Bridgerton Smut Auntie she/her • somewhere between 25 and Dolly Taglist Form For the rest of my nonsense you can follow @thebridgertonbrosownmyladyparts and @calmingcuteandcool
Hey friends! Welcome new followers! I'm so pleased you're enjoying Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects I am having THE BEST time writing it!
Now about that, as you may know, I dropped the latest chapter earlier this week, Close Calls at Aubrey Hall which is the longest part yet and I know, I know I left it on one HECK of a cliffhanger
...which I'm so so sorry to say will have to wait another week or so from today to be resolved 🫣
It's finished and I have just sent it off to my AMAZING beta @fayes-fics but the truth is, I'm leaving for vacation in, oh say about five hours
I am SUPER excited. I'm heading to the other side of the country to visit my younger sister and then she and I are going to Hawaii for a long weekend and I won't be back to my home until the middle of next week
As an apology, under the cut you'll find the name of the chapter, the story art and what is, as of now, the first handful of paragraphs, WOEFULLY unbetaed. Please do enjoy!
Chapter 11: A Man Out of Time
Kent, England, Modern Day
“Miss Addison, would you mind telling me, where in the bloody hell am I?”
The Viscount stares at you with such helplessness that it makes your chest ache.
“My Lord,” you say quietly, “Before I explain, I think you should sit.”
He gazes around at the nearly empty room. “Where?”
You sigh, deciding to change tack. “Would you like some breakfast?”
He blinks at you. “Will the explanation go better on a full stomach?”
You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles up. “Most definitely, Sir.”
And that is how you find yourself, dressed in a sleep tee and shorts, making coffee and cheese toasties for you and a Regency Viscount.
He watches in silent fascination while you work and when you place the food and drink in front of him, he asks, “Miss Addison, where are the servants?”
You hold your hands up and wiggle your fingers. “These are the servants.”
He blinks, confused as you first go to the refrigerator and pull out cream and then to a cabinet and retrieve the sugar. You hold them out to him and he squints, reading the words on the cream container.
“No thank you,” he says primly, “I take my coffee without either.”
You snort a laugh and say, “Of course you do.” You then proceed to add a large amount of both cream and sugar into your own cup. As you take a large, satisfied sip, you wink at the Viscount who looks unimpressed as he drinks from his own mug of black coffee.
You take a generous bite of your toasty as he looks at his own before carefully tearing it in half and then inspecting the contents before taking a bite himself.
Closing his eyes with a smile, he tells you, “This is delicious.”
You smile in return and say nothing, adding another toasty to his plate.
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects: Chapter 10
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Pairing: Regency!Anthony Bridgerton x Modern!Fem Reader
Summary: Aubrey Hall and its many charms, several enlightening conversations and a plan to save the stubborn, idiotic viscount
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: 18+ for the series but for this part, nothing. I will put this up on Ao3 and Wattpad so please do not repost my work elsewhere
Author’s Note: There is A LOT going on at Aubrey Hall so buckle in for the longest chapter so far. Please do enjoy! As always thank you to @fayes-fics for serving as beta and @eulalielatibule for the inspo for this fic
Chapter 10: Close Calls at Aubrey Hall
Kent, 1814
By invitation, you, along with Agatha and Coral, arrive at Aubrey Hall two days before Violet Bridgerton’s Hearts and Flowers Ball. On the multi-hour journey from London to Kent, the three of you refine your plan. Agatha is to do her best to monopolize Miss Hunter’s time, under the guise of learning more about the young lady who is most likely to become the new Viscountess Bridgerton. Coral will make sure none of the staff intervenes while you find a quiet moment to talk to the viscount alone, to convince him to change his mind about not marrying for love. Agatha is convinced this is the outcome that will change his fate for good, but you are not so certain that merely talking to him will be enough to persuade him; the man is so stubborn.
Agatha reminds you that so too are you.
Most of the family is waiting on the front steps of Aubrey Hall when you arrive. Everyone comes down to greet you while Coral goes off and joins the servants. Eloise puts her arm in yours and leads you into the house and directly to the sitting room, where a tea tray is already waiting for you along with an assortment of sandwiches and pastries.
She leads you over to sit on the couch that is your anchor point, and you marvel aloud at the upholstery and indeed at how lovely the whole room is, acting as if you haven’t fallen asleep and then woken up in that very spot twice before.
Aubrey Hall, when it’s teeming with life from all of the family and staff milling about, is a completely different place than when you had traveled back in time and it was all but abandoned. Where most of the furniture had been covered by protective cloth, every piece is now on display, polished to a perfect shine.
You’re sitting and chatting with Hyacinth and Daphne, Benedict half-sprawled on a settee across from you, sketching lazily when Lord Bridgerton arrives with Miss Hunter on his arm, her uncle following behind them.
As they sit together on the other side of the room, Miss Hunter loudly exclaims at how much she enjoyed the tour of the property the Viscount has just taken her on. Her eyes find yours, and she looks smug for a brief moment before her expression settles into a look of open-eyed innocence. If you could, you’d hurl the cream puff in your hand at her stupid face. But you determine she’s not worth wasting such a delicious treat on.
Benedict sits up as his mother places herself on the settee beside him, and after being served, takes a measured sip from her teacup. She watches you for a long moment and then offers to give you a tour of your own, with Benedict immediately offering to come along.
You don’t miss how his elder brother, who had appeared to be engaged in conversation with Miss Hunter and her uncle moments earlier, now seems to be watching your side of the room with a look of displeasure as you enthusiastically accept their offer.
And so, after a buffet lunch, while Agatha begs off under the guise of taking a rest, Lady Bridgerton and her second son take you on a tour of the house.
Seeing Aubrey Hall in its full splendor makes you wish you had a notebook to document all that you see so that you could replicate it once you return to your own time. As you tour what was once their childhood nursery, you wonder idly if the job as Property Manager you thought you had been hired for is still legitimate.
At the front hall, you part ways with Benedict, who is meeting some acquaintances in the village, while Lady Bridgerton continues your tour of the outside.
You walk over a footbridge and past a lake and then into her pride and joy, the garden. You find yourself getting choked up as she highlights every flower and tree she’s planted. You make a silent vow to restore it to all in the modern day, as a tribute to her.
As she leads you under a flowering arch, a heavily bearded, older man is raking the leaves. He pauses in his work and doffs his cap to you and his mistress. Lady Bridgerton smiles at him and nods in return, introducing you to Aubrey Hall’s head gardener before you both walk on, leaving the man to his work.
The more she shows you, the more overcome you get by the sight of the lush vegetation. The little you had seen on your initial tour when you first arrived in your time was of a garden that was abandoned and overgrown. You had noted then, absently, to have your grounds crew do a basic trim back. But now, there was so much you were inspired to do.
The Viscountess leads you over to a bench situated beside a hedgerow of lavender, its fragrant scent permeating the air as you find yourself weeping uncontrollably. You pull a white lace handkerchief out of your reticule and sob while she waits patiently.
Once your eyes are dry, you apologize for being overcome by the beauty of her garden. She offers to draw up plans so that you, Miss Addison, might be able to recreate some of it at one of your own properties.
You assert that you would appreciate it, even as guilt churns in your gut at having to maintain the lie about who you really are in the face of her kindness. But as usual, you tamp it down, knowing that keeping up the charade is the only way to save her family.
You walk back to the house, arm in arm, mostly silent. When the house comes into view, Lady Bridgerton stops walking and gazes at her home before turning to look at you.
