Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Lady Violet Bridgerton has never known a morning of peace since the day her first child was born. Honestly, she wouldn't have it any other way. Such a truth has never seen a contrary word against it so as it was, the morning of the 13th of August 1898 was anything but tranquil, mind you. Her eight beloved children awoke noisily, ate noisily, talked noisily, and lived noisily. And what else was Lady Bridgerton to do if not contribute to the morning noise? Especially considering her husband and the father of her children was off for a few weeks sorting business about the crops in their estate and problems with their solicitor.
“Anthony, have you heard? There is a new lord in Mayfair. Perhaps you have met him? Or at the very least run into him?” she asked.
Without looking up from his plate of eggs, Anthony replied, “No, Mother, I have not. Who is he? More importantly, how did you hear of such things?”
“I was told by a network of the most ambitious mamas that a Mr. William Bowery has taken a temporary residence here,” Lady Bridgerton replied before swiping off some jam from Gregory’s cheek.
“William Bowery? Unusual name, is it not?” Eloise piped up, with a finger to her chin.
Her mother quickly admonished, “Eloise, you know better than to judge someone by their name.”
“While I agree with you on Eloise’s lack of discernment, Mother,” Benedict remarked thoughtfully next to her, “even you must concede that ‘Bowery’ is indeed a strange name.”
“Well, strangely named or otherwise, I am still inviting Mr. Bowery here for tea tomorrow afternoon. Whether any of you want to sit in is entirely your choice,” Lady Bridgerton declared. Her tone meant it was final and all her children knew not to argue.
Ever the joker, Colin asked with a smirk, “Mother, do you truly have plans on meeting every single newcomer that strolls into Mayfair?”
“That is none of your concern and even if I did, I see no harm in guiding someone new through unfamiliar waters. What is the worst that could possibly happen?” Lady Bridgerton takes a sip of tea after asking.
Colin didn’t even think before replying, “Benedict falls in love again.”
Anthony and Violet both sputter out the tea in their mouths.
From the other side of the table, Eloise and Daphne snort in unison. Siblings F to G are unfazed by all this.
Breakfast resumes with little to no more loud teasing from Colin, at least only because of the glare from their mother. There may be a few snickers and whispers exchanged between the siblings A to E (with the exception of B, who does not appreciate being the source of the joke, no matter how deserved or righteous).
Truthfully, the whole matter does not occur again to the family until the next day, the actual day of the afternoon tea with the Bowery man. In attendance are only Lady Bridgerton and Benedict; Anthony had papers to look over in lieu of their father, Eloise and Colin were in the library with a visiting Penelope, and Daphne and the rest were in the garden having a picnic (at least to Benedict's knowledge). (They really were in the garden but there’s no picnic and instead, they’re paired off and taking shifts in watching in on the tea from two different windows.)
Five minutes before four o’clock, John the footman walks in to announce, “A Lord William Bowery, ma'am.”
“Thank you very much, John, please let him in,” Violet replies as she and Benedict stand up.
Sprightly footsteps are heard from the den and soon, William Bowery comes in. His blue shirt matches his ocean-blue eyes that rivaled even Benedict’s own greyish-green ones in intensity as he quirks up one eyebrow in greeting. He only stands 3 inches higher but Benedict has never felt this small. (Not in his father’s presence. Not even Anthony. That ain’t good.)
“Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton,” Mr. Bowery says with a deep timbre as he bows.
“Good afternoon to you as well, Lord Bowery,” She smiles graciously, “This is my son Benedict. My husband is out for business over the next few weeks and I have more children but they are all scattered about the house right now. Do take a seat.”
“I am sure that they are all lovely,” Mr. Bowery smiles nervously before nodding his head at Benedict and sitting down, “I must admit I did not expect an invitation so soon after my arrival.”
“Mother makes it her mission to welcome newcomers,” Benedict remarked, “As a matter of fact, her first peace offering is a good cup of tea.”
He handed Mr. Bowery the cup with one of his charming grins. Mr. Bowery did not return one of his own but accepted it nonetheless with steady hands.
