☾ once upon a dream: in the shadow of her sister, belle cowper finds herself drawn to her nemesis, benedict bridgerton, and dares to claim the freedom she has always been denied.
part i
part ii
☾ unsaid daisy: unrequited love shapes daisy lancaster’s coming of age, until letting go forces benedict bridgerton to face what he chose not to see.
part i: daisy’s pov
part ii: benedict’s pov
part iii: unsaid becomes said
☾ denim overall: he can't help but love his pregnant wife
modern!au drabble
☾ loathing: bickering turns into a kiss, a kiss into a secret, and grace and benedict prove they are very bad at keeping promises.
part i: enemies who kiss
part ii: the nightingale
part iii: kisses, demanded
Story Summary: Grace and Benedict have only two modes: bickering… and making incredibly questionable decisions with their mouths. One furious kiss turns into a secret neither can bury, and suddenly every fight feels a little too charged, every insult a little too breathless. They swear it meant nothing. They swear it won’t happen again. They swear many things, actually— and they break every single one of them.
word count: 1k
warnings: none
A/N: let's say this is the calm before the storm... btw!! comment/dm if you want to be added to the taglist <3
Grace paced around her room with a slight frown on her face. It had been over 24 hours since the last time Benedict kissed her and it was driving her insane. The worst part? She had to hide her bad mood, for, how could she admit to anyone the reason behind her annoyance?
At first she thought it was because they hadn’t had a chance to be alone. The day before, everyone woke up late due to the Masquerade ball, and by the evening there was a pall mall game organized. But even then, Grace tried to search for his gaze and he avoided it.
Then today at breakfast, when she voiced she’d have a morning stroll, he dared to not follow her lead. It made her feel as sharp as a marble. Like one of those simpering debutantes who sigh at the thought of making eye contact with him. But that wasn’t who Grace was, and she had to fall this low to remind herself.
With a decisive step, she directed herself towards the greenhouse. She knew he’d be there since there wasn’t a proper space inside the house for him to engage in painting.
“Is there something wrong?” Grace directly asked, not bothering to make her presence known. Benedict didn’t flinch, in fact, he smiled as if he’d been waiting for her appearance.
“What do you mean?” He played coy, side eyeing her as he continued painting. To make a statement, Grace stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.
“You know what I mean,” She said, not entirely sure. Did she really know? The girl wasn’t naive, but she only knew about batting eye lashes and dropping dance cards as a flirty language.
Benedict knew what she meant, but as his former enemy, he couldn’t help but make it difficult for her, “I, in fact, do not.” He said, without being able to hide a devilish smile. It made her fume.
“Fine, I’ll be blunt.” Grace took the brush out his hands so he finally stared up at her. “I want kisses.”
“You want kisses?” Benedict repeated in a cackle. God, he adored her way of expressing. The funniest thing was, that even when he evidently mocked her, it didn’t make her lower herself.
“Yes, I do.” Grace stepped closer. “In fact, I demand them. It is part of a deal and you haven’t accomplished it ever since the ball.”
“Well, forgive me for my impertinence, I didn’t know we had to ration our kisses per day.” He said in a much calmer tone, as his hands moved to her waist pulling her closer. His contact seemed to lower Grace’s anxiousness, for her hands naturally moved to his shoulders and her determined expression faltered. “I just wanted to see how long it would take you to ask.” He confessed in a whisper, as he peppered soft kisses along her face. Grace scoffed and rolled her eyes, but still let him pamper her.
“You’re cruel.” She managed to say, her tone completely different now. Benedict chuckled and stared up with a pleading smile.
“May I have the chance to compensate?” He asked, using one hand to move her hair behind her back. As she nodded, he pressed one soft kiss on her lips. “You know, I’ve never been demanded for kisses before.” Grace pressed another one back.
“It won’t happen again. Next time I’ll just take them.” She said mid kisses, making Benedict grin against her lips.
“Fair enough.” He said, before stopping controlling himself and deepening the kiss. “You want to know a secret?” He asked, watching as Grace’s lips searched for him when separating a bit.
“What secret?” She aimed to voice. Benedict cupped her face and pressed a kiss on the corner of her lips.
“I don’t mind when you want to kiss me. I want to kiss you all the time. My body is always ready, expecting, and chasing those lips of yours again and again.” He huskily said, as he traced her lips with his own without fully compromising them.
Grace had to close her eyes and regain consciousness of her own body. She couldn’t believe how immersive this man could be. It made her feel out of breath. As if the only way to obtain oxygen was to be in his grasp. And when that happened, it wasn’t like receiving just enough to breathe. It was more than enough to make her fly. She joined their foreheads and let out a long sigh.
“You know, the idea of scheduling these sessions isn’t that bad,” he commented.
Grace lifted her gaze, “what do you suggest?”
“Maybe a more comfortable spot. For starters, to have you on my lap instead of here standing while I’m on a stool.” Grace chuckled as she played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
“Well, it is a big house. But there are also many people on it. In fact, we can be caught here any second. A greenhouse isn’t much of a hiding spot.”
She was right, of course. Benedict knew it the moment the thought crossed her lips. He leaned back slightly, just enough to give her space, though his hands lingered as if reluctant to let go.
“Then I suppose,” he said, tone softer now, “we shall have to be clever.”
Grace arched her brow. “You, clever?”
He smiled, unbothered. “For you? I might surprise myself.”
Story Summary: Grace and Benedict have only two modes: bickering… and making incredibly questionable decisions with their mouths. One furious kiss turns into a secret neither can bury, and suddenly every fight feels a little too charged, every insult a little too breathless. They swear it meant nothing. They swear it won’t happen again. They swear many things, actually— and they break every single one of them.
word count: 1.5k
warnings: none
A/N: spoiler alert !! enemies with benefits deal is here heheh enjoy yourselves <3 comment or dm if you want to be on a taglist for the next part xx
Grace couldn’t close her eyes without thinking about or feeling Benedict’s kiss on her lips. It was a conundrum. During their entire animosity, her main purpose was to not fall into his rakish web of indulgence. She felt stupid, that is. Not for having done it, but for deeply wanting it again.
Benedict, on the other hand, had his mind pretty clear. He was a man who followed his instincts, hence, it wasn’t a surprise that the kisses happened. What did surprise him was how, despite having kissed an unreasonable number of people, he felt unsettled.
And he woke up like that, going downstairs early for breakfast, reminiscing about how the very night before he had her in her arms for the last time. As he sat, he saw how only the men of the house were the ones present.
“Did I miss something?” he asked Colin.
“Brother, you can’t be that lost. Today’s the Masquerade Ball.”
Lord Hartwell, Grace’s father added, “Lady Hartwell woke up Grace at the crack of dawn. I must set aside some of these treats before she turns into Hades”
“Grace being mad? How odd.” Benedict quipped, making the men let out a small chuckle.
And oh, she was getting there. By midmorning, the dress had been laid out. Deep blue, darker than most of the gowns chosen for the evening, embroidered lightly with silver thread that only caught the light when one moved. It was discreet. Easy to miss if one did not look closely. The mask was pale, simple, with the faint suggestion of feathers at one side.
“A nightingale,” her mother said, satisfied. “You may wander on your own for a bit tonight. No one should know who you are too quickly.”
Grace nodded, relieved. The idea of standing beside her family all evening, pretending nothing had happened, sounded unbearable.
Soon the night came, and sadly for him, Benedict couldn’t hide his unmistakable handsomeness behind a mask and his dark costume. He already avoided two debutantes and their mamas, yet something was missing. He identified Lord and Lady Hartwell even with their masks.
He found himself feeling disappointment, which evidenced the truth.
He was searching for her.
Grace was making great use of anonymity. On a usual day she found her friends and waited for someone to dance with her, yet today, she had freedom to listen and observe rather than engage.
She believed she moved with no direction, yet deep inside, she expected to see a familiar figure. A familiar tall man. With a familiar smirk. And a piercing, unmistakable, blue-eyed gaze.
Said gaze was already staring at her with an amazed smile.
She stood apart from the crowd, her gown understated enough to disappear to anyone else. The mask hid most of her face, but not the way she held herself. Not the familiar stillness beneath the sharpness. He knew her posture. He knew the way she tilted her head when she was listening rather than engaging.
The feathered edge of her mask stirred as she turned, and the thought came uninvited — a nightingale, unnoticed by most, remembered by the few who paid attention. It irritated him how fitting it felt.
No one else looked twice at her. No one else saw what he did. And as he watched her move through the room, alone by design, Benedict realised something deeply inconvenient.
The mask hid her from the world.
But not from him.
“You know,” he approached mildly, “the mask is supposed to cover your identity, as most women do”
Grace did not look at him. She did not startle. She only sighed, as if confirming an annoyance she had anticipated.