In that kind tone of hers she says, “Anthony seems most decided on what he wants his marriage to look like. I like Miss Hunter well enough and I believe she will be a fine addition to our family,” she pauses to look back at the house before she continues, “However, I have always hoped he would make a love match, just as his father and I did. If I picture the sort of woman he would fall in love with, there is but one young lady that comes to mind, and Miss Hunter is most certainly not her.”
She says nothing else as you continue to walk, but a lump forms in your throat as she squeezes your hand and gives you a meaningful look before parting ways to rest before dinner.
Back in your room, you recount what she said to Coral. She has a knowing look in her eyes but says nothing, shaking her head as she pulls out your gown and accessories for that evening’s dinner while you go off to rest.
Supper that night finds you sitting between Eloise and Benedict with Colin across from you, who has just returned from a trip to Greece and is quite eager to tell you about it, even as his siblings roll their eyes, surely having heard it all.
As the four of you chat, your gaze occasionally drifts to the head of the table, where Miss Hunter is holding court to the left of the Viscount, her uncle sat beside her. Every time you look over, your eyes find Lord Bridgerton watching you, before he quickly turns away to listen to whatever she is saying.
After dinner, rather than separating, the gentlemen join the ladies for cards. Agatha informs you that the elder Bridgerton brothers prefer late-night games of billiards with cigars and brandy to taking a smoke and tipple after dinner.
You all play parlour games until it grows late enough to retire. Before parting for the night, Agatha promises to keep Miss Hunter busy the next day.
You arrive at the informal family breakfast the next morning to find Agatha, good as her word, extracting a promise from the would-be murderess to accompany her while she writes letters that afternoon.
You spend the morning playing Bowls with Gregory and Hyacinth while Benedict and Colin watch from the sidelines, providing colorful commentary.
After lunch, you watch as Lord Bridgerton enters the garden alone, and you know you’ve found your chance. Walking under the arborist arch, you pause as you see three possible paths he could have taken. You’re about to resign yourself to having to try all three when the head gardener appears. He doffs his cap and points to the path on your right.
“You’ll find him there, near the wishing fountain. It has been his favorite place since he was a boy.”
You curtsey in thanks and then head off in that direction, vaguely recalling seeing a fountain on your tour with Lady Bridgerton. And sure enough, after a short walk, that is exactly where he is.
His back to you, posture relaxed as he gazes into the depths of the fountain, its gleaming, white marble a stark contrast to the lush greenery and bright, blooming flowers surrounding you. He doesn’t seem to notice as you approach, your feet treading lightly on the stone footpath.
He’s dressed in a cropped velvet jacket that is such a dark shade of purple that it looks almost black. You take a few seconds to admire how snugly his trousers fit over his shapely backside. You’re only human after all.
A twig snaps under your shoe, and he turns, his relaxed state dissipating at the sight of you, his posture going ramrod straight as he clenches his jaw in displeasure.
Sharply, he says, “Miss Addison, it is most inappropriate for us to be alone together. And as this is my place of solitude and I was here first, I ask that you kindly take your leave.”
You can’t help the scowl that comes across your face. “My Lord, this garden is all but abandoned. Surely it is more of an appropriate venue for us to converse alone than in a hallway beside the ballroom at Harley House.”
His eyes narrow. “Miss Addison, I know not of what you speak.”
You huff a laugh at his gall, daring to pretend your brief interlude the other evening had not occurred. “Pray tell me, My Lord, how are your toes? Or better yet, how is your sternum?”
He steps closer to you, voice lowering, despite it being just the pair of you. “I’ll have you know, Miss, that I have quite a large bruise that I had to explain away to my valet. It’s just today finally starting to fade.”
Chin raised you to tell him, “Serves you right, My Lord. That is precisely what one deserves when he takes hold of a woman against her will.”
At your words, he steps back, his face and posture changing to one of contrition. Softly, he says, “You are correct, Miss Addison. I apologize again, for it was most ungentlemanly of me to do so. I assure you that I shall never treat a lady in such a manner again.”
He looks so profoundly guilty that you reach out and take his bare hand in your white lace-gloved one.
“I believe you, My Lord,” you murmur. He nods in return, looking you in the eyes as if searching for something, but he says nothing, so you take the opportunity to continue. “While I have a few moments of your time, Sir, may I say something else?”
He smiles wryly. “Can I truly stop you, Miss?”
You smile in return. “No Sir, you can not.”
Resigned, he takes your arm and leads you over to a wooden bench, and you both sit. First, he places his hands in his lap before putting them at his sides, before once again returning them to his lap. He’s nervous, you realize.
Your own hands folded together, you begin, “My Lord, I am given to understand by your mother that your courtship with Miss Hunter is deepening.”
At the mention of this, he sits up, his posture going rigid. “It is,” he says tersely, offering nothing else.
You sit back, trying to project a calm you don’t feel. “I have heard from Lady Danbury and indeed others that you have professed to not want a love match, that your marriage is to be an amenable partnership and nothing else.”
He clenches his jaw but says nothing, so you plod on.
“I would urge you, Sir, to change your mind in your assertion. You deserve love. Indeed, we all do.”
He jumps to his feet, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. He is silent for a long moment as he stares at you. The only sound is his breathing and the water moving in the fountain. When he finally speaks, his words come out in tight, barely controlled syllables.
“Miss Addison, allow me to be perfectly clear,” he pauses to take a deep breath and then continues, “I shall not marry you.”
You stare at him in shock before you, too, stand. Feeling indignant, even as words sting you. “My Lord, I assure you, even if you did wish to ask me, I most certainly would refuse.”
His eyes widen at your words, and the brief look of pain that flashes across his handsome face makes something crack in your chest before it disappears and he looks angry once more.
“Lucky then, Miss, for both of us that I have no intention of ever asking you.”
You throw your hands in the air, frustrated. “My Lord, you miss my point entirely. Forget about you and I. I speak now of you and Miss Hunter. You do not love her. She does not love you. In fact, I have always found her too perfect in her assertions and how she always agrees with you on everything. It is strange, is it not?
The Viscount glares at you, hands going to his waist. “You sound like Benedict,” he huffs, indignant.
You can’t stop the pleading tone in your voice as you say to him, “Mr. Bridgerton and I are in agreement then. Surely this is enough to give you pause.”
He continues to glower at you before he takes a deep breath and straightens his jacket. “Miss Addison, you and I are mere acquaintances, not friends, as I have been told by you on multiple occasions. My choices are my own and are of no concern of yours.”
A pit forms in your belly as your own words are volleyed back with frightening accuracy. He stares up at the sky for a long moment before looking back at you.
“Tomorrow evening is Mother’s Hearts and Flowers Ball. I shall be proposing to Miss Hunter before it ends. I have already spoken to Mr. Hunter, and I have obtained his blessing for his niece’s hand.”
“My Lord, surely,” you begin to croak out, but he cuts you off.
“My decision is final, Miss Addison.”
He backs away from you and bows stiffly. When he stands, you catch a flash of sadness in his eyes before he quickly turns and stalks out of the copse, leaving you to sink back down on the bench, feeling shocked and hollow.
You’re not sure how long you sit when you hear a rustling sound, and you think that maybe, just maybe, he’s returned to tell you he’s changed his mind. You jump to your feet in anticipation, only to see the head gardener enter under the arch.
His voice is raspy with age as he says, “I hope you’ll forgive an old man his follies, young miss, but I could not help but overhear you and the Viscount.”