“Oh, in which case, I should be thanking you. I have yet to make an acquaintance here and I was told that Mayfair does not take kindly to strangers.”
Lady Bridgerton chuckled nervously, “You will yearn for your solitude once you are hounded by pertinacious mamas who will come knocking on your door once they see you.”
“Ah, that may be a blessing in disguise because I am here to find a wi-”
Just then, John the footman walked in to declare, “Miss L/n is here, ma'am.”
Benedict, surprised but pleasantly so, immediately stood up as Y/n walked into the room and his countenance brightened just so. Lady Bridgerton was not surprised in the least at her presence, just extremely pleased at Benedict's reaction to her. Mr. Bowery on the other hand, remained seated but stared at her with an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Lady Bridgerton,” She bowed politely and a bit frazzled in her pale green day dress (from her walk or from the new presence in the room), “Good afternoon, I did not realize you had company.”
“Oh, right! Introductions,” Lady Bridgerton turned to Mr. Bowery, “This is Miss Y/n L/n, she is a very dear friend to the family since childhood.”
Mr. Bowery stood and walked over to Y/n and lifted up her hand to kiss her knuckles, “William Bowery, miss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Y/n is very flustered at this point, all the heat in her face rushing to her cheeks. Is she blushing? She doesn't know, she can't see her own face. But she is trying to not look at anyone except Mr. Bowery whose crystal blue eyes make her feel like drowning.
“I am sorry to be interrupting your tea, Mr. Bowery,” She turns to Lady Bridgerton, “I can leave, I am very sorry to be barging in like this.”
“Nonsense, dear. Y/n, sit with us. I do not mind at all,” Lady Bridgerton smiles graciously at her, indicating the seat between Mr. Bowery and Benedict.
Mr. Bowery remarked, “I do not mind, either, Miss L/n.”
Y/n, tense as she was, didn't refuse. Benedict, ever the gentleman, took out her seat for her and he melted when she whispered a “thank you”. She was seated across from Lady Bridgerton with Benedict seated on her right (as he always did) and Mr. Bowery on her left.
Y/n feels like she might faint from the nerves of two gentlemen's attention focused singularly on her. Silently looking up and praying to God for a distraction. Thankfully, God answers her.
Benedict asks, “May I ask, where did you come from, Mr. Bowery, if you don’t mind to answer?”
“Kent,” Mr. Bowery curtly replies.
Benedict offhandedly remarks, “Oh, I have never been to Kent,” then he takes a sip of tea.
Y/n cheekily replies to him, “Oh, you should. Kent is absolutely lovely all year round.”
The pair of friends share a conspiratorial glance at each other before hiding their smirks behind their cups of tea. Lady Bridgerton notices but does not comment. (Perhaps it's an inside joke for the two of them?)
“You have been there?” Mr. Bowery does not read the room properly and asks.
A surprised Y/n informs him, “My family traveled extensively before we lived here in Mayfair. Though I will admit I was but fifteen the last time we visited.”
“Your family travels? How unconventional,” Mr. Bowery mutters under his breath.
Lady Bridgerton is not taking any of this muttering nonsense so she says, “Families from Mayfair travel all the time, Lord Bowery,” she stops for a second to think, “Especially during the off-season. Even all year round for some. Benedict here is off on his tour next year.”
Benedict of two and twenty years old is of the age when he can galavant wherever he wants around the globe. Sampling cuisine and marveling art outside of Fair England. Though no matter how much he tries to muster excitement for it, he finds a tugging, gnawing feeling in his chest that begs to anchor him to Mayfair. An anchor that begs to stay by the side of his best friend beside him. Is he aware of his feelings? Why yes, he is. Has he told a single soul of this feeling? No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous.
“Have you made your map yet?” Y/n teasingly asks.
“Why no, in fact,” quips Benedict in return, acting stupid in that adorable way he does, “I am drawing it little by little every day, as I cannot decide for the life of me what my path shall be.”
Y/n laughs before quieting herself with a hand on her mouth, “He's a poet!”
Lady Bridgerton, though delighted watching her son smile and the light in his eyes dance as he speaks to a fine woman, has to intervene. Mr. Bowery looks quite irked from being out of the loop of their conversation.