“And most men,” she replied, “fail to mind their own business.”
He couldn’t contain a chuckle. He loved her replies every damn time.
“I could pretend it’s not you if that’s what you want” he lowered his voice, making her face him this time. His smile widened when seeing her tensed jaw.
“I fear it is too late. Your unmistakable flirty ways have already made half the ball recognize you.”
He stepped closer, enough to be improper, not enough to be obvious.
“No one else sees you,” he said, quieter now. “They’re all too busy looking at themselves.”
“And you?” Grace asked.
“I’m cursed,” he replied. “I notice things.” Her mouth curved despite herself. Annoying man.
“You shouldn’t have come near me,” she said. “My mother gave me time alone for a reason.”
“I won’t take it from you,” Benedict said. “I only wanted to be sure I wasn’t imagining it.”
“Imagining what?”
“That even hidden,” he said, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips before returning to the mask, “you’re still impossible to ignore.”
Grace did everything she could to not show an evident reaction. Her breath slightly hitched, and her jaw clenched a little bit too harsh. Still, she reminded herself who she was talking to. Benedict Bridgerton, the rake. The one who didn’t commit. The one whom she avoided so badly it turned her enemy. And after two different kisses, she failed miserably on that term.
“Get me out of here” She whispered exactly what he wanted to hear.
Before giving her a wolfish smirk he held her gloved hand and walked her out before more people noticed who he was, or worse, who she was. They went to the manor’s library. As soon as they were alone Grace put on a distance.
“I’m not kissing you,” she stated, evidencing a very confused Benedict even behind the mask.
“Why are we here then if not?” he asked back, still getting closer as he took his mask off.
“I need to set my boundaries,” Grace began, “I know I’m not strong enough to stop whatever this is but I can keep control on it.”
“Alright, I’m listening,” Benedict said as he sat on a nearby table, more curious than anything.
Grace spoke with her confident posture and hand placing, “this can’t go further than kissing, I do not and do not want to know how your arrangements are with other ladies, but as for me, I am not compromising myself more than this” She spoke fast, yet direct. As if expecting him to not agree and end things there. But he didn’t, which startled her for a second.
“Continue,” he softly motioned.
Grace nodded and blinked repeatedly before continuing, “I’m not comfortable with you kissing other ladies at the same time”
“Exclusivity?” He asked with a grin, “Dear, isn’t that too much commitment?” Benedict stood walking towards her. Grace’s defenses heightened as she lifted her chin with a calm and convincing demeanor.
“That is if you want to continue having kissing rights. If not, you are free to withdraw and continue our usual animosity.”
Benedict was speechless for a few seconds. He knew Grace had a strong character, yet seeing it in this context did nothing but attract him. She was right on settling boundaries, for all she usually asked for were things he missed on past endeavors. He got close, and softly moved his arms to take off her mask and stare at her face fully.
“You are wrong if you think I’ll give up so easily on those lips,” he said, as his hand cupped one side of her face, “For those kisses, are going to make a man out of me.”
He closed the distance and pressed a soft kiss on her lips before warning, “Though I can’t promise to behave myself if you are the one asking for more at one point”
Grace blinked, half dazed for his kiss and words, “What?”
“I can control myself with only kissing, I have experience on my part. But how about you? Will you be able to only kiss without asking for more?”
The question was left hanging, for Benedict closed distance once again and kissed her. This time, he moved his lips slowly, tender, as if being merciful enough to let her process what they agreed to. When Grace’s hands found a place behind his neck, he took it as a sign to trace the seam of her lips with his tongue, silently asking for permission. Her mouth opened on a helpless sigh as he began tasting her.
It made her impatient, for it to be that slow yet so… intense. He knew what he was doing. And by the way her body reacted and her tongue swirled against his, she began to realize this deal was going to backtrack right at her.
She could barely focus on kissing him back. Him, on the other hand, moved her hair behind to pull her closer by the neck. His hand tracing her back from the top from near her backside. The kiss came to a slow end with Benedict teasingly nipping her lower lip, finally staring at her with a triumphant smile.
Summary: Grace and Benedict have only two modes: bickering… and making incredibly questionable decisions with their mouths. One furious kiss turns into a secret neither can bury, and suddenly every fight feels a little too charged, every insult a little too breathless. They swear it meant nothing. They swear it won’t happen again. They swear many things, actually— and they break every single one of them.
word count: 1.9k
warnings: none
A/N: hiii, please be encouraged to comment or like if you enjoyed it, i'd love to know every single thought !! that way i can decide to make this a series or not lmao, thanks in advance !! and enjoy xx
“Could you move? Or does your ugly dress impede you from walking any faster?” Benedict asked, irritated, as he turned to watch Grace walking towards him.
“Haven’t you stopped to think that your ridiculously long and uncommon legs are inconvenient for every other normal person you walk with?” she quipped back, just as mad as him. Benedict snapped.
“You infuriating—”
“What?” Grace stepped closer. “I dare you to finish that sentence.”
“No. I won’t fall. It will only make me the awful man you always depict me to be.” He said, finally calming down. “Let’s get this done, before we kill each other.”
Benedict and Grace had a lifelong feud, which started with small arguments as kids and grew into a childish dynamic now that they were adults. Their families had been friends for decades, and it was tradition for Grace’s to spend a few weeks with the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall every summer. This time, Violet had enough of them fighting and ruining breakfast, so she sent them on a pointless mission: gathering fruits and flowers. Would they still argue? Yes, but she would at least have a peaceful breakfast with her best friend, Grace’s mom.
“Where are you going?” Grace asked, with a softer tone this time.
“There are some berries over there.” He pointed, making the girl shake her head.
“Let’s get the flowers first. That way we won’t carry heavier weight until the end.” Benedict frowned, not because he was mad, but because her opinion made sense to him. He simply nodded and followed behind.
“You know, sometimes I spend so much time arguing with you that I forget you have a brain,” he began.
“Well, can’t say the same about you. I’m always aware of how much of an arrogant fool you can be.” Grace grinned at her own quip, which was so good that Benedict couldn’t hide a hint of a smile.
They walked in silence for a little while. It seemed that the last interaction eased the tension a little bit. Or maybe their peaceful and beautiful surroundings helped. Whatever it was, it had Benedict overthinking about their dynamic. He looked at her as they walked… Grace was beautiful, she always had been. He had clearly seen many beautiful women before, but she was smart and outspoken, which was a deadly combination.
“Can I ask you a question?” she began, as if hearing his thoughts.
“Sure,” he said, trying not to sound curious.
“Why do you dislike me?”
“You disliked me first,” Benedict replied. Grace rolled her eyes.
“I know why I dislike you. I just want to know your reasons.”
“Well,” Benedict tried to think of many ways to give a teasing answer, but the only thing that came to his mind was the truth. “It’s not that I dislike you. I’m not used to beautiful women being at odds with me, and somehow you being like that hurts my ego.”
“I can tell,” she chuckled.
“But at the same time,” he continued, “I take it as a challenge to make you change your mind.”
“It’s cute of you to think you stand a chance,” she said as she started picking flowers. Benedict smiled and let another minute of comfortable silence pass.
“Wait—so why do you dislike me?” He frowned. Grace straightened up and didn’t budge.
“I dislike the fact that you think everyone owes you grace just because you have a charming smile and a well-known last name.” As she spoke, she began getting closer and her tone more firm. “I dislike the way you taunt naïve women to think they stand a chance with you when you’re so immature you are afraid to settle for one.”
“You are terribly mistaken, Grace,” Benedict said, angry at her misconception of himself.
“I have more,” she challenged, getting closer. “I could go on for hours about your failure as—”
“Grace.” He warned, interrupting her and getting closer. “Don’t.”
“You don’t have any filter when you annoy me for not having suitors; why should I shut up when I mention your non-existent artistic career?”
That did it. Benedict snapped, but not the way either he or Grace expected. He didn’t find a better thing to do than grab her waist and pull her into an angry and searing kiss. The girl tried to push him, but when he began moving his lips she couldn’t help but follow his movements and, why not, gripped his shirt tighter.
“You… infuriating… woman…” he muttered between kisses. “God… I loathe you.” And with that last kiss, he nipped at her lower lip.
They separated a bit, and when staring into each other’s eyes, the gravity of what they did hit. Grace separated quickly and fixed her dress. Benedict cleared his throat as he walked around awkwardly.
“This…” she began, “meant nothing.”
“Nothing,” Benedict repeated, as if trying to convince himself.
“Yes. I mean, no,” he followed. “We are enemies… we do not get along… this…”
“Didn’t happen,” she finished.
“Good.” He nodded.
“Good.”
“I’ll… go back with the flowers.” Grace awkwardly walked backwards.