He shuffles up beside you as you gesture to the bench, and you both sit.
“I apologize, sir, if we disturbed you.”
He waves your concern away with a weathered hand. “No need to apologize; that man has given me entertainment aplenty since he was a boy. I can’t tell you how many times I had to hoist him out of that wishing fountain as a child because he stood too close and fell in.”
Despite how you feel, you smile at the image of a tiny Anthony Bridgerton, soaked and probably giggling at the mischief he caused.
“You have known him for a long time then?”
The old man nods. “Aye, since he was a babe. And he has always been a stubborn one,” he pauses as he smiles and adds, “Pardon my wordplay, but he’s never been able to see the forest through the trees.”
Despite your sadness, you laugh. “I’ll forgive you for that one, sir.”
He nods, placing a calloused hand atop yours and standing, pulling you up with surprising strength.
He looks around the garden, offering you his arm and leading you back to the beginning. “I find, Miss, that when a person refuses to see the whole picture, sometimes they need to stand back from it, to gaze upon it all at a great distance and reflect.”
You look at him, not missing the twinkle in his clear, blue-grey eyes. “That sounds like the words of an artist or a poet, not a gardener, Sir.”
He wheezes a laugh. “Old Ben has been many things in his long lifetime, Miss.”
You arrive at the main arch of the garden, and he lets go of your arm to take up an abandoned rake on the ground.
“I wish you luck, Miss Addison.”
You nod at him and smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
A flock of birds fly overhead, and you look up to watch them. When you turn back, you see the gardener's retreating form as he re-enters the garden to get back to his work.
Later, when Agatha returns from her afternoon with Miss Hunter, you fill her in on your conversation with the Viscount. She scowls and tells you that he had originally proposed at the Hearts and Flowers Ball, and that it must be stopped from happening. Coral sits quietly in the corner, watching as Agatha insists you talk to him again.
You’re not so certain he’ll listen to you. But you don’t tell your partner that.
During dinner, the gardener’s words replay over and over in your mind, a crazy idea forming. By the time everyone convenes in the drawing room for games, the idea crystallizes and you can’t let it go. It’s terrible but it just might work, and you can’t tell Agatha anything about it because she will surely tell you no.
And so, while she’s thoroughly distracted in a game of whist with Lady Bridgerton and Miss Hunter, you excuse yourself under the guise of going to the water closet and sneak into her bedroom instead.
Your plan, roughshod as it is, is to bring the stubborn viscount forward in time with you so that he can see for himself just what his decisions have wrought. You hope that once he sees the after effects, he’ll change his course.
You just need to find where Agatha keeps the abalone shell box that holds the buttons you need to do that.
You feel guilty as you open the drawers of the bureau and begin to rummage through her belongings carefully. You next try the closet, also to no avail. Trying to be mindful of how long you’ve been away, you are just about to crawl under the bed when the door opens, and Coral walks in.
She takes in the half-closed drawers and then stares at you. “What in the Lord’s name are you doing?”
Staring back at her, caught, you know you have but two options. You can simply tell her the truth or make up a wild tale and hope she believes you. Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.
“I need to find the buttons to bring Lord Bridgerton to my time so he can see for himself the outcome of his decisions if he continues on this path.”
Coral walks further into the room, closing the drawers. She turns to you, and you genuinely can’t read her expression as she says, “Lady Danbury thinks the best way is to keep trying to talk him out of it.”
“She’s wrong,” you tell her with a shrug. “I wish she wasn't, but he’s determined, and nothing I can say will change his mind. Talking is futile. He needs to see it from afar.”
The canny maid nods and then glances at the closed door before looking back at you. “She is my mistress,” she begins, “I have to tell her about this.”
Your stomach drops as she walks to the closet you’ve already gone through and rummages around the back before standing. When she turns around, you recognize the familiar silk wrappings she holds in her hands.
“I can, however,” she says as she undoes the knot on top, “Give you a head start before I do.”
Relief floods through you. “Thank you, truly.”
She opens the box and pulls out two brass buttons. When she presses them into your gloved palm, she says, “This had better work.”
“It will,” you tell her. “It has to.”
With the buttons concealed in your reticule, you return to the drawing room, relieved that no one seems to have noted your absence.
Later, before parting for the night, Agatha squeezes your hand, assuring you that you’ll have another opportunity to talk to the viscount the next day. Guilt churning in your gut, you agree and then bid her a good evening.
Much later, when the house is quiet, you put on your modern pajamas and slip an elegant silk robe over them. Mindful of the precious buttons in your pocket, you tread carefully on silent feet. You have a good feeling the viscount is a night owl, so you first check the billiards room, only to find it abandoned. You next try the library, but that is also dark, not a soul in sight. You’re worried you’ll have to sneak into the man’s bedroom when you notice the light under his closed office door.
You knock softly, and when you get no response, you slowly turn the knob, relieved it's not locked. The door opens silently, and you’re grateful to the staff who have kept the hinges well-oiled.
You step in to find the fire in the grate burned down to its coals. There is a single candle still lit on a table beside the couch near the fireplace, its wick burned down to nearly nothing.
As you approach the couch, you hear the sound of light snoring and sure enough, Lord Bridgerton is lying there, fast asleep. His feet are bare with the sleeves of his soft, white shirt rolled up so that his forearms are exposed, the top three buttons of the shirt undone. His dark hair falls in a soft wave over his brow, his handsome face slack in slumber. Anthony Bridgerton, when he’s relaxed, just might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
Shaking yourself from your reverie, you force yourself back to the task at hand. The couch he lies upon is thankfully the same one you recognize from your time, so it can safely be his anchor point. You take one of the buttons out of your pocket and debate where to place it. Luckily, at that moment, he snorts and rolls over, his shirt falling open as he settles. You tuck the button inside the folds of his shirt, mindful not to jostle him, holding your breath while you do it.
Once you’re satisfied he won’t dislodge it in his sleep, you back out of the room and carefully close the door behind you. With that done, you go to the sitting room, which thankfully is also abandoned. Grabbing a few of Violet Bridgerton’s fancy pillows, you settle down on your own anchor point and wait for sleep to come, praying you wake before any servants find you.
You’re certain you don’t have anything to worry about when you awaken, disoriented back in your own time, still in your Regency robe and modern pajamas, the used-up button now heavy in the pocket. You remove the robe and sit up. A few minutes later, you hear yelling.
It’s Lord Bridgerton. He’s shouting first for his valet, then for Mrs. Wilson, and then you hear him walk closer as he calls out for Humboldt, the butler. You stand, wearing your modern pajamas. As he enters the room, he stares around at its bare state, and then his gaze lands on you, wearing nothing but a sleep tee and shorts.
And in a confused tone, expressing a sentiment you understand all too well, he says, “Miss Addison, would you mind telling me, where in the bloody hell am I?”
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects: Chapter 9
Taglist Form
Series Masterlist
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Pairing: Regency!Anthony Bridgerton x Modern!Fem Reader
Summary: A ball, a few important conversations and the return of a certain gentleman. The Viscount has absolutely no feelings about any of this (he absolutely does)
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: 18+ for the series but for this part, nothing. I will put this up on Ao3 and Wattpad so please do not repost my work elsewhere
Author’s Note: Here we are, it's the longest chapter so far! Please do enjoy! Thank you to @fayes-fics for serving as beta and @eulalielatibule for the inspo for this fic
Chapter 9: Jealousy or, The Redemption of Mr. Harley
London, 1814
That night, in your finely appointed bed in Danbury House, sleep does not come easy. When further pressed, Agatha had revealed that, after your sudden departure the previous season, the Viscount had seemed sad, almost despondent, refusing to take up any other dance partners for the remainder of the season.