Lady Bridgerton clears her throat, “Mr. Bowery, you were saying earlier, what is your purpose for coming to Mayfair?”
Being brought back to a topic he can talk about, Mr. Bowery perks up, “Yes, I have come to find a wife within the year.”
“Very good timing then, the eligible young ladies are to be presented before the queen in a few days time,” Lady Bridgerton informs him, “Perhaps you may find a wife there.”
“Perhaps, indeed,” replies Mr. Bowery, “though I am not sure I want a very young wife.”
Y/n pipes up, “There are still a number of eligible misses in their second or third season hoping to be wed,” she adds as an afterthought, “You could meet them at a ball.”
“That is helpful information, Miss L/n,” he looks at her as he asks his next question, “If you don't mind answering, what season are you in?”
Y/n laughs out of nerves, “HA!”, as her teacup wobbles in her hand.
“I am practically a spinster, my Lord. Even though my debut was delayed by a year, I am already in my fourth season. Soon to be put on the shelf,” she declares with self-deprecation (and good humor, of course.) (Though she is pointedly NOT looking at Benedict or Lord Bowery.)
Mr. Bowery was outraged at her answer, “Spinster? You? Miss L/n, let me assure you, if the men of Mayfair are stupid enough to ignore you, then you do not want to be married to one of them anyway.”
Y/n blushes at his remark, “I thank you, My Lord, for your compliments, unwarranted as they are. I know my place and I would not change it unless I were so logically persuaded.”
"Are those your terms?” Queried Lord Bowery, with a serious air.
Y/n, unaware of his implications, replied, “Yes, I suppose they are.”
Oh, boy. She has no idea what she has unleashed. What she has set in motion. Benedict feels the gnawing feeling in his chest clawing deeper as he spots the smirk Lord Bowery attempts to hide behind his tea and the glint in his blue eyes.
Lady Bridgerton takes a sip as well, anxious from the thunderous expression on Benedict's face.
After the afternoon tea, Y/n and Mr. Bowery leave. The former, quite content from seeing her best friend albeit confused for his hostility for the latter, who left determined and hell-bent. (On what? Soon to be found out, dear reader.)
In the early evening at Bridgerton House, Benedict is irritated and annoyed at every little thing. Dare I even say, pissy. His usual jovial self was nowhere to be found as he glared at everything and tore up drafts of his maps for his tour in his room.
Everyone else in the family was quite confused, Anthony was usually the only one grumpy, so of course they were mightily concerned. But even more than concerned, they were exceedingly, especially, and extremely amused.
“What has gotten into him, Mother?” asks Colin from the dinner table after Benedict angrily excused himself to go sulk in his room
Violet sighed and started, “Well-”
“Huffing and glaring at everything that moves!” Daphne giddily interrupted, “Why, he’s just like Anthony!”
The whole table lit up with laughter (sans Anthony) from all the remaining siblings, even little Gregory and Francesca who were barely old enough to understand the conversation. Baby Hyacinth was in her mother's arms but she seemed to be giggling alongside her older sisters.
“Hush you,” Anthony hissed from his place.
Violet chuckled behind her hand but quickly composed herself with an air of seriousness, “Really children, you should not jest. Your brother is feeling quite…anguished.”
“Anguished? Benedict? How?!” asks a bewildered Eloise.
“Well, the simplest explanation is often the right one,” Daphne contemplates with a hand on her chin.
“Which is?” Colin pipes up.
“That's not Benedict,” Daphne concludes.
All the siblings, including Anthony this time, all erupt into laughter this time. Violet hides her giggles behind baby Hyacinth who chortles her spit up.
“Children, children, stop this mockery of your brother,” Violet admonishes as she wipes the spit off Hyacinth's chin, muttering under her breath after, “No matter how deserved it may be.”
“Certainly mother, if you care to explain what has him all crossed,” Colin inquired.
Violet sighs once more, “Might as well, as long as none of you tell Benedict.”
The Bridgerton children all quiet down and lean in to listen to their mother.
“Mum's the word, mum,” Colin whispers.