“Sure, sure. Uhm, I’ll go later with fruits.” Benedict pointed at them.
“Good.”
“Good.”
When Benedict was left alone he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The man has had a fair share of kisses… but this? Couldn’t compare. Was it because of the pent-up desire of all these years of hatred? Or because, deeply, he always wanted this to happen some time? Right now, he had to snap out of it and walk back, and so he did.
Breakfast was still happening, and Grace already joined the group by listening to Eloise talking about her latest book interest. She gave him an odd stare when he arrived but it was barely noticed by him. He tried to act normal too, but when he saw her laughing a fork slipped off his hands.
“Benedict,” His mother called. All of a sudden the attention was on him. “Everything’s fine?”
“Uhm, yes, mother.” He stumbled to stand up. “I… forgot I had this thing. Sorry.” and he abruptly left.
“Colin, did you give him another of your teas?” Eloise asked.
“No! Grace, was he odd when you were picking flowers and fruits?” Colin asked her, and her eyes widened but she quickly got in control.
“He was as infuriating as ever.” She answered as she always would so everyone shrugged and continued.
Stupid Benedict. She thought. The mere idea of someone from his or her family finding out something happened between them would literally be social suicide for both. Ever since they began this feud, every person in the world swore on Earth that they would end up together. And even after that kiss, Grace still denied it. It was just a kiss, tension of the moment. She would never be with a person like him and she counted on it being the same for him. But after his reaction, she knew they had to talk things out just to clear the water. So, when breakfast finished, Grace slipped around trying to find him. She didn’t count on him finding her first and practically pulling her to the library.
“Hey! What is wrong with you?” She asked as he closed the door.
“We need to talk.”
“About how you looked like you were going to blurt out what we agreed on stating didn’t happen?” Grace asked as she put her hands on her hips.
“I wasn’t going to-” He stopped himself and sighed. “Sorry, it was a bit confusing.”
“Yes, of course it is. We kissed and didn’t talk about it. Let's talk.”
“Wait, don’t think this is going somewhere because I don’t do courtships.” Benedict raised his hands in defensiveness, making Grace roll her eyes.
“I know that! And I don’t want courtship from you either!”
“Oh, okay.” He was used to over-explaining his situation to women when this happened, but since Grace knew his bit he guessed it wasn’t necessary. “So, we’re good?”
“Yes,” She nodded. “It was a one time thing, we agreed it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?” He repeated with a small pout, this time more relaxed and teasing.
“Benedict.” She warned.
“Grace.” He got closer.
“There you are!” Eloise interrupted opening the door at once. “Fighting again? Really? Come on Grace, we agreed on a chess match. Don’t waste your brain cells on him.”
“You’re right.” She answered, giving Benedict a blank stare, as if she was truly analyzing his indirect proposition. He chuckled and gave one last quip.
“Off you go, bluestockings.”
The following day went normally, It was getting dark at the balcony where the young adults were playing cards. But as it is, with Eloise and Grace on the table, it turned to a roast to all the present men. The topic: Benedict and Colin being major flirts.
“For what it's worth, Benedict is far worse than me.”
“Well, how kind of you, brother.” He said. “But the only reason you’re considered charming it’s because of your traveler stunt and planned winks. I never relish on ‘conquests’. More like, run from them.”
“Grace, shoot me after I ask this, but brother, what is your stunt then?” Grace chuckled and stared intrigued to know the answer.
“Easy one; I’m a good kisser.” The woman choked on her tea, and lucky for her, Eloise laughed thinking she was trying to mock Benedict. Truth is, it brought her memories from what happened the day before. As the conversation kept going on, Grace’s stare went back to his lips, as if reliving how they felt.
“Gracie, you look ill. Did my brother’s bragging unsettle you?” Colin asked and she locked in.
“It certainly did. Can you imagine? Kissing him and wanting more? Hideous.” Her comment made the siblings laugh, but Benedict just looked at her with a mischievous stare.
“I think this being the topic is enough sign to go to bed.” Eloise stood. “Colin, you lost, you take the cups inside. I’m off for tonight.” She waved goodbye. As the card loser followed with the pottery, Grace was putting the cards together and didn’t notice Benedict and her were left alone.
“So, kissing me is hideous?” He teasingly asked, stepping closer.
“What? Does it wound your ego that I speak from evidence?” Grace chuckled, still refusing to meet his eyes.
“Not quite.” Benedict slid the cards from her hands, making her look at him at last.
“It simply makes me want to prove you wrong.”
“And how would you do that?” she asked, more intrigued than she intended to sound.
Before she could blink, Benedict lifted her onto the table with a swift, sure movement and stepped between her parted knees.
“Like this,” he whispered, then his mouth was on hers.
This kiss was nothing like the one before. It was urgent, almost hungry. Benedict didn’t make the mistake of being gentle this time; he used the moment she gasped to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing into her mouth, taking exactly what he wanted. Her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, while his hands gripped her thighs, anchoring her in place as if he had no intention of letting her go.
“I forgot my book!” Eloise screamed from inside, giving him just the right amount of time to separate. Grace quickly fixed the cards and Benedict put away the chair.
“Why do you need it? To read in your sleep?” He teased as a distraction.
“Books can be read at all times, Benedict. Not only to look smart in front of girls.” Eloise teased back.
“I’ll go back with you, El.” Grace said as she walked behind her, and gave one last look at Benedict.
Summary: Daisy Lancaster has always known her one-sided crush on Benedict Bridgerton needed to end, but the journey to move on wasn’t easy. Follow her timeline, from their childhood meeting to the difficult confrontation of her unrequited love as a grown woman, where Daisy faces her deepest feelings and learns to let go.
In exchange, Benedict, in a moment of introspection, is forced to confront the choices that led him to ignore the feelings he’s long known were there.
Part 1: Daisy's POV
Part 2: Benedict's POV
Part 3: Unsaid becomes said
Daisy could almost hear the mocking tone Daphne always gave Anthony when his shot got amissed. She could perfectly picture Colin’s smug smile when the shot he pretended to ruin, perfectly entered its designed loop. But the most vivid memory of the pall mall game, would be Benedict pointing all these details to her, as a secret. She shook her head, eyes going back to focus on the contracts she was organizing.
This has been her life lately; working, attending to social events as a duty, and nostalgically reminiscing moments of happiness. It was tough to have Benedict in the majority of them, especially given how she recently gave up on him. That is the main reason she rejected her father’s invite to join, using this paperwork as an excuse.
“The last time I saw you this bored was in the big rainstorm four years ago.”
Daisy straightened up in shock, eyes widening as she saw Benedict leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed and that infuriating grin she couldn’t quite decipher.
“Four years ago seems too far off,” she replied, composing herself quickly, her voice calm even though her heart was pounding painfully in her chest.
He stepped inside slowly, as if unsure whether he was welcome. “Well, I remember it clearly. Your Father was out of town and you had to stay with us. Daphne was sick, so you only had me to be your source of entertainment. You spent two hours talking about how contracts are more exciting than anyone gives them credit for.”
“Which was true,” she countered, folding the papers in front of her. “You just didn’t want to admit that you were impressed.”
“Oh, I was,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Still am.” She looked up, as his tone gained unexpected seriousness.
“Benedict, I know you didn’t come just to make me go and play pall-mall.” The air between them had changed. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His eyes held something unfamiliar—uncertainty.
“It’s true.” He said. “I came to talk about this recently… distance between us.”
“Oh, it is definitely not recent.” Daisy stood, stepping out of her desk. “You haven’t paid attention to me since last year but only bothered to notice when I gave up on trying. And then suddenly, you storm Lady Danbury’s salon to quote poetry like you were on fire.”
“I was,” he said simply. “I am.”
She blinked, startled. “What?”
“I didn’t understand it at first,” he continued, taking another step closer. “When you stopped showing up. When I stopped seeing you at the house. I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. That it was just life changing. People drifting. But then I saw you again, and—Daisy, everything felt… off. And when I saw you with Cavender—”
She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. Don’t make this about another man. Not now.”
He paused. Nodded. “You’re right. It’s not about him. It’s about you. And me. And how—God, how blind I’ve been.”
Silence stretched between them. Daisy stood completely still, arms folded, eyes fixed on his.
“I meant those words that night,” he said, softer now. “I meant every single one. I wasn’t just trying to save you from embarrassment, I was—” He stopped himself, laughed bitterly. “I was confessing. Without even realizing it.”
“Confessing,” Daisy repeated incredulously. A few years ago, the word would have sent her spinning straight into a daydream. Now it only made her wary.
“Benedict, I don’t know what confessing implies in your context.”