The Ton at large had attributed his sullenness to the loss of his mistress, but Agatha and, she admitted, Lady Bridgerton herself were certain it was because of you. For several weeks after you had left, Lord Bridgerton had quietly asked Agatha if she had news of you. He had even prevailed upon Eloise and Hyacinth to ask after your address so that they might receive news of you through your own letters. Agatha had gently rebuffed both requests, informing them that you were traveling between various estates and couldn’t be certain where you were at any given time until you reached out to her first.
It was an ingenious lie, for if, as originally planned, you never returned, you were meant to have simply faded from their memories, remembered as a friendly acquaintance they had known for a brief time - a mere footnote in their lives.
But that, apparently, was not the case for Anthony Bridgerton. And so it seemed, to Agatha and his mother, at least, that rather than explore whatever he had felt for Miss Addison, he pushed all feelings away and decided the best course for his life was to take on a loveless, but amenable marriage.
Which would ultimately lead to his death. And the sorrow and decline of his family.
As you rolled over and at last felt the tug of sleep, the final thought in your mind was simply this: not if you, Agatha and Coral had anything to say about it.
Over the next few weeks, though, there was not much opportunity to say or even do anything. Whenever you came to call on the family, Miss Hunter was right there, pride of place, sitting between Violet Bridgerton and the Viscount.
You could only watch with increasing anxiety as Miss Hunter slowly won over the rest of the Bridgerton family. She charmed both Colin and Gregory with tales of her travels. She delighted Hyacinth with stories of the gowns she wore to glamorous balls across Europe. She even managed to gain Daphne, the new Duchess of Hastings’ support when she tenderly held her newborn son and declared him, ‘The handsomest baby she had ever seen.’
All of this was done under the proud, almost warm eyes of Lord Bridgerton, who, at every smile and approving nod from his family, seemed to preen a bit more.
At balls, it was much the same. She seemed to hold the Ton in the palm of her hand. Everyone waited for her arrival to see what she would be wearing, and then surely, the young ladies would be dressed in a similar fashion at the next soiree.
And just as the Viscount had vowed, he never danced with you, his waltz firmly held for Miss Hunter, who, you begrudgingly had to admit, floated around the dancefloor in his arms like she was born to it.
The only holdout to her charms, though, was Benedict Bridgerton. While he smiled winningly at her praise and nodded at the appropriate places when she engaged him in conversation, you could see it in his eyes; he was not impressed by Miss Eulalie Hunter.
If only you could tell him just how right he was not to trust her, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t.
But you would get the chance to come as close as possible to informing him thus soon enough.
To everyone’s surprise, the Harley family had decided to host another ball. Despite, or maybe because of their recent family scandal, an invitation to their ball was a hot commodity. And naturally, Lady Danbury and Miss Addison were among those on the guest list.
The ballroom at Harley House was nearly identical to when you had attended their ball the previous season, as if Lady Harley was summoning a less scandalous time in her family’s recent history. And indeed Lord Harley and his wife seem relieved to see Agatha and, by extension, you. As you attach your dance card, you realize that by attending, Lady Danbury, who as a close confidante of The Queen, was signalling to the Ton that the family was once again safe to associate with.
A few gentlemen write their names on your card, and then you seek out the Bridgerton family, who had arrived shortly after you. As Agatha makes small talk with Lady Bridgerton, Colin and Benedict add their names. You are pleased to see that Benedict has chosen the Somerfield Set, which means you have a pair of consecutive dances to gauge his true feelings about Miss Hunter and share your own thoughts in return.
You try to ignore Lord Bridgerton, which is difficult because he looks exceedingly handsome in his cropped black velvet jacket, choosing instead to chat with Eloise. It’s while you two are talking that Mr. Harley approaches. You haven’t seen him since the Trowbridge Ball, and he certainly has changed. He has an air of confidence he didn’t have the season before, and you remember that, because his elder brother fled to the Americas with Siena Rosso after he won the duel that had originally ended the Viscount’s life and thus been disowned, the younger Mr. Harley was now the heir.
All of his family’s inheritance was his. You almost feel sorry that such a weight is now on his shoulders. He is different physically as well. Not only is he dressed in a fine suit, but his complexion is also clear, and his blonde hair longer and tousled in a way that makes him look quite handsome.
He offers you a bow, and Eloise steps back, as if using you as a human shield to escape his notice. She has no need to worry, though; his eyes are only on you.
“Miss Addison,” he begins, “If you would be amenable, I would very much like to claim a dance with you.” When he finishes speaking, he holds your gaze with clear, calm eyes, waiting for your consent.
You had purposely worn an older pair of shoes, expressly in case this scenario presented itself. But the fact that he has asked for your permission rather than just taking up your card is a new and welcome development.
As you offer him your wrist to write his name, you say, “It would be my honor and indeed a pleasure, Sir.” Afterwards, you find that you genuinely mean the words.
As you and Agatha take your leave of the Bridgerton family to make the rounds, you catch the Viscount’s eye, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking displeased.
But then shortly after, Miss Hunter and her uncle arrive, and you watch as he puts on a charming smile and takes up her dance card.
Once the dancing starts, you are obliged for most of the evening. Soon enough, though, Benedict Bridgerton is offering you his arm and the pair of you begin the first of your two dances. He is always an excellent partner, both attentive and a good conversationalist, when the dancing allows.
Luckily, this set does. You spend the first one engaging in small talk, gossiping about a lady’s garish gown, a gentleman’s unfortunate choice of cravat and chatting about an art exhibit you both attended that he has strong opinions about.
Sometime during the second dance, Lord Bridgerton and Miss Hunter glide past you, and Benedict’s expression changes, a sour look on his face, before he catches himself and softens it to one of bland neutrality.
“I saw that,” you chide him, not unkindly.
Benedict looks momentarily surprised before he relaxes. “It is nothing, Miss Addison. I assure you.”
“If it is about Miss Hunter, then I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, it is not nothing.”
He appears taken aback and then impressed that you so thoroughly turned his own words around on him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on, “It would be ungentlemanly to speak ill of the lady my brother is courting.”
You can’t help the sharp grin that overtakes your face. “It would be unladylike of me to do the same, but shall we do it anyway?”
Benedict lets out a loud laugh, which draws curious looks from the couples dancing around you. Once everyone looks away, he smiles and leans in. “I suppose we shall.”
At your answering smile, his face suddenly grows serious, and he spares a glance in his elder brother’s direction before he speaks again.
“There is something about her. I cannot put my finger on it, but she seems too polished, too perfect. And it is strange that she has so thoroughly charmed my entire family, if not the whole of the Ton.”
In one sentence, Benedict Bridgerton has given voice to exactly what you have observed over the last few weeks.
“Not all of the Ton,” you tell him. “But you are correct, she does appear to be incredibly polished, unnaturally so. That she has been to all the places and done all the things she claims is extremely suspect to me, and indeed Lady Danbury thinks so as well.”
He nods. “I had wondered if anyone else had found her stories as incredulous as I have.”
You squeeze the hand holding yours as you turn. “I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that is most certainly the case.”
You take a few more turns around the floor before you speak again. “Have you mentioned your concerns about her to your brother?”
