The distance between us part 4
MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST OF THE SERIES
pairing: Footman John x f!reader | genre: fluff, drama |
summary: you are Bridgerton cousin, whose come live with her aunt and cousins for the season to find honorable husband but find love instead
warnings: so far none, bridgerton au
a/n: This series takes part between season 3 and 4. Anthony already left with Kate, Benedict is filling in for him. Penelope as lady whisledown already "retired". I hope you'll enjoy it!
The Danbury Ball glittered like a jewel beneath candlelight.
Gold reflected endlessly from mirrored walls, music swelled through crowded rooms in elegant waves, diamonds flashed at throats and wrists while laughter drifted beneath the soaring ceilings like perfume.
Beautiful and overwelming.
You stood near the edge of the ballroom trying not to let the noise consume you whole.
"Breathe Y/N" Eloise murmured beside you, following your gaze toward the dancers. "If you continue staring so fearfully at society, they shall smell weakness"
"I pride myself on it" she said snarkly.
Across the room, Colin spun Penelope once beneath the chandeliers despite her scandal, despite society, despite everything and somehow they looked happier now than before the truth.
Lady Whistledown had been exposed. The world had not ended.
It unnerved you more than it should have, because Penelope had survived being seen.
You were not certain you would survive the same.
"You are frowning again" Benedict observed, appeering suddenly at your side with two glasses of lemonade.
"Do all Bridgertons possess the alarming ability to materialize from nowhere?"
"Yes. It is genetic. Do you not do that? stragne" he joked. He handed you a glass before glancing toward the ballroom. "You have danced only once"
"And yet charming enough that you continue speaking to me"
Before you could reply, another voice interrupted smoothly.
Lord Ashbourne bowed politely before you. Young, handsome and entirely respectable, not to mention quite rich. He was the sort of gentleman mothers approved of instantly.
"I wonder if I might claim the next dance?"
Your stomach tightened immediately not because he had done anything improper. He had not and that was almost worse. Everything about him was perfectly acceptable.
Perfectly polished.
Perfectly courteous.
Perfectly strategic.
You could already imagine the conversations: A sensible match, a fortunate opportunity, then security.
You smiled because you had been taught to.
Across the ballroom, unnoticed by nearly everyone, John saw.
He stood near the refreshments table assisting another footman with wine service when Lord Ashbourne offered his hand.
And something unpleasant twisted sharply beneath his ribs. Thomas glanced toward him immediately.
John kept his expression perfectly neutral. Years in service had taught him that much.
Stil his jaw tightened slightly as he watched you join the dance.
"You realize she is allowed to dance with gentlemen" Thomas said under his breath.
"You look prepared to challenge him to mortal combat"
Because the humiliating truth was:
he hated the way Lord Ashbourne touched your waist, hated the easy confidence of noblemen who had every right to stand close to you.
Hated that another man could offer you things John never could.
A future.
A home.
A name untouched by scandal.
Most of all - he hated how naturally the world expected you to belong elsewhere eventually.
The orchestra swelled louder.
Your skirts turned elegantly through the dance.
And from across the ballroom, your eyes lifted briefly, finding him.
Only for a moment yet John felt it like a wound.
"Oh, this is becoming catastrophic"
By the third dance, the ballroom had begun closing around you like a fist.
Too many voices speaking over one another.
You smiled through conversations you barely heard while women examined you openly from behind jeweled fans.
Bridgerton cousin, respectable enough, moderate dowry and pretty. Evaluated. Always evaluated.
"Lord Ashbourne appears quite atentive" one older lady remarked nearby.
"Indeed. Though one supposes her connection to the Bridgertons improves matters considerably"
You looked down quickly before your expression betrayed anything.
Connection. That was all.
Not truly a Bridgerton, not entirely separate but something in-between.
You suddenly could not breathe properly.
The chandeliers above seemed unbearably bright, the music too sharp., your stays too tight against your ribs.
Then another dance invitation came, and abruptly, horribly - you knew if one more person touched your hand politely tonight, you might shatter entirely.
"I beg your pardon" you whispered quickly before turning away.
You hardly remembered leaving the ballroom, only fragments remained afterward: gold hallways, cold air, your pulse roaring painfully in your ears.
Outside, rain had begun again, soft this time. Silver against the dark gardens beyond the terrace.
You stepped into it anyway. The cold air hit your lungs sharply.
You moved farther into the garden paths, tears in your eyes, one trembling hand pressed against your ribs as though you might physically hold yourself together.
Somewhere nearby, a man’s voice drifted softly through the darkness.
"…telling you, she looked directly at you"
Another voice answered immediately "You imagine romance everywhere"
"I recognize yearning when I see it"
You froze. Thomas and John.
Heat rushed suddenly through your panic. Mortifying.
If they saw you like this... before you could retreat, footsteps sounded against wet stone. Then John appeared through the dim garden lantern glow.
He stopped instantly upon seeing you, everything in him changed at once. Concern replaced surprise so quickly it hurt to witness.
Thomas appeared behind him holding a cigarette between two fingers.
His gaze flicked between the two of you once. Then slowly upward toward the heavens.
"Well" he muttered "Convenient"
"Thomas" John said sharply.