“It implies,” he said slowly, as if choosing each word mattered, “that the last year has been the most miserable sort of education. That I mistook comfort for certainty. That I let myself believe you would always be there, until you weren’t—and suddenly the world was… quieter. Colder.” He exhaled, a shaky, humorless breath. “And I realized too late that it wasn’t the world that changed. It was me, missing you.”
Her throat felt tight, but she forced herself not to look away. “You can’t come here only because you dislike the silence you created.”
“No,” he agreed. “I came because I don’t want it anymore. Not between us.”
A beat.
“I came because I love you.”
The room seemed to tilt—just slightly, just enough for old instinct to whisper finally, but she held her ground.
“Benedict,” she said quietly, “I spent years loving you alone. I can’t go back to that. I won’t.”
He stepped closer—not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the tremor of his breath. “Then don’t go back,” he murmured. “Let it be different this time. Let me prove it can be.”
She swallowed hard, searching his face. He looked nothing like the man she had rehearsed letting go of. There was no careless charm now. No bright, easy smile. Just sincerity. And exhaustion. And a raw, unfamiliar hope.
“Say you’ll give me a chance,” he asked. “One. Just one.”
Daisy turned slightly, letting her gaze drift to the open window—where faint shouts from the pall-mall lawn drifted in the breeze. Laughter, competition, the echo of a life she used to imagine for herself. A life that had once included him so effortlessly.
She closed her eyes, inhaled, and made her choice.
When she faced him again, her expression was steady. “One chance,” she said. “Not a promise. Not a guarantee. Just… the possibility.”
Relief flashed across his features so quickly it was almost boyish, and she found herself—against her will—softening.
Benedict extended his hand. “Then may I start by walking you outside? I believe your father is about to declare himself champion, and that is a tragedy we cannot allow.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “You always were dramatic.”
“And you,” he replied, eyes warm and earnest, “always saw right through me.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then Daisy placed her hand in his—lightly, cautiously, but unmistakably choosing to. His fingers closed around hers, gentle yet certain.
The first step they took was slow. Careful. Uneven. The second felt a little like hope. And as they crossed the threshold together—sunlit shouts growing louder, a familiar chaos waiting outside—Daisy realized something quietly, startlingly true.
For the first time in a very long while… she wasn’t walking toward the past.
Part 1: Daisy's POV
Part 2: Benedict's POV
Part 3: Unsaid becomes said
Summary: Daisy Lancaster has always known her one-sided crush on Benedict Bridgerton needed to end, but the journey to move on wasn’t easy. Follow her timeline, from their childhood meeting to the difficult confrontation of her unrequited love as a grown woman, where Daisy faces her deepest feelings and learns to let go.
In exchange, Benedict, in a moment of introspection, is forced to confront the choices that led him to ignore the feelings he’s long known were there.
word count: 2.7k
warnings: none
A/N: last part coming soon !! please leave a comment or send a question/dm if you'd like to be tagged on it. thanks !!
Being in a big family Benedict was used to having regular visitors, acquaintances not only of his parents but also siblings, like Penelope, for instance. Yet somehow, he never considered Daisy to be in that group. Could it be that it was because he was the first to meet her? Or the fact that her sweet yet strong character made of his eighteen-year-old self a stuttering mess?
Maybe it was the fact that his late Father was the one introducing them, an added nostalgia to her constant presence throughout the years, even if not direct, she was always implicitly there.
Benedict remembers very little of the days surrounding his passing. Not because he felt like nothing happened, but because he busied himself with his siblings and specifically being a source of support for Anthony and his mother. And, when he finally took a moment to breathe and sit with the truth, Daisy showed sympathy when seeing him crushed, with her sweet self offering him one of the flowers she always wore in her hair. Said flower was watching him, very much dry, still hidden in a poetry book where he kept it ever since. He didn’t know why he did, but today, when he began feeling and taking in mind the distance Daisy put between them and how lost he had been feeling, nostalgia caved deep.
“Here you are.” Anthony entered the studio. “Get ready, we are leaving for horse racing.” This made him whine.
“Must we? Can’t you go alone?” He closed the book instantly.
“Of course not. The Sharma’s will be there, and they must know us Bridgerton’s are very close.”
Ever since that first ball, which was the reason Benedict was sulking over Daisy not paying attention to him, Anthony has been fixated on trying to court Edwina Sharma. Naturally, everyone must follow his antics. Still, he didn’t complain, for it made him out of the spotlight as usual so he could continue. Plus, if he was attending that racing, he might as well see if Daisy would be there.
“Miss Lancaster.” He approached. Usually, he makes a quirky quip when talking to her but for some reason he felt a bit… nervous?
“Hello.” Daisy put on a small smile, still staring around.
“Lost your father?”
“Uh, actually…-”
“There you are.” He lifted a brow when recognizing a third voice. He turned to see Phillip Cavender, an acquaintance, bringing Daisy a drink. “Bridgerton. Fancy seeing you here.” Benedict blinked, his brain taking a little bit too long to realize that they were here together. Just like Anthony and Edwina.
“Y-yes, likewise.” Benedict stuttered before grabbing his hand in an awkward greeting. “I guess uh- I should get one of those.” He signaled the beverage.
“Sure.” Cavender smiled smugly and pointed to a tent. “They are over there. Shall we, Miss Lancaster?” Daisy nodded, holding the arm he offered and gave Benedict one brief look before going with him.
Benedict tried to give her a friendly smile but for some reason it was hard to. He awkwardly walked to the beverages, sort of affected by the interaction. Avoiding staring while doing so he felt something twig on his stomach, the image of Daisy's hand gripped on the other man's arm. But what bothered him the most was not knowing why. He drank lemonade while his eyes drifted automatically to the pair, as they were seemingly getting to know each other.
“Didn’t know my travels could be useful to get ladies to pay more attention to what I say.” Colin commented while grabbing a macaroon. “You, in exchange, seem distracted.”
“Me? Not at all.” Benedict scoffed, overreacting. “It’s good you found a group willing to listen, so you don't have to pester us.” He said in a depictive way. Instead of feeling attacked, Colin got curious.
“Are you quite well brother? I saw you watching Daisy with Cavender, did you introduce them?”
“I did not! God, can’t we do what we came to do? Where are the damn horses?” He asked angrily as he began walking away. Colin frowned and shrugged, he thought it was one of those Benedict days.
After mingling around and distracting himself with the racing Benedict thought the topic was sealed but he found Eloise and Daisy talking. As he got closer, he heard Eloise questioning Daisy about her new duties. That did it for him, how did everyone know things about her and not him? Was he really that amiss of the girl’s life?
“What do you mean duties?” Benedict meddles.
“Come on brother, how can you not know?” Eloise made him feel more guilty. “Daisy is doing groundbreaking things by-”
“I’ll tell him, El. Don’t worry. Tell Pen I will call you to visit again soon for another of those talks.” Eloise nodded and gave Benedict a teasing look before leaving them.
“The more I see you this season the more I feel some distance between us, is everything well?” He directly asked. Daisy couldn’t help but to chuckle to herself bitterly.
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Well, I don’t know, I feel we haven’t talked at all this last year.” Benedict said in a hurt tone.
“It’s not a feeling. It’s a fact.” The girl began calmly. “After debuting I realized a few things and well, life changes I suppose.” She avoided eye contact for that part. “Got new responsibilities, my father is tutoring me to become a Countess, and this season I am more active in the marriage mart.”
“That is groundbreaking, Daisy.” He quoted his sibling and then began rambling. “Was it too difficult to update me? I mean, I know you are Daphne’s friend, and you visited mostly for her, and it’s natural for you to stop doing so since she lives in her own house. But I thought… we were friends.” His comment seemed to strike a chord within her.
“Update you? Do you realize the reason we didn’t talk or see each other was because I didn't have time to approach? You never tried to reach either.” Although she didn't say it with bad blood, her words still stung, because she was correct. He stood speechless for a while.
She sighed and began speaking in a kinder tone. “Look, Benedict, you also changed when you entered society. You found art and took a liking to freedom. And I didn’t understand it until I debuted myself and figured life works differently. Nothing bad happens, perhaps people just naturally fall apart.”
“Right.” He didn’t know what else to say. Daisy said it all. The crowd moving along made them instinctively say goodbye to each other, but he felt the conversation was far from over.
That night Benedict and Colin went to Mondrich’s bar opening, where he casually found out about a vacancy at the Royal Academy of Arts. His conversation with Daisy was still ingrained in his mind, so as she said, maybe this was his chance to do something to change. He was about to ask for more information when he was pulled by Anthony to follow him out of the place.
“Aren’t you supposed to be reading poetry at Lady Danbury’s?” Benedict asked, his voice edged with annoyance as he glanced at Anthony.