Benedict lets out a humorless laugh. “I have tried on several occasions. But the stubborn ass refuses to listen to me, saying only that she is ‘more than suitable’ and then walks away from me,” he pauses as his words catch up to him and says, “My apologies, Miss Addison, for the colorful language.”
You smile. “I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that in my head, I have called your elder brother far worse things than merely an ass.”
Benedict laughs. “I have always liked you.” He glances at his brother and then back to you. “I had thought too, so had Anthony.”
Before you can respond, the dance ends, and you acknowledge each other. As Benedict leads you back to Agatha, he leans in and says, “I have done all I can to dissuade him, but perhaps he’ll listen to you. I hope you’ll try.”
“I shall, Mr. Bridgerton,” you tell him, “I swear it.”
When the next dance commences, you join Mr. Harley on the dancefloor. As the music begins, you offer up a silent prayer that your toes remain unharmed. But as you step together, you realize your prayers are unnecessary.
As he spins you under his arm, you are astonished as you ask him, “Mr. Harley, have you taken dance lessons?”
He ducks his head, turning a familiar shade of pink. “I have indeed, Miss Addison. Mother insisted, especially after how things ended last season.” His eyes widen, as if realizing he has said too much.
You change partners and dance away from him. When you come back together, you tell him, “You can speak as freely as you like with me, Sir. Lady Danbury has apprised me of the situation.” You choose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend him. “I hope your brother is content in the Americas.”
Mr. Harley looks at you with surprise and, after sparing a glance at his parents, says, “He is quite well. He sent a letter to his best friend, who then secreted it to me. He is newly married to the young lady he fled with and has started a business. He seems most content with his newfound freedom.”
You nod. “And how are you enjoying being the new heir?”
At your question, he looks sad. “It may sound silly, but I would very much like to marry for love. I had hoped that, as the second son, it was something that could be afforded to me, but now as the heir…”
“All the voracious, fortune-hunting mamas are eying you for their voracious, fortune-hunting daughters,” you finish for him.
He laughs. “Perhaps not in those exact words, but yes.”
You are forced to dance away from each other again, but once you return, you entwine your fingers with his as you make your way around the floor.
“Mr. Harley, I owe you an apology for last season, for allowing Lord Bridgerton to take the waltz that was rightfully yours at the Trowbridge Ball.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “It was rather bold of me to claim the dance you always reserved for him. I should have expected no less of such treatment, really.”
“All the same,” you begin, “I think it’s only fair that you take my waltz tonight. In fact, Sir, it would be my honor if you did so.”
He smiles broadly at your request. And indeed, as the dance ends and you acknowledge each other, and after escorting you back to Agatha’s side, he fills in his name beside the waltz before bowing and taking his leave.
As you take a refreshment break, you fill Agatha in on your conversations with both Benedict and Mr. Harley.
Agatha watches the Viscount and Miss Hunter talk, a frustrated look on her face as she tells you, “I am pleased that Mr. Bridgerton has reservations about Miss Hunter, even as his brother is willfully oblivious. And as for Mr. Harley’s plight,” she pauses to look around the ballroom, a considering gleam in her eyes. “By the time he leads you back to me after your waltz together, I shall have assembled a few good candidates for his love match.”
You can only nod and smile as Agatha goes off to work some matchmaking magic. You’re pleased to give her a much-needed distraction.
You turn to watch the dancing couples, and across the floor, the Viscount catches your eye. That feeling you stubbornly continue to refuse to name thrums through your core as he stares at you, his eyes hot and intense, even as you notice Miss Hunter stands beside him, her arm in his.
You turn away, the hair prickling at the nape of your neck, a sure sign that penetrating gaze of his is still laser-focused on you.
Later, Mr. Harley finds you for the waltz. Once on the floor, he keeps a respectful amount of space between you, another new trait of his that gains your admiration. You glance around as the music starts and are surprised to find that Lord Bridgerton and Miss Hunter are the couple on your left.
As you begin to move around the floor, Mr. Harley inquires after your absence, and you tell him the story you and Agatha concocted, but you find yourself embellishing a little, the details of which delight him.
As you continue to twirl together, he regales you with stories about the various lessons his mother has engaged him in. Your favorite by far is how he once, while practising with his dance instructor on the dock of his family estate’s pond, accidentally knocked the poor man into the drink and spent the better part of an hour trying to fish him out, even as they both kept slipping on the sandbar and falling back into the water.
You’re both laughing as the dance finishes, your arm steady in his as he leads you back to Agatha, who, true to her word, is holding court with a variety of young ladies. She introduces each of them to Mr. Harley, whom you watch with genuine happiness. He deserves his love match, you determine. And judging by the quality of the young ladies your partner has assembled, he is certain to find it.
You excuse yourself to freshen up. Leaving the ballroom, you’re about to open the door to the water closet when an arm snakes out and pulls you into a side hall. Rather than scream, your instincts kick in and you stomp down hard on your would-be assailant’s toes, while also elbowing them hard in the solar plexus. They release you instantly, and the groan you hear is all Lord Bridgerton.
Wheezing and doubled-over, he stumbles over to a table and lights a candelabra, which casts a gentle glow around the hallway. As he leans against the table, palms flat, catching his breath, you stalk over to him, your anger causing you to abandon Regency speech.
“Are you crazy? Why would you put your hands on a woman? You are so lucky I didn’t go with plan b which would have been me kicking you in the junk and breaking your nose.”
He stares at you in shock, even as he holds himself around the middle and tries to catch his breath.
“I only…understand…about…four of…those words,” he stutters before standing and stretching, breath still heaving as he continues, “My apologies all the same. You are correct. It was foolish of me to take your arm without permission.”
“To say the least, My Lord,” you huff.
After a few moments of silence, the Viscount seems to have regained his stamina, standing to his full height. You feel a bit calmer and turn to him, momentarily taken aback at how handsome he looks in half shadow, half light.
He gazes at you for a long moment, and you don’t miss how his eyes stay firmly on your face, not once flicking down to your cleavage.
“You and Mr. Harley seem quite close.” His tone is measured and calm, even as his eyes blaze.
You cross your arms. “Not that it is any of your concern, My Lord but, Mr. Harley and I have reached an accord. Dare I say it, I now consider him a friend.”
The Viscount lets out an indignant snort. “A friend indeed. Surely, he has put on airs to entrap you. You are an heiress with vast wealth and properties, and he is…”
“Now the heir to his own family’s fortune,” you say, cutting him off. “It is true that he has improved in both countenance and humor, as well as in his skills as a dancer. But that,” you pause to push into his space in an attempt to emphasize your point, “Is where his charm ends for me. He desires a love match, and I wish him well in his endeavour."
Lord Bridgerton stares down at you, his face mere inches from yours. Voice nearly a whisper, he asks, “And what is it, Miss Addison, that you desire?”
Your brain screams danger as his face moves ever closer towards yours, the rich, spicy scent of his cologne invading your senses. Blinking, you realize the peril you’re in, the pair of you alone in a semi-dark hallway, where anyone could walk by. You step back from him, and the spell he’s cast on you is broken.
You turn to leave, but then his words replay in your mind, and you spin around, indignant, unable to stop yourself. “My Lord, pray tell me, what business is it of yours if Mr. Harley and I were to form an attachment?”
His eyes go wide. “Surely not, Miss Addison. You can do far better.” He crosses his arms, glaring at you, all the petulance of an angry kitten. You can’t help the wry smile that plays on your lips as that old desire to needle him comes to the fore.
