warnings: none—for now—.

chapters:

chapter one

chapter two

[stinglovebee]

🤍

Helen Of Troy (REUPLOADED)

this was originally posted to my sideblog (@/sometimesiwritesstuff) however i deleted that blog. a few people had asked if i would reupload them on to this account so here it they are

tagging @ladyincognito99 who had been one of those that had asked for them to be reuploaded

Benedict stepped quickly to the side, watching another of Miss Y/L/N’s possible suitors rushing out of the front gate. It was hardly a secret that Y/N had a habit of scaring her suitors away; whether that be by speaking out of term or acting out of character, they always ran away. His eyes pan up to the front door, hiding his laugh behind his hand as he finds her standing at the door, waving the poor chap goodbye.

“Ah, Mr Bridgerton,” Y/N greets him, dropping her hand. She waits, watching Benedict move up the garden path and ascend the front steps of her uncle’s house. “What can I do for you on this pleasant morning?” She asks, looking up at the familiar Bridgerton. Colin was the Bridgerton who was closest in age to her but, through her uncle’s close friendship with their late father, Y/N knew all the Bridgertons.

“You have a little-” Benedict doesn’t finish his sentence, lifting his hand to wipe away the smudge of black coal with the pad of his thumb. Their eyes catch, his touch lingering on her cheek as he waits for a second to pull away. He rubs the chalky black substance between his finger and thumb, recognising it to be coal. “Have we been playing in the fireplace?” A light chuckle escapes as she lifts her hands, the tips of her fingers, stained black from the coal, wiggling in the air as if to say: you caught me. The smile, though faded from his face, still hung in his eyes. “This is for your uncle and yourself,” Benedict tells her, flashing the crisp white envelope, “my mother has invited you both for dinner, tonight.”

Y/N plucked the invitation from his hand. “Well, I shall get this to my uncle straight away.” Her hand disappears behind the door, a maid ready to take the envelope from her. “Now,” she clears her throat, spying another young suitor, with a quiff of blonde curls, standing at the gate, “I think have one more suitor to scare off today.”

Benedict glanced over his shoulder, another light chuckle escaping him. “Then I bid you good luck.”

Later that evening, Y/N sat amongst the Bridgerton household, squished on the sofa between Eloise and Francesca, as the rest engaged in a conversation of sorts. Colin was telling tales of his travels across Europe to her uncle, a particular night in Paris capturing his attention. A tale of which Y/N would’ve liked to have heard if she hadn’t been preoccupied with dodging the pieces of marzipan Gregory had been flinging at his sisters. Eloise was telling anyone who would listen about the latest Lady Whistledown pamphlet and the Dowager Viscountess had been interrogating her on possible suitors. Y/N just nodded her head and smiled, answering that she had a lot to think about.

She felt a wash of relief when Violet turns her attention to her eldest son, stumbling in late and missing dinner. A glass of wine is quickly fixed for Anthony, who fell quickly into conversation with Benedict. Y/N could only presume that they were discussing the matter of why Anthony had missed dinner. She sighs, eyes panning around the room for something interesting to capture her attention. “I need some air,” she announces, interrupting Eloise midsentence and standing to her feet.

She was only outside for a few minutes before her peace was interrupted by a Bridgerton. She remained silent as Benedict took a seat on the other swing, his arms hooking around the thick pieces of rope. Like the rest of the Bridgerton children, Benedict had been blessed with the Bridgerton beauty the family was known for and even Y/N wasn’t blind to it. It didn’t matter how many years she had known the affluent family, a smile from a Bridgerton son left her cheeks feeling warm and a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She had no doubt that Gregory too would become as dashing as his older brothers, with a long line of mothers and their daughters waiting once it was his turn to find a bride.

Benedict looks up, the pale crescent moon shining like a silvery claw in the night sky, before glancing across at Y/N. He saw the reflection of the stars in her eyes, the same eyes he had heard her once be told resembled her late mother’s. “Do you miss your parents?” He asks with a calm voice.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“I was young when they both passed away - a little bit younger than Gregory was when your father passed away - so any real memories I have of them are hard to remember now.” For as long as she could remember, Y/N had only ever been in the care of her uncle. She had the stories he would tell her about her and a miniature of her mother to remember them by, but the real memories had faded with time. She meets his gaze, a source of warmth residing in his eyes “I miss them, yes,” she nods her head, “but I never want to dwell on the thought of never truly getting to know them.”

“Of course not,” Benedict utters, securing his hands tightly around the two pieces of rope, “not when you have plenty of suitors to scare away.” He smiles when she smiles, turning his head away for a second to hide the blush that cascades across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. “Why do you scare them away?” He asks out of curiosity. “Do none of them offer you a suitable life?”

“Oh, no, many of them offer me a suitable life,” she shakes her head, “but they’re either boring and double my age or they’re boring and my own age. They waltz in with bouquets of roses - I hate roses - and expect me to accept their proposal because of their standing in society or because they have accumulated vast wealth in land and property. None of them actually possess the ability to woo a lady, in fact, I believe I have more knowledge of how to woo a lady stored away in my little finger than they do in their entire body.” Benedict’s laugh causes her to realise she was rambling, her head hanging low as she looks away from him. She pushes her feet into the soft ground, gently swinging herself backwards and forth in a slow motion. “Anyway, like I said,” she clears her throat, “they’re boring.”

“And you want to be wooed, do you?” Her cheeks flush with warmth as he innocently teases her. Benedict leans across a little, his temple resting against the rough piece of rope. “And how would one go about wooing the likes of Miss Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

Her eyes flicker to look at him but she quickly loses the confidence to hold his gaze. “I like poetry,” she tells him, of which she knew he liked too, “I want them to have conversations with me about the things I’m interested in like Helen of Troy and various other elements of Greek mythology.” She looks at him again. “And definitely no roses.”