“Yes, well, we both know I’m hopeless at that,” Anthony admitted with a smirk. “Hence, you’re coming with me. You’ve been a steady distraction for too long already.”
Benedict's brow furrowed as he crossed his arms. “You do realize this is the second time today you’re dragging me somewhere else, right? You’ve already hijacked my morning for that blasted horse racing.”
“Brother, please,” Anthony continued, his tone light but urgent. “Cavender is going to be there, and I can’t risk him stealing the spotlight. You know how important this is. I need to make sure Miss Sharma notices me.”
“Cavender?” Benedict scoffed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That fool couldn’t even write a proper paragraph at Cambridge.”
“Well, he is trying to court Daisy as far as I know but still, I need you to-” The second he mentioned her, Benedict's resolve changed.
“Okay, we are going. That Byron book? Throw it away.”
The brothers arrived just in time to hear Cavender’s performance. He had memorized Alexander Pope’s "Epistle to a Lady," a piece filled with praise for a woman’s innocence and passivity, implying that their happiness lies in obedience, not in ambition or independence, the very ideals that boxed women into prescribed roles. His biggest mistake? Staring too long at Daisy as he recited it.
"How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned."
The room went silent. Cavender’s clumsy delivery, paired with his inappropriate focus on Daisy, only magnified the poem’s misogynistic message, suggesting that a woman’s true happiness lay in submission. Lady Danbury awkwardly dismissed him, and Benedict knew he couldn’t let this moment pass without doing something for Daisy.
Pushing past Anthony’s plans, Benedict stepped forward, offering a solution. “Allow me,” he said, his tone more measured as he turned to the guests. Acting on pure instinct, he cleared his throat and hoped for the best. "What is it truly, to admire a woman?" He paused, his eyes locking with Daisy’s. “To look at her and feel inspiration? To delight in her beauty, so much so that all your defenses crumble, and you’d take on any pain for her... To honor her being with your deeds and words. That is what the true poet describes."
The room absorbed the words, and in that moment, Benedict knew he had defended Daisy’s reputation, not only from the cruel implications of Cavender’s performance but by subtly showcasing how deeply he admired her. After a moment everyone clapped, and the attention went towards Anthony. Benedict used that moment to follow Daisy who stood quickly in the hallway.
“What was that?” she asked, visibly affected.
“I… I had to do something. Cavender was a buffoon and completely clueless about the meaning of his memorized words.” He still didn’t understand her reaction; he had expected her to be relieved, even thankful.
“Cavender was awful, yes. But I was about to defend myself. I didn’t need you to… create those verses, making it seem like they were meant for me, just out of pity or whatever that was.” Benedict felt a sharp tug in his chest. “Because that’s what it was, right?”
“Daisy, no. I would never pity you. Quite the opposite, you deserve respect.”
“Then were they truly meant for me?” she asked, the question hitting him harder than he expected. He went silent, and Daisy let out a bitter chuckle. “What am I even asking? Maybe you didn’t mean it and genuinely wanted to help. Maybe I’m just ridiculous for thinking you meant them. But then… why say it like that?”
Benedict felt struck by lightning, unsure of what else to say. He was afraid of making it worse, and afraid of his own truth. “I’m sorry” was the only thing he could think to say.
Daisy exhaled sharply, seeming to collect herself. She lifted a hand, a half-hearted gesture, as if trying to say she was okay.
“Let’s just forget about it, okay? Just… if God forbid there is a next time, avoid trying to play the knight. You don’t know what you can truly cause.” She turned to walk away but paused. “Go back. Anthony will be clueless without you.”
And with that, she disappeared.
Ever since that night he couldn’t get the situation out of his mind. Not only that, but the uncertainty of his own actions and words affecting Daisy directly. A person whom, before this season, Benedict hadn’t acknowledged he held in high regard until her well based dismissal resounded on him. He could only distract himself in banal tasks until the time to go to Aubrey Hall came. His mother and Anthony planned a paraphernalia to invite the Sharma’s, and later the most important part of the ton for different events. Usually, he spent his days walking around looking for painting inspiration, but his lack of good humor had him sprayed on the drawing room’s couch. Because out of all the places, Aubrey Hall reminded him of Daisy the most. He observed the words written in a diary, the same words he dedicated to her that night, and read them over and over to figure if they really meant something, or to be more specific, what they truly meant.
“Now that’s a typical Benedict welcome.” Daphne said after entering, with a grin on his face.
“As happy as I am to see you, you are not contributing to my state.” He closed the book and put it on his chest.
“Is it because you wait for the academy acceptance?” Benedict almost forgot about that. He sighed and nodded to avoid further interrogation. “Oh, I am sure you will be just fine.”
“I need to think of something else.” He sighed as he sat.
“Then good news because I was coming to tell you we have a pall mall match waiting for us.” Daphne grinned. “Come on, like the good old times. I even managed to make Daisy leave her office.”
“She’s here?”
“In her country house. Duke Lancaster is coming as well; he still hasn’t given up.” She grinned, reminiscing the man’s undying desire to win. Even though it’s been years of failure behind. Benedict’s spirits lifted for once, hoping again for another chance to mend things with her. Yet, to his disappointment, she didn’t show to the estate.
“I’m afraid I’ve created a monster.” James Lancaster lamented himself. “Little Darling is just like her mother was, a perfectionist at heart. She promised to make it to teatime, but I think she will need convincing.” He stared at Daphne.
“Oh, Duke Lancaster, you won’t trick me into not playing to give you a better chance of winning.” Daphne grinned. “If you allow so, Benedict is more than willing to go.”
“Well, the less Bridgerton the merrier.” He joked. “Do you agree, son?” Benedict blinked, and as he connected into what happened he straightened up.
“Sure, I will use the back entrance.”
Benedict said, beginning his long walk towards the neighboring state, unsure whether it was nostalgia or something heavier that pressed on his chest. Even now, as his boots met familiar grass, he couldn’t shake the memory of how it all began.
It felt just like the first day he met her.
He had been walking with his father, who was giving an insufferable speech on the importance of making a good impression in society, when they reached this very same patch of land. He remembered stopping, just as he did now, only back then it was because he had heard her laugh, sharp and sweet, right before she groaned in embarrassment at something her father had said.
She had flowers in her hair. Too many, maybe. All of them carefully chosen in honor of her name, even if she pretended otherwise. Her father had called her “Little Darling,” and she'd rolled her eyes, but there was love in the way she did it.
He smiled at the memory. But the smile faltered. Because it wasn’t just a memory, it was a turning point. His Father passed later that year, but he managed to put her on his path. Back then, it was charm. Curiosity. But now, standing in the echo of that memory, he understood it had never been fleeting. He thought about the poetry reading, and the words he had spoken—desperate, raw, and true.
To admire a woman is to feel inspired by her… to have all your defenses crumble… to honor her being with your deeds and words.
He hadn’t said those things out of pity. He had meant every word, because that was what Daisy did to him. She undid him with a glance. Challenged him with a sigh. Brought out a version of himself he hadn’t realized he could be. And most of all, she was there when he couldn’t be. She was the one person whose disappointment mattered.
He hadn’t even realized it before, but now he did, with every beat of his heart and every regret he carried since she walked away from him in that hallway.
He didn’t just care for Daisy. He felt for her; deeply, stupidly, completely.
He was in love with her.
And now he wasn’t walking to her state. He was running, sprinting, desperate to do something about it. Finally say what has been unsaid.
Summary: In the glittering world of high society, Belle Cowper has always stood in the shadow of her sister, Cressida—until an unexpected encounter with her nemesis, Benedict Bridgerton, sparks a desire to defy her family's expectations. As the Masquerade Ball approaches, Belle dares to embrace her boldness and seize the freedom she's always longed for.
word count: 4.9k
Part 2 is here.
A/N: hi lol, idk if i should do a second part... lmk if you'd like me to<3 ((edit: part 2 is up))
Being the youngest Cowper daughter has certainly more downsides than perks. Was it because of their parents’ lack of humbleness? Their Dad’s thirst for money or Mother’s thirst for success? Probably, but there was a big one on top of Belle’s list on disadvantages, which was having Cressida as an older sister. Naturally the attention wouldn’t go to the second daughter, but having a mean and sharped tongued sibling as a reference didn’t help either. Belle was raised to wait for the spotlight, yet the waiting didn’t stop even after years of her sister debuting in society. She observed as things happened from the outside, talking only when needed, and hiding under her sister’s shadow. Given the predicament Cressida had to endure, by the threat of the Cowper’s downfall, Belle didn’t complain as much for being left behind. The weight of having to marry this season no matter the cost wasn’t hers, and if that meant having to wear the dullest dresses, the same tight bun, and not attracting suitors to overshadow their purpose she had no choice but to comply. It didn’t make it easier though, loneliness can be one of your worst enemies if found in the wrong person.