Violet looks left and right to ensure that Benedict is nowhere within earshot before conspiratorially whispering, “The truth is, Benedict has been cross since the tea this afternoon with Mr. Bowery-”
“Oh don't tell me he fell in love with-” Anthony loudly interrupts.
“SHH!” His siblings shush him.
“Anthony, hush,” Violet quickly goes back to explaining, “No, Y/n came in for tea as well because I thought maybe Mr. Bowery would like to know more than one acquaintance here in Mayfair and I hold her and her family in the highest esteem. So, I invited her, that much I did. But what I did not know was that Mr. Bowery came here to find a wife!”
Gasps can be heard all around the table, especially from the sisters. No one could have seen it coming.
“And it now seems apparent to me that with the way Mr. Bowery is quite taken with Y/n, he might find it fit to call upon her soon,” Violet finishes.
Daphne begins, “And if you can see it-”
“Then Benedict can see it,” Anthony concludes.
“Which is why he's been so irate since this afternoon,” Colin realizes.
Eloise ponders a few minutes before asking, “How long do you reckon he can go on like this?”
“If Miss L/n becomes Mrs. Bowery, I dare say forever,” Colin dramatically remarks.
“Please Colin, don't mock Benedict for this,” Violet seriously asks him.
“But, mother, his blindness has gone on for far too long,” whined Eloise.
“I agree with Eloise, mother,” Colin agreed from her side.
Anthony piles on, “We all agree with Eloise, mother.”
“It was fine when Y/n was still unpresented,” explains Eloise.
“Acceptable, even!” interjects Anthony.
“But she was presented four years ago!” Daphne exclaims with her hands up in bewilderment and vexation.
“Benedict cannot possibly be this slow,” groans Anthony, “I have seen snails in Aubrey Hall move faster than him!”
“That's rich coming from you, Ant,” Colin scoffs, “Tell me how many ladies have you courted since you became of age?”
Anthony waves him off, “It's different for Benedict. He knows who he is in love with and who he will marry, he's been proclaiming it since he was naught but seven It's been fifteen- FIFTEEN YEARS -and he still hasn't the gall to at least court her, if that!” he sputters as he stands in indignation and begins pacing.
Anthony’s expression is painted flabbergasted and his face red. His hands are in the air as if he, nor anyone, can believe the audacity of their second-born. All eyes are on him as his siblings follow him with their eyes. The whole table is quiet as they stew in the revelation and how internally they all agree with him.
“Goodness, Anthony, I had no idea you were so invested in the two of them,” Lady Bridgerton remarked.
“How could I not be? I have watched the two idiots dance around each other with their feelings. They are nothing but hopelessly besotted with each other since childhood. Something must be done. If he won't do anything then it's up to us. We have to, I don't know, STIR HIM!”
Eloise asks, “Stir him into what?”
“Anything! Courting, proposing, even-”
“I hope you are not suggesting we make them elope, Anthony,” His mother gravely reminds him.
He reassures her, “Of course not, Mother, I just mean that we need to…rattle his chains a bit!”
“Rattle his chains? Anthony, you sound quite…mad,” Daphne scoffs.
"No, no, he may be onto something,” Eloise shushes her.
“We're not going to do anything drastic, after all. Just stir the pot a little to hasten Benedict until he does the rest himself,” Colin explains.
“Oh, now that I like,” Daphne nods.
Violet stands to leave with Hyacinth in tow. “Now that's settled, I'll leave you to it. Come along, Gregory, Francesca,” The four quickly left to go to bed.
“And I already have an idea,” Eloise grins with an evil glint in her eye as she begins to regale her siblings with her grand plan…
Internally, Violet chuckles and thinks to herself, “Gosh, do I have news for Edmund in my next letter.”
One Afternoon, 3 Weeks Past…
Laying in her bed, Y/n was faced with a conundrum. Nearly every day has Mr. Bowery been visiting her home and bringing her various bouquets of flowers, and though he has been acquainted with both her mother and father, Mr. Bowery still had not declared his intentions. Could this be a ploy? There is an implication there, but Y/n cannot assume anything. She knows of platonic friendships with the opposite sex. Although a certain Bridgerton brother whom she knows to be her bosom friend, he has never brought her flowers of this magnitude, nor does he visit her living room nearly every afternoon.