“Need I remind you, Sir, that my affairs are my own and no one has any say in what I choose to do or whom I choose to be acquainted with, not the least of all a puffed-up, so-called gentleman whose neck cloth has come undone.”
He glares at you, even as he reaches down to his cravat, which has indeed come askew in the scuffle of him taking your arm and you retaliating. He turns to a mirror on the wall and attempts to fix it with fumbling fingers. You watch him for a few moments and then take pity on him, walking over and reaching up to redo the ivory silk around his neck.
His throat bobs as you fix the elegant knotwork started by his valet, and soon enough, you’re tucking it back in. Stepping back, you wait until his eyes meet yours before you say, “My Lord, you are courting Miss Hunter. Unless that is to change, kindly keep your opinions on my choices to yourself.”
He swallows thickly but says nothing. There is a creaking sound on the floorboards behind you, and you turn to see Lady Bridgerton. She doesn’t seem shocked or angry, only assessing.
The Viscount clears his throat and, after nodding at you, strides away, posture stiff, seemingly ignoring his mother as he brushes past her.
She still says nothing as you cautiously approach her. “My Lady,” you begin, “I was overcome by all the dancing and your son, he,” you pause as she holds up a hand.
Her tone is gentle as she says, “You need not offer up any explanation, I understand perfectly what has occurred. You ought to return to the ballroom, my dear.”
You curtsey to her and begin to head in that direction.
Behind you, she adds, “I heard what you just said to him.”
You pause in your walking, a lump forming in your throat. Surely you have ruined things between you and Lady Bridgerton, and certainly the family, by extension.
Which is why you are astonished when two days later you receive a personal invitation from her to join the Bridgerton family at Aubrey Hall, a few days ahead of her famous Hearts and Flowers Ball.
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects: Chapter 10 Sneak Preview
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“While I have a few moments of your time, Sir, may I say something else?”
Lord Bridgerton smiles wryly. “Can I truly stop you, Miss?”
You smile in return. “No Sir, you can not.”
Resigned, he takes your arm and leads you over to a wooden bench, and you both sit. First, he places his hands in his lap before putting them at his sides, before once again returning them to his lap. He’s nervous, you realize.
Your own hands folded together, you begin, “My Lord, I am given to understand by your mother that your courtship with Miss Hunter is deepening.”
At the mention of this, he sits up, his posture going rigid. “It is,” he says tersely, offering nothing else.
You sit back, trying to project a calm you don’t feel. “I have heard from Lady Danbury and indeed others that you have professed to not want a love match, that your marriage is to be an amenable partnership and nothing else.”
He clenches his jaw but says nothing, so you plod on.
“I would urge you, Sir, to change your mind in your assertion. You deserve love. Indeed, we all do.”
He jumps to his feet, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. He is silent for a long moment as he stares at you. The only sound is his breathing and the water moving in the fountain. When he finally speaks, his words come out in tight, barely controlled syllables.
“Miss Addison, allow me to be perfectly clear,” he pauses to take a deep breath and then continues, “I shall not marry you.”
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects, Chapter 10: Close Calls at Aubrey Hall is coming Monday Night
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects: Chapter 9
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Pairing: Regency!Anthony Bridgerton x Modern!Fem Reader
Summary: A ball, a few important conversations and the return of a certain gentleman. The Viscount has absolutely no feelings about any of this (he absolutely does)
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: 18+ for the series but for this part, nothing. I will put this up on Ao3 and Wattpad so please do not repost my work elsewhere
Author’s Note: Here we are, it's the longest chapter so far! Please do enjoy! Thank you to @fayes-fics for serving as beta and @eulalielatibule for the inspo for this fic
Chapter 9: Jealousy or, The Redemption of Mr. Harley
London, 1814
That night, in your finely appointed bed in Danbury House, sleep does not come easy. When further pressed, Agatha had revealed that, after your sudden departure the previous season, the Viscount had seemed sad, almost despondent, refusing to take up any other dance partners for the remainder of the season.
The Ton at large had attributed his sullenness to the loss of his mistress, but Agatha and, she admitted, Lady Bridgerton herself were certain it was because of you. For several weeks after you had left, Lord Bridgerton had quietly asked Agatha if she had news of you. He had even prevailed upon Eloise and Hyacinth to ask after your address so that they might receive news of you through your own letters. Agatha had gently rebuffed both requests, informing them that you were traveling between various estates and couldn’t be certain where you were at any given time until you reached out to her first.
It was an ingenious lie, for if, as originally planned, you never returned, you were meant to have simply faded from their memories, remembered as a friendly acquaintance they had known for a brief time - a mere footnote in their lives.
But that, apparently, was not the case for Anthony Bridgerton. And so it seemed, to Agatha and his mother, at least, that rather than explore whatever he had felt for Miss Addison, he pushed all feelings away and decided the best course for his life was to take on a loveless, but amenable marriage.
Which would ultimately lead to his death. And the sorrow and decline of his family.
As you rolled over and at last felt the tug of sleep, the final thought in your mind was simply this: not if you, Agatha and Coral had anything to say about it.
Over the next few weeks, though, there was not much opportunity to say or even do anything. Whenever you came to call on the family, Miss Hunter was right there, pride of place, sitting between Violet Bridgerton and the Viscount.
You could only watch with increasing anxiety as Miss Hunter slowly won over the rest of the Bridgerton family. She charmed both Colin and Gregory with tales of her travels. She delighted Hyacinth with stories of the gowns she wore to glamorous balls across Europe. She even managed to gain Daphne, the new Duchess of Hastings’ support when she tenderly held her newborn son and declared him, ‘The handsomest baby she had ever seen.’
All of this was done under the proud, almost warm eyes of Lord Bridgerton, who, at every smile and approving nod from his family, seemed to preen a bit more.
At balls, it was much the same. She seemed to hold the Ton in the palm of her hand. Everyone waited for her arrival to see what she would be wearing, and then surely, the young ladies would be dressed in a similar fashion at the next soiree.
And just as the Viscount had vowed, he never danced with you, his waltz firmly held for Miss Hunter, who, you begrudgingly had to admit, floated around the dancefloor in his arms like she was born to it.
The only holdout to her charms, though, was Benedict Bridgerton. While he smiled winningly at her praise and nodded at the appropriate places when she engaged him in conversation, you could see it in his eyes; he was not impressed by Miss Eulalie Hunter.
If only you could tell him just how right he was not to trust her, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t.
But you would get the chance to come as close as possible to informing him thus soon enough.
To everyone’s surprise, the Harley family had decided to host another ball. Despite, or maybe because of their recent family scandal, an invitation to their ball was a hot commodity. And naturally, Lady Danbury and Miss Addison were among those on the guest list.
The ballroom at Harley House was nearly identical to when you had attended their ball the previous season, as if Lady Harley was summoning a less scandalous time in her family’s recent history. And indeed Lord Harley and his wife seem relieved to see Agatha and, by extension, you. As you attach your dance card, you realize that by attending, Lady Danbury, who as a close confidante of The Queen, was signalling to the Ton that the family was once again safe to associate with.
A few gentlemen write their names on your card, and then you seek out the Bridgerton family, who had arrived shortly after you. As Agatha makes small talk with Lady Bridgerton, Colin and Benedict add their names. You are pleased to see that Benedict has chosen the Somerfield Set, which means you have a pair of consecutive dances to gauge his true feelings about Miss Hunter and share your own thoughts in return.