Apart from not being forced to marry as soon as possible, there were a few advantages of being the neglected daughter. For instance, today, at this hot air balloon event, Belle was allowed to sneak out. Araminta too busy bad mouthing with other ladies to notice, and Cressida probably walking around trying to catch Lord Debling’s attention along with Eloise Bridgerton. She took the chance to wander around the different tents surrounding the event, casually colliding with the presentation of the balloon’s engineer. Hidden in a corner inside the tent, she listened attentively for the first part of it. That until the presence of a hurried man distracted her, making her frown and mentally curse at the sight of Benedict Bridgerton.
“Would you mind not making a fuss? Some of us are actually trying to hear.” Belle said, not in a friendly way. The man turned, taking notice in the owner of the snarky comment, but instead of being annoyed by it he let out a mischievous smirk.
“Miss Cowper, my deepest apologies.” Benedict charismatically put on a hand on his chest, exuding sarcasm from every fiber. “I didn’t know you were capable of taking interest in...”
“Engineering.” She completed for him, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Something you wouldn’t be able to tell since you entered here... let me guess, is it running from Mama’s or their daughters?”
“Both.” He admitted, shamelessly. Belle let out an amused scoff, while denying with her head.
The fact that she was a lonely person didn’t mean Belle was a quiet one. Growing up with Cressida does thing to one’s character, and when given the chance, she wasn’t backing up from speaking her mind. Specifically, with the family that has indirectly tormented hers ever since she can remember: the Bridgerton’s. It wasn’t her parents’ constant dragging that made her feel resent towards them, she formed her own opinion as soon as she gained consciousness of the intricacy of society. She was mature enough to admit it was envy, not because of their money or position, but their perfectly family dynamic and how they managed to be victorious over any difficulty they face. Now, Eloise was a different case, for now she was allowed to be Cressida’s friend, she still gained Belle’s regards for not falling into bad mouthing of other people, and actually acknowledging her existence. At least enough for her to greet each time they saw each other. But the man in front of her, now, was a personal matter. He was also the second son, but in exchange, he had everything she ever wished for; freedom. So, the only way she had to let out her frustration, was to make obvious her aversion towards him.
“You really do owe no heart, Mr. Bridgerton.” She said on a lower tone, as the presentation still took place behind them. “We all know you adore engaging in clandestine relations with God only knows who, but now you are creating hopes on debutantes? That is extremely low, even coming from you.” While hearing her depicting answer, Benedict’s demeanor faltered for a second, for her words caused something within him.
“As you seem so invested in my personal life, here’s an update: I have never shown interest in courtship with any lady. I was merely being polite; the problem was they assumed my intentions.” He answered cooly, throwing away how she did hit a nerve.
“And who is this poor lady, you say?” She skeptically asked.
“Miss Lowell.” By the answer, Belle lout out a mocking chuckle.
“Very well, you have a point. Perhaps she wasn’t aware of your... precedence.” With the tone of the last word, Benedict’s limit reached a certain point.
“Does something about me bother you, Miss Cowper? Or does your tight bun affect your brain like it does to your sister?” He quivered back, knowing the question would get to her.
“I, in exchange for half of the ton, dismiss your charming image.” She spoke, in a more serious tone. “My “tight” bun doesn’t allow me to fathom the idea of someone thinking of you as an eligible suitor. Especially when you are a second son, who quit the Art Academy and also goes from flower to flower like a desperate bee.” The man opened his mouth in shock for a second, as each syllable managed to make him boil in the inside.
“You know what, Miss Cowper?” He threated, as he stepped close to her. “I see it now, you are jealous. I am not the one hiding in corners, living by my annoying sister’s shadow without anyone to care about me. At least people considered me eligible, contrary to you. And I don’t even take interest on it, as I don’t desperately desire to marry.” Once those harsh words were out, there was no turn back. Usually, he let slide most of Belle remarks at events like these. Sometimes he even expected them, but this time, she crossed a line and so did he.
Benedict didn’t take the weight of his words until he caught on the girl visibly gulping and shutting down, making him instantly letting things get this far. He opened his mouth immediately to apologize, but was interrupted by the clapping celebrating the end of the presentation that still happened. He distractedly turned, and when searching back for Belle, she was nowhere to be seen. After many minutes of walking around trying to get a glimpse of her, he failed. Unbeknownst to everyone, the girl was kneeling behind a tent while crying unconsolably. She didn’t blame him, for apart of him just spitting facts and answering to what she provoked, he still had no idea of the reality behind the Cowper Household. The season gets to a point where she can’t stand feeling alone and purposeless. Cressida was more unbearable than ever, even when she had a friend. What about her? Always in her lane, always pleasing everyone but herself. She was tired of counting days until she was free to seek suitors, friends, and show herself without being accused of overshadowing her protagonist sister. Belle has gaslighted her like this her whole life, and once again, it calmed her down enough to stand up again.
As she walked back to where the balloon was being displaced, she expected the spectacle to had started by then, but found a shocking scene instead. The balloon swayed violently in the wind, ropes straining as men fought to keep it grounded. Belle watched, her heart pounding as the balloon threatened to break free. The crowd gasped, hands flying to mouths, and Benedict was right in the middle of the chaos, his muscles taut as he pulled against the wind. For a second, forgotten was their previous encounter as she took in his bravery, and how good he looked pulling from the rope. Belle had to acknowledge there was a good reason for him being so desired, at least the physical part of it. After tense seconds of struggle, she got out of her trance as everyone managed to control the balloon as it safely landed, ending on a celebration from the ton.
“Isabelle Ariadne Cowper!” Her mother called. “Where in heavens were you? Your sister almost gets injured!”
“What does that have to do with me, Mama?” She asks back, annoyed by the whole situation. Araminta frowned, curious of the nature of her attitude, but soon enough her eyes moved back to Cressida.
“Oh, thank the lord. It seems Lord Debling is assisting her.” She smirked, making Belle scoff in disbelief, as she took in the aftermath of the incident. Males involved in pulling the ropes were surrounded by swooning ladies, Benedict of course being amongst them. When her eyes caught on him, he was already staring at her with regret written all over his face as she just eyed back with a weary expression.
“I will wait in the carriage.” Belle said, knowing her Mama wouldn’t mind her absence once again.
As Benedict finally freed himself from his fan club, he was late again to find a glimpse of Belle. Sighing in frustration he came back to his family, as everyone made their way towards the carriages. As usual he stood next to Eloise, who kept on teasing him because of his heroic stance and falling into unwanted ladies' attention.
“Speaking of unwanted attention, I can’t help to wonder how does your friendship with Cressida work?” He mocked back. “I am surprised you’ve endured her this much.”
“She isn’t as difficult as one may think, you know.” Eloise began. “It’s different with me, and by talking to her I’ve learned she endures a different kind of pressure.”
“Doesn’t half of the ton go through marriage pressure?” He asked back, skeptic.
“It’s not just marriage, it’s her family. If she doesn’t marry well by the end of the season, the Cowper’s are most likely to be out of the ton. Cressida told me that even her sister wasn’t allowed to have suitors or friends in order to not take the spotlight.” At the mention of Belle, Benedict’s expression turned from teasing to a more serious one.
“She isn’t?” He asked in disbelief, his sister nodding in response.
“I, for once assumed she hated suitors and marriage mart as much as I do. But after seeing it up close, it’s clear Belle has been secluded for the sake of her sister’s success.” Eloise sight in sympathy, as she crossed her arms. “I wonder what kind of challenges they face behind the walls of their household.”
Benedict’s heart clenched at the thought of it. He always assumed Belle was purposefully a wallflower, hiding behind Cressida. After hearing the truth, the guilt from his previous words towards her increased. As they got in their carriages and went back home, his mind began to slowly connect the dots. Of course, she was always alone and apart in different corners, judged by her sister’s precedence. The slightest hint of attention she received was to be tossed away, for Cressida was to be the one catching people’s eyes instead of her. He gets it now, why each time Belle can, takes it against him, a man who represented everything she couldn’t have. Benedict thought on how Eloise gave Cressida a chance, and he thought that perhaps, he could give Belle one as well.
Two days later, the balloon incident was long forgotten and the Cowper household already prepared for the next event; the Bridgerton’s Masquerade ball. Belle was locked in her room like most of the time, busy cutting some of Cressida’s old dresses to create her own, as she had none. Araminta chose to cut off Belle’s count in the modiste’s, with the excuse of her sister using the credit and having more chances of eliciting a proposal from Lord Debling. In all honesty, she didn’t mind. It gave her an excuse to dig into her interest, and also made her avoid going to the modiste’s. Or so she thought, before her mother forced her to fetch her sister’s clothing.