Could all William, as he had asked Y/n to call him, be after was… chaste companionship?
OH, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK!
Truth be told, Y/n barely had time to see Benedict this week. He was rarely at Bridgerton House on the rare occasion Y/n came over to visit. (She really wanted to see him, okay?) She had made every reason possible to be there but at some point, those reasons started sounding like excuses and barely held water at this point.
“Y/n, come down here! You have a visitor,” her mother called from the top of her voice.
Her mother's voice suddenly made her sit up. She ran to get dressed, even without the help of her maid, and was soon presentable to go down to her living room in her mauve day dress only to find-
“Daphne?” Y/n said, with a genteel albeit confused smile, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Daphne giggled, “Quite a surprise for me, too, Y/n. This was quite spontaneous,” she continued, “Would you like to have tea with us? Just the Bridgerton sisters?”
“I'd love that very much right now,” replied Y/n with another smile, more sincere and grateful this time.
Well, it seems she no longer needs excuses to visit…
All it took was a few strides and the pair were in Bridgerton House. That was one of the perks of having one's best friend in the house next door.
Waiting in the den were Lady Bridgerton with baby Hyacinth in her arms on the sofa, Eloise in the sofa across, and Francesca on her piano stool. Even Penelope was there, right next to El.
“Y/n!” All five ladies exclaimed (Hyacinth gurgled happily but it counts).
“Take a seat, take a seat, dear,” Lady Bridgerton beckons her to the comfy armchair next to the sofa and right in front of the table laden with tea and cake. Quite reminiscent of the first time Y/n stepped foot in Bridgerton House…
Once she had a teacup in her hand, the conversation started. First with news and gossip of those in the Ton (Lady Featherington is with child and is hoping for a boy) (Penelope is quite excited at the prospect of a baby brother), the rumors surrounding this year's diamond (a certain Miss Newton), and of course, a round of questions about Queen Charlotte and how she must be coping with the impending illness of her beloved King George.
“It is quite poetic to think about how they fell in love even if it was arranged,” mused Francesca.
“I’m not sure all arranged marriages end in love, but I am certain some of them will,” Daphne replied coolly.
Y/n piped up, “The marriage of my parents was orchestrated as an agreement by my grandparents but that didn't stop my father from sneaking off to see my mother's face the night before the wedding.”
“What do you mean?” Penelope quietly asked.
“Until the wedding, my parents were not supposed to see each other but my father wanted to know what his bride looked like so he crept away from his home and climbed a tree overlooking the garden wall of my mother's home. When he saw how beautiful she was, he agreed to marry her and well, you know how the rest of the story goes,” Y/n explained to her enthralled audience.
“Goodness, I never knew this side to your family,” Lady Bridgerton remarked.
“Arranged marriages are our tradition.”
“Do you think you'll have an arranged marriage one day?” Eloise inquires.
“There is always the possibility,” Y/n pauses, “…if I don't marry a suitor of my own choosing.”
Lady Bridgerton intervenes, “Girls, girls, don't pressure her into answering. I'm sorry about them, dear.”
“It's fine, Lady Bridgerton. I am just lucky my parents aren't pressuring me into marriage yet. I am already considered a spinster.”
“You? A spinster? But you're beautiful!” an affronted Daphne exclaims.
Ever the sage, Y/n coolly replies, “Beauty does not determine who becomes diamonds or spinsters. Even when I debuted, I was no diamond.”
“But you are quite head-turning when you want to be, even you must admit that, YN.” Daphne pleads.
“You flatter me entirely too much. Besides, what good is it if I cannot turn the head of a good man?”
Penelope whispers, pondering into her teacup, “You certainly turned Mr. Bowery's head the last time he was here.”
Y/n suddenly turns to the redhead, “Penelope, how do you know?”
Her eyes dart to Eloise who defends, “I could not contain myself. Especially after I saw the two of you promenading last Friday morning.”