“She walks in beauty, like night of cloudless climes and starry skies,” Benedict recites, “and all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.” He pulls her in, reciting a poem by a poet he knew she liked, with a voice so soft it compels her to look and listen. “Thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies-”

“For a man who doesn’t like Byron you know his words by heart,” Y/N interrupts him, fearing he may trap her under some kind of spell if she allowed him to continue.

Benedict nods his head, agreeing with her, “you’re right, I don’t like him, but I know you do.” Another smile, sweeter than the last. “Which I will judge you for later,” he adds, making them both laugh.

He studies her and listens to her laugh. It’s sweet and has a melodic sense to it like music his ears were keen to hear again. She was beautiful, with eyes that sparkled under the stars and shined brighter in the day, and a smile that warmed his entire being just by seeing it. She was beautiful and not just to the eye, her soul was beautiful too.

“Benedict,” her voice pulls him from his trance, “you’re staring. Is everything-”

“You are beautiful.”

The swinging stops abruptly, her heels digging into the ground and her hands dropping from the ropes. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in her throat when she tried to speak. No one had ever called her beautiful before. Sure, they had said she had nice eyes or a sweet smile but never has anyone ever uttered the word beautiful to her.

Shake shakes her head, dismissing him, “no, I’m not.”

“You are more beautiful than Helen of Troy herself,” Benedict counters her dismissive nature.

“Are you unwell?” Y/N continues to dismiss him. “Should I fetch someone?”

Benedict shook his head, the smile he bore both warm and soft. “You are beautiful,” he repeats himself, sincerity in his voice, “and do not say you are not, because you are, Y/N. You are my diamond of the season.”

Her head hangs low, eyes flicking between the end of her dress and the ground it rested against. “You shouldn’t say such things,” she whispers.

“And why not?”

“Because I-”

“Benedict?” Colin’s voice startles them, Y/N jumping to her feet as footsteps approached them. She whips around in time to see the younger Bridgerton appear from around the corner. “Ah, Y/N,” Colin produces a friendly smile, “and Benedict. Perfect. I’m about to tell your uncle about this fascinating night had on the Greek Islands.” Benedict groans, not wishing to hear another one of Colin’s stories. “It is one that you both have to hear!”

Benedict was slow to rise, his left hand remaining around the rope as he stands. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he tells Colin, watching as his Helen of Troy disappeared inside with his younger brother.

The next morning, Benedict waited nervously inside the drawing-room of Y/N’s uncle’s London townhouse. He watched Benedict with a cautious eye. Every possible suitor bought bouquets of roses never peonies like the ones Benedict clutched tightly in his large hand. This left her uncle believing that this wasn’t a regular ol’ visit from Vicount’s younger brother.

Benedict looked between Y/N’s uncle and the open door, fearing the bouquet of flowers would slip out of his palm or the little bead of sweat trickling down the right side of his forehead would be noticed by someone. He remembered everything that had been said last night and now he was here, sitting before her uncle and a maid, ready to finally express his true intentions.

“Who am I scaring away today?” The sound of her voice coming down the stairs left his heart skipping a beat. His admission last night had opened his eyes and caused him to realise that he did in fact feel deep affection, possibly even love one day, for the young lady. “Oh,” Y/N stops at the door, her heart beating fast inside her chest. Her eyes glance nervously at her uncle. “I was told there was a possible suitor here to see me.”

“I hope to be,” Benedict clears his throat, his breath hitching in the back as he attempts to speak, “that is if you don’t try to scare me away.” He rises quickly to her feet, showing her the bouquet of peonies. They were a light shade of pink and paired well with the blue dress she wore. “They represent beauty,” he refers to the flowers, “and since you’re the most beautiful lady that I have ever laid my eyes upon, I thought they were fitting.”

“At least they are not roses.” She takes the bouquet from him, taking a second to admire the pretty flowers. It warmed her heart to know he had listened to her, bringing her peonies and not another bouquet of roses. “Well, Benedict,” Y/N lifted her gaze, looking up at him and smiling when she hears him release a giant sigh of relief. She was going to take a chance on him, just like she had been told her mother had taken a chance on her father once upon a time. “How are you going to woo me?”

“Well, I thought we could start with a conversation on Helen of Troy,” Benedict answers, “I hear she’s a favourite of yours.”

[stinglovebee]

Emma. (2020)

[stinglovebee]

Emma. (2020) dir. Autumn De Wilde

[stinglovebee]

Emma. 

[stinglovebee]

Emma. (2020) dir. Autumn de Wilde

[stinglovebee]

I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him.

A FILM FOR EVERY YEAR OF MY LIFE ➤ Emma. (February 13, 2020) dir. Autumn de Wilde

[stinglovebee]

GRATUITOUS GIFS OF ANTHONY BRIDGERTON 🎩 (10/?) ↳ bedhead 😏

[stinglovebee]

baby, baby, sweet baby // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Heyyyy! May I request an Anthony Bridgerton imagine where Anthony is a new dad and it’s really fluffy. I love husband Anthony as well as dad Anthony! - @elennox03 

a/n: Thank you for such a sweet request! This isn’t overly long; a snapshot into Anthony’s life as a father. The lullaby I mention is Brahm’s Lullaby - something that Anthony wouldn’t have heard but I couldn’t not use it. Title: Aretha Franklin - Sweet Baby (inspired by a scene from New Amsterdam)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, marriage and children, female centric labels - mother, wife.

Word count: 1.2k

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