“But the dress is not even mine.” She complained.
“Take it as a contribution, Isabelle.” Cressida smirked. “After all, it is my sacrifice for our family. Don’t tell me I need to remind it’s your life being potentially saved as well?” Belle rolled her eyes, knowing she was defeated by the irrevocable excuse.
Along with her trusting Lady’s maid Fiona, she made her way towards the modiste. It wasn’t like she hated the place, but it was a reminder of all the dresses she couldn’t have or even the fabrics she couldn’t sew. Still, Madame Delacroix never failed to be extremely kind towards her. Funnily enough, all but people from the ton noticed her struggle. After fetching the dress, she walked around deciding what to do next. The least she could do is using this occasion to her advantage, so after calling off Fiona to fetch other things, she sat at a hidden corner of Gunther’s tea shop to draw a few dress sketches and drink tea.
“Isabelle, is it you?” After hearing her name, she turned and surprisingly found Eloise was the one to call her, accompanied by her own Lady’s maid, seemingly buying catering things for their upcoming ball. She smiled awkwardly, not used to being approached by people.
“Hello. You can call me Belle.” She nervously chuckled, as her full name only reminded her of being nagged by her family.
“Oh, sure, Belle.” She chuckled back. “How are you doing?”
“I am well, thanks. Taking away Cressida’s dress, I imagine you expected her to be here.”
“No, actually. She told me she’d be missing until the Masquerade ball at my home. I just saw you and thought of saying hi.” Eloise nervously said, taking in how weirded out she seemed. “Well, I guess we will see each other then.”
“Sure.” When noticing her intentions were just friendly, she figured out she could be friendly back. “Are you heading out soon? You can sit with me; I ordered too much biscuits anyway.”
“You know what? I accept.” The girl sat. “I was going to join Benedict later, but who in its five senses want to spend time in the bank?” Belle’s smile faltered when hearing his name, but hid it very well.
“No one.” She agreed.
Initially it was a bit odd interacting with her without Cressida’s presence, but they soon learned that they had some common ground. Belle might not be as passionate about books as Eloise, yet still shared plenty of opinions towards society matters. It wasn’t hard for the Bridgerton girl to notice how refreshingly different she was from her sister. After countless minutes of conversation, Benedict walked into the tea shop looking for her, and he was taken aback after seeing Belle deeply engaged with her.
“Oh! Nice to see you are back, brother.” Eloise took no time in spotting him.
“Uhm, yes. Your maid said something about the bookstore closing soon, I think?” He tilted his head, making the girl gasp in horror.
“My books! I’m so sorry Belle, I forgot. We can continue talking at the Masquerade ball! Benedict, you stay here. The biscuits Mama asked for are yet to be ready. I must make haste.” She hurriedly said, not giving the girl time to even answer or react properly. Soon enough, they were left alone.
“I shall be leaving as well.” Belle quickly took her notebook and stood up.
“Miss Cowper,” He began, stepping in her way “I was expecting to talk to you after... the balloon incident.”
“There is nothing to be said, Mr. Bridgerton.” She answered with a neutral tone. “I don’t hold anything against you, if that’s your concern.”
“No, there is, because-” Benedict stopped himself as he stared around, noting it wasn’t the best space to talk before people take in their interaction. “Do you mind going somewhere more private?” She considered it, given the fact that if her family managed to find out she would be dead by the morning for being seen with a man in public. She nodded, and after taking her things they moved towards the back of the store where no one was around. He took no time on speaking again. “I am deeply regretful of how I treated you.”
“I had it coming, I wasn’t the nicest person in the world either.” She said back, making him frown.
“But you don’t deserve such treatment, no one does. Even if your words were hurtful, I should have known better.” Benedict’s words took her aback, not used to people being considered towards her feelings. She cleared her throat as she nervously moved on her feet.
“In that case, I appreciate your apologies, even if not needed. Perhaps, I shall be sorry as well.” Her eyes wandered everywhere to not meet his.
“For which charge?” He asked with a smile, trying to lift the mood. “Calling me out on my libertine encounters, or my lack of compromise when deciding what to do with my life?” If Belle wasn’t nervous before, she indeed was now.
“Both.” She expressed with her lips pressed. “Though I don’t regret the first one.” Benedict deliberately laughed at that comment.
“Fair enough Miss Cowper, I’ll take it.” He grinned. “I do take back my remarks against you, for now I find myself rather intrigued by your persona instead.”
“Intrigued?” Belle chuckled in disbelief. “What could be intriguing about me?”
“Well, not so many have the will to call on me the way you did that day. I misjudged your quiet presence, and find myself wondering if there is more to those witty comments.” He said, expecting a reaction, but heard a person softly clearing her throat behind them. It was Belle’s maid.
“I must leave.” She said, nodding at Fiona.
“It appears so.” He said, looking back at her. “But think of my words Miss Cowper, I know there is more to you and I bet good things can come from it. Perhaps getting out of your shell can be a starter.”
“My context doesn’t allow it.” She slowly walked towards the servant.
“I may seem like a libertine rake, but trust me, when you have a taste of freedom you will thank me.” He lifted his tone. “Remember, you can be bold and still not surpass the limits of proper.” Belle gave him one last look and walked far from him, though his words still resounded in her brain.
When getting back to the safeness of her bedroom, Belle stare at her unfinished dress and thought of the man’s words. She knew she wished nothing but to be as rebellious as him, but her circumstances were different. Perhaps... she could be bold in a smooth way. For starters, she stared at her reflection and paid attention to the tight bun she got to hate, freeing it with one swift movement. Then, the hidden design in her notebook caught her attention and the idea finally stroke her brain. A Masquerade ball was good to get a taste of freedom. So, for the following two days, she worked day and night on her dress. Even Cressida noted her absence, used to Belle being there for her fittings to take note on how she should not look.
“Isabelle?” She asked, entering her room unannounced, her sister nowhere to be found. “She is probably spending time with that annoying maid of hers.” She muttered to herself as she walked around. Near Belle’s bed, there was a stray sheet of paper she didn’t doubt to collect, and by doing so, she noticed a hidden dress below. It was a gorgeous pink customed made dress, pretty enough to outshine everyone at the ball. “For me? Ah, dear sister, you shouldn’t have.” She smirked while hugging it.
“Cressida.” Belle called sternly from the door. “That is not yours.”
“Oh, is it yours then? Are you planning on using it and stealing the spotlight? Hijacking my chances of finally making Lord Debling ask for my hand?” A classic manipulation tactic.
“You have yours! I picked it up from the modiste myself!” She insisted.
“Ah, that one can be used for the next event. But this one, will steal glances.” Cressida softly traced the fabrics of it.
“Then what will I wear? The ball is tomorrow.” Belle tried reasoning, but it wouldn't work. Not with her.
“Is it?” Cressida fake pouted, putting a hypocrite hand on her shoulder. “I guess you won’t be able to attend then, Isabelle.” She let an evil chuckle. “Now that you have free time, why don’t you go to the modiste? And find me a mask that goes along with my new dress.”
Belle’s eyes watered with rage as Cressida left the room with her clothes. She felt so dumb, for even trying to do something different. If it wasn’t her sister, probably her parents would have found a way to ruin this for her. Angrily, she reunited all of her designs and tossed them to the chimney, waiting to be incinerated when the night came. It took all her willpower to not explode, but soon the anger turned into sadness making her take one step back from her impulsive thoughts. She was hopeless.
“Miss?” Fiona softly called, entering the room and knowing exactly what happened.
“Yes?” She turned, while cleaning the single tear on her face.
“Do you need anything?” Belle let out a defeated sigh.
“A long walk to the modiste.” Fiona nodded, loyally accompanying her. Both were quiet all the way there, the first noise in many minutes being the bell on Madame Delacroix’s store.
“Bonsour, Miss Cowper. Is there something wrong with your sister’s dress?” The Lady with the thick accent asked.
“No.” Belle answered, without being able to hide her demeanor. “I wonder if you have a pink mask with beads around?”
“Sure, wait for me here. Perhaps your maid can help?” Fiona nodded without a doubt, and they both disappeared behind the counter as Belle walked around. When they came back, both shared an indecipherable expression on their faces. “It must be a pretty dress the one you have, to be searching for this mask.”
“Had.” She corrected bitterly. “I can’t have pretty things so it was taken away from me.” Madame Delacroix gave a sympathetic smile as she stepped behind the counter.
“Whoever took it from you feels threatened, probably knows the second you bloom all eyes will turn to you.” Belle chuckled.
“Maybe, but tomorrow it’s not that day.” Fiona shared an evil smile with the modiste, making the girl suspect of them.
“The other day, Miss Belle, something fell off from your belongings.” The woman gave Belle an old piece of paper she recognized as her most precious design. Her eyes lightened immediately.