“What was that all about?” Francesca asks with a sly smile.
Lady Bridgerton warns her children again, “Once again, girls, don't pry.”
“I do not mind, especially as I would like to ask for words of advice from you, Lady Bridgerton.”
“Me? What ever for?” The Viscountess asks with an uneasy smile.
Y/n chooses her words carefully, looking to the blue walls with the signature Bridgerton shade for inspiration, the same walls that bear witness to most of her life, “…How would one if a gentleman is courting them?”
Lady Bridgerton, albeit confused, replies with a list, “I should think it obvious, dear. He declares his intentions, he takes you on walks, and dances with you at balls-”
“That is all well and fine but how do you know if it is courting or something more?”
“What do speak of, Y/N?”
“I am talking about Mr. Bowery and his constant attention that I cannot decipher!” An exasperated Y/n blurts out the last word.
“Decipher? Good Heavens, a young man's affections are not a puzzle to be solved, Y/n.” Lady Bridgerton gently childes her.
“I know but he is so confusing. I do not know what to think. He takes me on walks and promenades, he brings me flowers when he visits my home which is nearly every afternoon, and he asked me to call him William-”
“But he has not declared anything?“
“Oh, WHY DON'T MEN EVER SAY WHAT THEY MEAN? I do not know if he wants friendship or companionship and it is all vexing and I cannot sleep at night for want of understanding.”
“Well, how would you feel if he was courting you?” Penelope asks, with a tilt of her head.
That gave Y/n pause.
“…I am not sure.”
“Would you accept his courting?”
Before Y/N could stop herself, she honestly said, “Truth be told, I am not sure if I even want to be married.”
“NOT MARRIED?!” Daphne half-shouted, strangely improper for her.
Eloise gasped, “A SPINSTER?”
Y/N brushed her off, “I practically already am a spinster. I just-”
Lady Bridgerton gently prodded, “You do not want children?”
“I do,” Y/N sighed heavily, “no matter how hard I convince myself I don't, but I need to manage my expectations because I likely won't ever be a mother if I cannot find a husband.”
Daphne excitedly asked, “But what if Mister Bowery is courting you and he will propose soon? Would you accept him?”
“Would you ever be open to being Mrs. Bowery?” Penelope thoughtfully inquired.
“…I suppose. It would be a boon to move out of my family home and have one of my own. And William is a fine man, he would make an even finer father of my children.”
“William?” Lady Bridgerton surprisedly gasped, “You already call him by his Christian name?”
“He asked me to, but he said he would not call me by mine until I allowed it.”
“He sounds very kind.”
“The kindest,” Y/N reaffirmed with a nod, her eyes glassy as if her mind was trailing off.
“Quite a looker too, if I may say.”
“Daphne!”
Unbeknownst to the ladies of the sitting room, footsteps were hurrying away from the conversation and from within earshot. It is a miracle his footsteps were not heard, after all they were once quite thundering. Perhaps he is making an effort to remain quiet and unheard of for his plans to remain secret.
Not much followed soon after that startling conversation but rather more vexation on the part of Y/N who hurried home with more puzzling thoughts after bidding sweet farewells to the Bridgerton ladies (and Penelope, whom she had no doubt would be a Bridgerton one day). Anxiety bubbled in her stomach day and night to the point where she could barely sleep and spent half the night tossing and turning before counting sheep and drifting into fitful slumber.
A sennight passed with nothing of note in the life of Miss L/n, other than a growing fear in her stomach festering from a pool of uncertainty. A few more days passed with nothing to break from the ordinary apart form the occasional visit from Lord Bowery. Their supposed courtship(?) remained stagnant with no new exciting development to decipher or gossip or to ask Lady Bridgerton about.
At least until one ordinary morning.
“Miss L/n, a Mister Bridgerton here to see you,” the footman announces to the L/n sitting room.
Y/n immediately sits upright, turning to her mother. They both share a quizzical look to one another, what ever could he be here for?
Before they could theorize, Mrs. L/n ushered her daughter out the door, “Go see what he wants, dear. Have you not spoken to him about anything?”