"What? I am merely appreciating the poetry of timing"
You would have laughed under different circumstances. Unfortunately your lungs still refused cooperation.
John noticed immediately, of course he did. His expression shifted subtly. Not panic, but arefulnes as though aproaching something wounded.
"Miss Bridgerton" he said more gently this time "are you unwell?"
"I am fine" A terrible lie.
Even in darkness he could see your hands trembling. Thomas saw it too, the teasing vanished from his face at once.
To his credit, he recovered quickly.
"I have just remembered" he announced loudly, stepping backward already, "that I desperately do not wish to involve myself in whatever this is"
"I shall be over there, near the carriage" he informed John solemnly, pointing vaguely toward the farther garden path. “Being extraordinarily absent.”
Then he disappeared into the rain, leaving you and John alone. Entirely alone. At night.
The realization settled heavily between you both. John took a careful step closer.
"May I?" he asked quietly.
You frowned faintly "May you what?"
"Walk with you" The gentleness of the question nearly undid you.
Slowly, the two of you began walking through the rain-dark gardens beneath the faint glow of lanterns. Neither spoke for several moments.
Gravel crunched softly beneath your shoes. Rain tapped gently against leaves overhead.
"I dislike balls" you admitted finally.
John glanced toward you "You hide it well"
"Oh, that is unfortunate. I had hoped to appear dramatically miserable"
A quiet laugh escaped him, the sound startled you.
You had seen him smile, even heard him tease downstairs servants softly.
But this laugh, low and warm and entirely genuine felt strangely intimate.
You found yourself smiling despite the ache still lingering in your chest. John noticed immediately. Dangerous thing, being noticed by him.
"You looked unhappy inside" he said after a moment.
The honesty of it caught you off guard. Most people pretended not to see discomfort if acknowledging it proved inconvenient.
But John... He observed quietly as though collecting truths. You looked ahead toward the dark hedges.
"I think..." you admitted slowly "I become tired of being looked at constantly"
You glanced toward him in surprise. Rain glimmered faintly against the dark waves of his hair.
"How could you possibly understand?"
A faint smile touched his mouth. "Servants are meant to be invisible until suddenly we are not"
Something about the answer lodged painfully beneath your ribs.
Because perhaps you understood that feeling more than either of you should.
"Have you always worked for the Bridgertons?" you asked softly.
The single word surprised you. John rarely spoke about himself.
In truth, you realized suddenly, noone had ever encouraged him to.
"My mother was a seamstress" he continued after a pause "In Mayfair"
You looked toward him fully now.
"She worked endlessly. My father died when I was young"
The words were simple, yet exhaustion seemed woven into them somehow.
"I began work very early" he said quietly. Then after hesistation "Bridgerton House was… kinder than most places"
Of course. You could imagine it easily.
"You speak of your mother fondly"
John’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. "She deserved fondness"
The answer made your chest ache unexpectedly, because there it was again, that gentleness beneath him.
Hidden so carefully beneath professionalism and restraint. And suddenly you wanted desperately to know everything about him.
Dangerous, terribl, impossible, yet true.
"Are you happy?" you asked softly before you could stop yourself.
John looked genuinely startled not by the question itself but by the fact you had asked at all. No noblewoman had likely ever asked him something so personal.
The rain filled the silence between you.
The honesty of it nearly broke your heart. You looked away quickly.
"My mother died when i was six, then father died two years ago" you admitted after a long moment. "Afterward everything became very…" You searched for the word carefully. "Conditional"
John listened silently, no interruption, no false comfort. Just attention.
"It is strange" you continued softly, "how quickly people begin calculating your worth once security disappears"
His jaw tightened faintly because he understood precisely what you meant. Perhaps better than anyone upstairs ever could.
For several moments neither of you spoke. The world narrowed to rain and lantern light and the impossible awareness of him beside you.
Then suddenly you laughed softly. Small and breathles.
John looked toward you immediately.
"You must think me horribly dramatic"
The answer came too quickly. Too sincerely. Your smile faded slightly.
John’s gaze remained fixed on you now with dangerous intensity.
"You look different when you laugh" he said quietly.
Your breath caught. "How?"
He hesitated at first as though he should not answer. "Lighter" he admitted finally "Better, I think"
The air between you shifted instantly. Something softer now, warmer and terifyigly intimate.
And before you could think better of it you whispered "John"
He stopped walking entirely.
Not just "John" but John. In your mouth it sounded like a plea. The intimacy of it struck both of you at once.
Rain whispered softly through the garden around you.
John stared at you as though the sound of his name in your voice had undone something fundamental inside him.
You should step back, restore distance but instead neither of you moved.
Then voices drifted faintly from the terrace doors.
Reality returned cruelly fast. John stepped backward immediately.
Always first, always him. The loss of closeness felt immediate. Sharp.
"They will be looking for you, Miss Bridgerton" he said quietly.
Careful and controlled. Yet his voice sounded rougher now somehow.
You nodded slowly, neither of you moved.
Then finally: "Goodnight, John"
His eyes closed briefly. Just briefly, as though enduring something.
"Goodnight" he answered softly.
And for the first time since arriving in London, you walked back inside feeling not quite so alone.