You try to ignore Lord Bridgerton, which is difficult because he looks exceedingly handsome in his cropped black velvet jacket, choosing instead to chat with Eloise. It’s while you two are talking that Mr. Harley approaches. You haven’t seen him since the Trowbridge Ball, and he certainly has changed. He has an air of confidence he didn’t have the season before, and you remember that, because his elder brother fled to the Americas with Siena Rosso after he won the duel that had originally ended the Viscount’s life and thus been disowned, the younger Mr. Harley was now the heir.
All of his family’s inheritance was his. You almost feel sorry that such a weight is now on his shoulders. He is different physically as well. Not only is he dressed in a fine suit, but his complexion is also clear, and his blonde hair longer and tousled in a way that makes him look quite handsome.
He offers you a bow, and Eloise steps back, as if using you as a human shield to escape his notice. She has no need to worry, though; his eyes are only on you.
“Miss Addison,” he begins, “If you would be amenable, I would very much like to claim a dance with you.” When he finishes speaking, he holds your gaze with clear, calm eyes, waiting for your consent.
You had purposely worn an older pair of shoes, expressly in case this scenario presented itself. But the fact that he has asked for your permission rather than just taking up your card is a new and welcome development.
As you offer him your wrist to write his name, you say, “It would be my honor and indeed a pleasure, Sir.” Afterwards, you find that you genuinely mean the words.
As you and Agatha take your leave of the Bridgerton family to make the rounds, you catch the Viscount’s eye, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking displeased.
But then shortly after, Miss Hunter and her uncle arrive, and you watch as he puts on a charming smile and takes up her dance card.
Once the dancing starts, you are obliged for most of the evening. Soon enough, though, Benedict Bridgerton is offering you his arm and the pair of you begin the first of your two dances. He is always an excellent partner, both attentive and a good conversationalist, when the dancing allows.
Luckily, this set does. You spend the first one engaging in small talk, gossiping about a lady’s garish gown, a gentleman’s unfortunate choice of cravat and chatting about an art exhibit you both attended that he has strong opinions about.
Sometime during the second dance, Lord Bridgerton and Miss Hunter glide past you, and Benedict’s expression changes, a sour look on his face, before he catches himself and softens it to one of bland neutrality.
“I saw that,” you chide him, not unkindly.
Benedict looks momentarily surprised before he relaxes. “It is nothing, Miss Addison. I assure you.”
“If it is about Miss Hunter, then I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, it is not nothing.”
He appears taken aback and then impressed that you so thoroughly turned his own words around on him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on, “It would be ungentlemanly to speak ill of the lady my brother is courting.”
You can’t help the sharp grin that overtakes your face. “It would be unladylike of me to do the same, but shall we do it anyway?”
Benedict lets out a loud laugh, which draws curious looks from the couples dancing around you. Once everyone looks away, he smiles and leans in. “I suppose we shall.”
At your answering smile, his face suddenly grows serious, and he spares a glance in his elder brother’s direction before he speaks again.
“There is something about her. I cannot put my finger on it, but she seems too polished, too perfect. And it is strange that she has so thoroughly charmed my entire family, if not the whole of the Ton.”
In one sentence, Benedict Bridgerton has given voice to exactly what you have observed over the last few weeks.
“Not all of the Ton,” you tell him. “But you are correct, she does appear to be incredibly polished, unnaturally so. That she has been to all the places and done all the things she claims is extremely suspect to me, and indeed Lady Danbury thinks so as well.”
He nods. “I had wondered if anyone else had found her stories as incredulous as I have.”
You squeeze the hand holding yours as you turn. “I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that is most certainly the case.”
You take a few more turns around the floor before you speak again. “Have you mentioned your concerns about her to your brother?”
Benedict lets out a humorless laugh. “I have tried on several occasions. But the stubborn ass refuses to listen to me, saying only that she is ‘more than suitable’ and then walks away from me,” he pauses as his words catch up to him and says, “My apologies, Miss Addison, for the colorful language.”
You smile. “I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that in my head, I have called your elder brother far worse things than merely an ass.”
Benedict laughs. “I have always liked you.” He glances at his brother and then back to you. “I had thought too, so had Anthony.”
Before you can respond, the dance ends, and you acknowledge each other. As Benedict leads you back to Agatha, he leans in and says, “I have done all I can to dissuade him, but perhaps he’ll listen to you. I hope you’ll try.”
“I shall, Mr. Bridgerton,” you tell him, “I swear it.”
When the next dance commences, you join Mr. Harley on the dancefloor. As the music begins, you offer up a silent prayer that your toes remain unharmed. But as you step together, you realize your prayers are unnecessary.
As he spins you under his arm, you are astonished as you ask him, “Mr. Harley, have you taken dance lessons?”
He ducks his head, turning a familiar shade of pink. “I have indeed, Miss Addison. Mother insisted, especially after how things ended last season.” His eyes widen, as if realizing he has said too much.
You change partners and dance away from him. When you come back together, you tell him, “You can speak as freely as you like with me, Sir. Lady Danbury has apprised me of the situation.” You choose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend him. “I hope your brother is content in the Americas.”
Mr. Harley looks at you with surprise and, after sparing a glance at his parents, says, “He is quite well. He sent a letter to his best friend, who then secreted it to me. He is newly married to the young lady he fled with and has started a business. He seems most content with his newfound freedom.”
You nod. “And how are you enjoying being the new heir?”
At your question, he looks sad. “It may sound silly, but I would very much like to marry for love. I had hoped that, as the second son, it was something that could be afforded to me, but now as the heir…”
“All the voracious, fortune-hunting mamas are eying you for their voracious, fortune-hunting daughters,” you finish for him.
He laughs. “Perhaps not in those exact words, but yes.”
You are forced to dance away from each other again, but once you return, you entwine your fingers with his as you make your way around the floor.
“Mr. Harley, I owe you an apology for last season, for allowing Lord Bridgerton to take the waltz that was rightfully yours at the Trowbridge Ball.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “It was rather bold of me to claim the dance you always reserved for him. I should have expected no less of such treatment, really.”
“All the same,” you begin, “I think it’s only fair that you take my waltz tonight. In fact, Sir, it would be my honor if you did so.”
He smiles broadly at your request. And indeed, as the dance ends and you acknowledge each other, and after escorting you back to Agatha’s side, he fills in his name beside the waltz before bowing and taking his leave.
As you take a refreshment break, you fill Agatha in on your conversations with both Benedict and Mr. Harley.
Agatha watches the Viscount and Miss Hunter talk, a frustrated look on her face as she tells you, “I am pleased that Mr. Bridgerton has reservations about Miss Hunter, even as his brother is willfully oblivious. And as for Mr. Harley’s plight,” she pauses to look around the ballroom, a considering gleam in her eyes. “By the time he leads you back to me after your waltz together, I shall have assembled a few good candidates for his love match.”
You can only nod and smile as Agatha goes off to work some matchmaking magic. You’re pleased to give her a much-needed distraction.
You turn to watch the dancing couples, and across the floor, the Viscount catches your eye. That feeling you stubbornly continue to refuse to name thrums through your core as he stares at you, his eyes hot and intense, even as you notice Miss Hunter stands beside him, her arm in his.
You turn away, the hair prickling at the nape of your neck, a sure sign that penetrating gaze of his is still laser-focused on you.