“I can't even remember the last time we spoke,” Y/n shakes her head, forlorn, “I haven't seen nor heard of him since nearly a month ago.”
“Then go make haste, dear. I have a feeling I know what is waiting for you downstairs,” her mother smiled with unshed tears in her eyes. She softly patted her daughter's hand before ushering her down the stairs.
A confused Y/n slowly made her way down to find Benedict standing before her, as handsome as the day she last saw him, wearing a soft lilac (she always did love that color on him). In his hands was a grand bouquet of the loveliest carnations, roses, and tulips. The size of it alone overwhelmed her, what could he possibly mean by it?
“Benedict,” Y/n slowly says as she approaches him, “I was not expecting this.”
“Y/n, forgive me,” he says.
Y/n is even more confused, “Whatever for?”
“I have been nothing but an absolute ass to you for a month,” Y/n opens her mouth to stop him, “It is true, don't deny it. I am sorry, I did not mean to ignore you but the truth is, I was jealous.”
“Jealous?” Y/n steels her voice.
“Jealous of Mr. Bowery,” Benedict's voice grows angry, “I could not stand to see him with you, thinking of all the joy he must have been bringing you. Smiles and laughter for him when they should have been for me. I could not bear it.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I could not stand to see you fall in love with him,” Benedict solemnly reveals, his face falling to the floor, letting the statement hang in the air and grow tension.
Y/n blinks away tears threatening to escape, “Benedict, I don’t love him,” she explains.
“What?” Benedict asks, bewildered. Lifting his head to meet her eyes and taking a few steps until they are toe-to-toe.
She repeats, looking at him deeply, “I don't love him, and he doesn't love me.”
“Well then, he's mad. He is utterly out of his mind if he is not in love with you. And yet, you want to marry him?” Benedict rambles on, “Marry someone who will not love you the way you deserve?”
Y/n snaps, “Benedict, what do you care? What are you here for?”
“You must know, surely you must,” he pleads with her, searching for an answer in her face.
“Know what?” She begs. Her eyes shine with tears and it tugs on Benedict's heart. He falls to one knee, taking her hand and placing the bouquet in his lap.
“Y/n, the day you inhabited the house beside mine, you have inhabited a place in my heart. You are all I can think of, every waking moment all I want is to be worthy of your love,” he reverently holds her hand, clasping it between both of his like it is the most precious thing in the world, “I want to wear your name around my neck. So that everyone, everyone will see that I am yours. I am yours, heart and soul. Forever and always.”
Y/n is crying an absolute waterfall, wanting to pinch herself, “Is that truly how you feel, Benedict?”
He nods, again and again to convince her, “It is the truth my heart has known since the day I met you. I cannot and will not ever let you go, so please do not make me.”
“I never could,” Y/n kneels down until they are eye-to-eye, “I confess I have loved you since our eyes met. I have loved you at every soiree, for every drawing, for every hour and cup of tea shared, and even those not shared because I was thinking of you regardless.”
“We truly are mad for each other,” He wipes a tear off her face, “You were never going to marry Mr. Bowery?”
“He never even offered,” Y/n laughs wetly before sniffling, “I doubt he'd want to marry a spinster.”
“You are not a spinster, darling.”
“Then what would you call me?” She teases.
“If you would accept,” Benedict smiles one of those crooked smiles at her, “I would love to call you my wife?”
Y/n gasps, “Are you serious?”
“More than anything. I have run here to declare my love with your favorite flowers and I am on my knee, begging for just a crumb of your attention until the end of my days,” He lists them on, all the ideas of what their future could be and the fantasies he sees in his mind once he is claimed as hers under the law of God and nature, “I want our children to have your eyes and your smile and everything I love about you. I want long afternoons in our own home where I may draw you as I please without being interrupted. I will sing you sonnets beneath our balcony. I will woo you forever, if you would have me, because I cannot fathom an existence without you.”
“You already have all of me,” she nods with the biggest smile in Mayfair, “but I should like for just one of our children to have the green-gray hue of your eyes, hmm?”
“So you accept?” Benedict gasps out, barely believing his eyes.
Y/n answers him with a kiss, his lips responding to hers, answering a question having asked fifteen years ago over a shared street, a cup of tea, and a friendship. He takes her by the waist and throws the flowers aside so his future wife may sit on his lap. Damned who would see them. Yes, yes, yes and always.
Finally, the waiting is to an end.
There was a ring, after much kissing and whispered assurances, an understated yet beguiling diamond (“Benedict, this might be too much.” “I apologize I could not find one as beguiling as you.” “Do not make me blush any more I shall be sunburnt!).
Now, that only left one single question:
“How shall we announce it to the family?” Y/queried once they were in the privacy of the L/n gardens, “Will they take it well, do you think?”
“My mother already sees you as one of our own,” Benedict coolly replies, “and she may already know since that ring is one of the family jewels.”
Y/n gasps, “Your family? Ben-”
“You are to be a Bridgerton, darling, and I believe it was meant to be yours,” He takes her hand to bring to his lips as he kisses the curve of her wrist.
And well, with that. What else was Y/n to do but let her fears disappear?
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON
Gathered in the Bridgerton drawing room were of course, the entire Bridgerton clan (including Edmund who just arrived after Violet's news of a certain ring being brought from the family vault), as well as Mr. and Mrs. L/n and Penelope Featherington (who was just there as a consequence but a welcome one nonetheless as she would no doubt become a Bridgerton in time).
(Everyone knew why they were there but for the sake of the pair who called them, they feigned ignorance.)
“Can you believe it?” Edmund whispers to his wife, “Finally, Ben did it. The first of our children to be married.”
Violet sighs in relief, “Fifteen years in the making, now we only have seven more to go.”
“I do wonder who will be next.”
“Certainly not Anthony,” they both chuckle.
They both spy Colin whispering conspiratorially to Penelope or Pen as he affectionately referred to her only, and the husband and wife knew their answer.
Edmund admits, “Not for another ten years though I reckon.”
“HERE THEY COME!” Eloise exclaims as she runs to sit on the piano stool next to Francesca.
Y/n and Benedict, the very picture of excitement and devotion, enter with her arm looped in his. They really should have discussed subtlety before entering because their next statement was apparent to all from their faces alone and I suppose, the ring on her finger.
“Miss L/n and I are engaged,” Benedict proudly announces.
Cheers erupt all around the room as parents rise to congratulate their children and kiss their cheeks. Mothers share a look, recognizing each other's suspicions as correct. Fathers both pat Benedict on the back. Meanwhile, Anthony hands Colin a few bills, grumbling.
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, dear brother,” Colin smugly thanks him.
Benedict's ears perk up, “Business?”
Anthony replies with a groan, “We had a bet how far Miss L/n's courtship with Mr. Bowery would go before you did something about it.”
Colin pipes up, “I said you would propose before him.”
Benedict's ears turned red in embarrassment. Y/n on the other hand, giggled into her hand, “Glad to see I have earned you a few pounds, Colin.”
“Ten in fact,” he says, raising the bills, “thank you for taking Benedict off our hands as well, Y/n. I shall always appreciate that.”
“Hear, hear!” Eloise raises her glass in agreement.
The parents laugh and Benedict hides his face between his hands, “Maybe we should just run away,” he whispers to Y/n.
“Once we are married, we can hide away in a cottage as long as we please,” she whispers back.
His face emerges, with his best grin, only just for her, “I cannot wait.”
They watch their lovely family before them, large and arguing and laughing. The way it should be, and only for good things to come soon and their heart never more full.
(As for Mr. Bowery, a letter from him would find its way to Miss L/n's doorstep.
Dear Miss L/n,
I apologize if I had never offered anything to you. I was not clear and I did not mean to leave you puzzled after every lovely afternoon with you. The truth is, my heart is still mending from someone else. I should not have played with your affections or lavished you with my false one. I hope you can forgive me. I have heard through the grapevine of ambitious mamas that you are engaged to Mister Benedict Bridgerton. Given my understanding, he is your closest friend, yes? I wish you both nothing but joy and everlasting love. It is a wonder to marry the one who knows you best.
Sincerely yours,
William Bowery)