Later, Mr. Harley finds you for the waltz. Once on the floor, he keeps a respectful amount of space between you, another new trait of his that gains your admiration. You glance around as the music starts and are surprised to find that Lord Bridgerton and Miss Hunter are the couple on your left.
As you begin to move around the floor, Mr. Harley inquires after your absence, and you tell him the story you and Agatha concocted, but you find yourself embellishing a little, the details of which delight him.
As you continue to twirl together, he regales you with stories about the various lessons his mother has engaged him in. Your favorite by far is how he once, while practising with his dance instructor on the dock of his family estate’s pond, accidentally knocked the poor man into the drink and spent the better part of an hour trying to fish him out, even as they both kept slipping on the sandbar and falling back into the water.
You’re both laughing as the dance finishes, your arm steady in his as he leads you back to Agatha, who, true to her word, is holding court with a variety of young ladies. She introduces each of them to Mr. Harley, whom you watch with genuine happiness. He deserves his love match, you determine. And judging by the quality of the young ladies your partner has assembled, he is certain to find it.
You excuse yourself to freshen up. Leaving the ballroom, you’re about to open the door to the water closet when an arm snakes out and pulls you into a side hall. Rather than scream, your instincts kick in and you stomp down hard on your would-be assailant’s toes, while also elbowing them hard in the solar plexus. They release you instantly, and the groan you hear is all Lord Bridgerton.
Wheezing and doubled-over, he stumbles over to a table and lights a candelabra, which casts a gentle glow around the hallway. As he leans against the table, palms flat, catching his breath, you stalk over to him, your anger causing you to abandon Regency speech.
“Are you crazy? Why would you put your hands on a woman? You are so lucky I didn’t go with plan b which would have been me kicking you in the junk and breaking your nose.”
He stares at you in shock, even as he holds himself around the middle and tries to catch his breath.
“I only…understand…about…four of…those words,” he stutters before standing and stretching, breath still heaving as he continues, “My apologies all the same. You are correct. It was foolish of me to take your arm without permission.”
“To say the least, My Lord,” you huff.
After a few moments of silence, the Viscount seems to have regained his stamina, standing to his full height. You feel a bit calmer and turn to him, momentarily taken aback at how handsome he looks in half shadow, half light.
He gazes at you for a long moment, and you don’t miss how his eyes stay firmly on your face, not once flicking down to your cleavage.
“You and Mr. Harley seem quite close.” His tone is measured and calm, even as his eyes blaze.
You cross your arms. “Not that it is any of your concern, My Lord but, Mr. Harley and I have reached an accord. Dare I say it, I now consider him a friend.”
The Viscount lets out an indignant snort. “A friend indeed. Surely, he has put on airs to entrap you. You are an heiress with vast wealth and properties, and he is…”
“Now the heir to his own family’s fortune,” you say, cutting him off. “It is true that he has improved in both countenance and humor, as well as in his skills as a dancer. But that,” you pause to push into his space in an attempt to emphasize your point, “Is where his charm ends for me. He desires a love match, and I wish him well in his endeavour."
Lord Bridgerton stares down at you, his face mere inches from yours. Voice nearly a whisper, he asks, “And what is it, Miss Addison, that you desire?”
Your brain screams danger as his face moves ever closer towards yours, the rich, spicy scent of his cologne invading your senses. Blinking, you realize the peril you’re in, the pair of you alone in a semi-dark hallway, where anyone could walk by. You step back from him, and the spell he’s cast on you is broken.
You turn to leave, but then his words replay in your mind, and you spin around, indignant, unable to stop yourself. “My Lord, pray tell me, what business is it of yours if Mr. Harley and I were to form an attachment?”
His eyes go wide. “Surely not, Miss Addison. You can do far better.” He crosses his arms, glaring at you, all the petulance of an angry kitten. You can’t help the wry smile that plays on your lips as that old desire to needle him comes to the fore.
“Need I remind you, Sir, that my affairs are my own and no one has any say in what I choose to do or whom I choose to be acquainted with, not the least of all a puffed-up, so-called gentleman whose neck cloth has come undone.”
He glares at you, even as he reaches down to his cravat, which has indeed come askew in the scuffle of him taking your arm and you retaliating. He turns to a mirror on the wall and attempts to fix it with fumbling fingers. You watch him for a few moments and then take pity on him, walking over and reaching up to redo the ivory silk around his neck.
His throat bobs as you fix the elegant knotwork started by his valet, and soon enough, you’re tucking it back in. Stepping back, you wait until his eyes meet yours before you say, “My Lord, you are courting Miss Hunter. Unless that is to change, kindly keep your opinions on my choices to yourself.”
He swallows thickly but says nothing. There is a creaking sound on the floorboards behind you, and you turn to see Lady Bridgerton. She doesn’t seem shocked or angry, only assessing.
The Viscount clears his throat and, after nodding at you, strides away, posture stiff, seemingly ignoring his mother as he brushes past her.
She still says nothing as you cautiously approach her. “My Lady,” you begin, “I was overcome by all the dancing and your son, he,” you pause as she holds up a hand.
Her tone is gentle as she says, “You need not offer up any explanation, I understand perfectly what has occurred. You ought to return to the ballroom, my dear.”
You curtsey to her and begin to head in that direction.
Behind you, she adds, “I heard what you just said to him.”
You pause in your walking, a lump forming in your throat. Surely you have ruined things between you and Lady Bridgerton, and certainly the family, by extension.
Which is why you are astonished when two days later you receive a personal invitation from her to join the Bridgerton family at Aubrey Hall, a few days ahead of her famous Hearts and Flowers Ball.
Go Benedict! I know a catty bitch like him could clock a fraud from a mile off. And go Violet too! Even if she doesn't know Miss Hunter, she absolutely knows her son.
@dragontearsandunicornfears you are so right! She is NOT fooling Benedict in the slightest! Whether our dumb, beloved Viscount realizes it or not (he won't) his fam is absolutely looking out for him
Thank you for the reblog. I am so happy that you enjoyed this part! 🫶🧡
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects: Chapter 9 Sneak Preview
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When the next dance commences, you join Mr. Harley on the dancefloor. As the music begins, you offer up a silent prayer that your toes remain unharmed. But as you step together, you realize your prayers are unnecessary.
As he spins you under his arm, you are astonished as you ask him, “Mr. Harley, have you taken dance lessons?”
He ducks his head, turning a familiar shade of pink. “I have indeed, Miss Addison. Mother insisted, especially after how things ended last season.” His eyes widen, as if realizing he has said too much.
You change partners and dance away from him. When you come back together, you tell him, “You can speak as freely as you like with me, Sir. Lady Danbury has apprised me of the situation.” You choose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend him. “I hope your brother is content in the Americas.”
Mr. Harley looks at you with surprise and, after sparing a glance at his parents, says, “He is quite well. He sent a letter to his best friend, who then secreted it to me. He is newly married to the young lady he fled with and has started a business. He seems most content with his newfound freedom.”
You nod. “And how are you enjoying being the new heir?”
At your question, he looks sad. “It may sound silly, but I would very much like to marry for love. I had hoped that, as the second son, it was something that could be afforded me, but now as the heir…”
“All the voracious, fortune-hunting mamas are eying you for their voracious, fortune-hunting daughters,” you finish for him.
He laughs. “Perhaps not in those exact words, but yes.”
Buttons, Bee Stings and Butterfly Effects, Chapter 9: Jealousy or, The Redemption of Mr. Harley is coming Sunday Night