“My dress! Good God, I’ve been looking everywhere for it.” A genuine smile spread on her face. “I tried to recreate it so many times but it was never like this one. Thank you for keeping it.”
“Thank you for inspiring me.” Delacroix smirked. “You have got a special talent Miss, and a little bird told me you are as equally as good to create them.” She stared at Fiona.
“Ah, I do what I can with what I got.” She dismissed, but when taking in the woman’s words, she turned back at her. “Wait, what do you mean by inspiring you?” Without saying a word, the modiste walked to a curtain and opened it, revealing Belle’s design of her dreams put to reality. The girl gasped as she slowly walked to it, her eyes never shone as bright as now. “Madame, this is gorgeous...” She breathlessly said.
“It’s yours.” Belle quickly turned at her and chuckled nervously.
“What do you mean by mine?” Fiona suppressed a laugh at her miss's reaction.
“Well, I made it for you. Technically, you made it for yourself.” She explained, signing Belle to walk closer to it.
“But I can’t afford it, and how will I even hide it from my family? There is no way-” Her Lady’s maid interrupted.
“Miss, you deserve this.” Fiona held her hands. “You deserve this night.”
“And we already have half a plan created for this. The payment is no matter, as long as you keep sharing those designs with me. As for the ball, tomorrow you will sneak here and prepare to go.”
“I am speechless.” Belle said as she stared at the modiste and squeezed the maid’s hands. “But deeply grateful.”
“You went through enough with your sister’s antics. It is time for you to be you genuinely, at least for the night. Now go home and plan for tomorrow, because it is your big day.” Delacroix stated, and this time the girl agreed without doubt.
*
Unlike most of balls, Benedict was genuinely expecting the Masquerade ball his mother planned. He wore one of his most elegant pieces and a dark mask compelling to the theme. As he walked along his family through the guests they stole many glances, because even with their masks on, it was impossible to not recognize a Bridgerton.
After settling on a corner while everyone kept on getting to the ballroom, Cressida made her appearance and everyone froze at the sight of her dress. Even Benedict found the attire oddly different for her, yet beautiful. The girl, with a smug smile, took no time on getting near to literally fetch her sister away.
“Guess the dress made its job.” She said as a greet.
“Indeed.” Eloise agreed. “Did Madame Delacroix do it?”
“Oh, no. It’s from an undiscovered designer.” She lifted her brows with airs of superiority.
“I see. Well, what about your Mama, is she with your sister?” Eloise asked, and Benedict thanked on her insides because he didn’t have the guts to do so.
“My mother is with Miss Lowell, and poor little Isabelle was feeling under the weather tonight. Her absence is not missed anyway.” Benedict was amused, as the girl didn’t even hide her arrogance. He would lie if he said he wasn’t disappointed towards the girl’s not attendance, and quickly drifted away from their conversation as there was no point getting involved in it. As he took the ambiance of the ballroom trying to see a friendly face, his eyes met a person who was already staring at him. The sight was to be put in a museum; her blue dress with glittery details had a pattern no one had seen before, and her long hair cascaded down her shoulders with such grace no one could imitate. Before even realizing his body naturally moved towards the mystery girl he couldn’t recognize because of the mask, but the second she smiled at him Benedict knew he was already sold to it. When near enough to hear her, his gut tried to tell him something about this gorgeous girl.
“Is it me, or haven’t we met before?” He asks while tilting his head, owned by mere curiousness. “If we haven’t that needs to be fixed at this instant.” The man added, with his characteristic lopsided grin.
“We have, but the context is so different it is like we are meeting all over again.” Benedict’s smile widened when recognizing it was Belle’s voice, making him take a second to stare up and down at her impeccable appearance adorned by the most charming smile he ever saw. The blue she wore that night was definitely becoming her favorite color.
“Them I’m pleased to introduce myself, my Lady.” He softly grabbed her gloved hand and kissed it while making eye contact. “Benedict Bridgerton at your service.”
“Tell me, Mr. Bridgerton. How can a lady have fun in this night? I’m afraid I’m new to the intricacies of a Masquerade ball.” She asked with a smile, trying to calm herself from his touch.
“Ah, you’ve met the indicated for that. For starters, you must allow me your first dance.” He said, without letting go of her hand. Belle nodded, and didn’t miss a second by softly leading her to the dancefloor.
“Were you expecting seeing someone in particular tonight?” She asked, as they began softly moving.
“Well,” Benedict began, while securing his grip on her waist. “I was expecting for a certain lady to show, but her sister mentioned something about her being under the weather.” Belle chuckled, of course Cressida would say so.
“Poor lady, if only she had sneaked out in a secret dance, she would be enjoying being bold without surpassing the limits of proper.” She quoted, making him smirk. “And, dancing with one of the most desire gentleman of the ton.” After hearing that, in one swift movement Benedict changed his grip from her hip to her back.
“Careful there, Miss.” He softly said as they twirled. “You here with that dress and attitude, make me feel things that don’t address me as a gentleman.”
She let out a nervous chuckle as they swirled around the ballroom, all eyes on the mysterious woman who got Benedict Bridgerton, the Eternal Bachelor, finally dancing with someone who wasn’t his family. And Belle? Enjoying not having a name, defying her family’s pressure, dancing with someone she genuinely wanted to dance. She wishes the night would never end, but she knew very well she had an expiration date.
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Benedict Bridgerton can't seem to stop kissing his spouse.
A/N - All the kissies. 885 words.
💋
Benedict had always supported your love of writing, one of the many reasons you fell in love with the man and one of the many reasons the man fell in love with you. He usually happily sat with you as he did some simple sketches and you wrote.
Tonight is different. Benedict appears to have given up his usual hobby of making charcoal meet his sketchbook, though you do not question it. Instead you take your usual place on the settee, leaning against the armrest and making quill meet paper. That’s when Benedict finds a different hobby for the evening.
He slowly reaches for the hand which is holding your paper steady, and lifting it–lips meeting skin before he quickly glances up at you.
Damn you Benedict Bridgerton for getting my heart racing so quickly. You look down at him as he glances up at you, a sweet, though mischievous smile which only has you blushing. You let out a smile as he kisses your hand again. “Ben, I have a few things I would like to write down. I had an idea that came to me on our promenade at an earlier hour,” you say to your husband.
“My dear, don’t let me stop you,” he responds cheekily, not letting go of your hand. He places another kiss on your hand, and then another and then another before offering a smile reserved only for you.
You are unsure how to respond to your husband, your heart thumping a bit quicker. “Ben, I will be needing my hand back,” you muster out, watching your husband place more kisses to the back of your hand. You blush profusely when he looks up at you for a moment, those stupid puppy-dog eyes.
Moments later he places a kiss on your wrist, then another, before slowly making a trail of kisses up your arm, teasing your skin rendering you speechless. You find yourself in a place somewhere between wanting to giggle and gasp. You finally find your voice. “Ben, I truly wish to be able to express my words before they slip my mind and I do need both arms and hands for that.”
He reluctantly nods, letting go of your arm and stepping back, before a smile breaks his face. “Then I shall find another place to kiss.” He leans in towards your face, one arm on the armrest behind your head and the other around your waist.
You and Benedict had been married for nearly eight months and his hand finding your waist still had your heart beating like mad. You swear your face is entirely red, which the second-eldest Bridgerton seems to ignore.
“Perhaps this is a good place.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, then another, then another, strategically not allowing you to speak. His lips then move along the side of your mouth before tracing up to your cheek, then another on your other cheek, then another on your forehead.
You find your voice again. “Benedict, that is not–” You are cut off upon letting out a sharp breath when his kisses find the edge of your jaw. You lift your chin, as if on instinct inviting his lips to find your neck.
He quickly obliges, trailing kisses along the side of your neck which is when you know you will not be doing any writing this evening. You find just enough time between kisses to place your paper and quill down which Benedict understands as a surrender to getting any work done.
“Benedict,” you whisper when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. You can feel his breath, warm on your neck and you know he is smiling. Your heart is racing and you are amazed it hasn’t sprung forth from your chest.
He places another kiss on the spot, then another, and another before finding the bit of skin behind your ear. You feel him remove his hand from the armrest and place it on your hip pulling you up from the settee, keeping you balanced as his lips find yours again. You smile as he places a soft kiss on your mouth, then again. The next one is a little bit more passionate, and he pulls you towards him, not leaving a single bit of space between the two of you.
“Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom so we do not have to move ourselves,” you offer between kisses, and smiling. You laugh as he does not respond, instead hastening to grab your hand and pulling you down the hall of your home and towards the bedroom. He quickly pulls you in, shutting the door behind him before taking your face in his hands.
Your heart is racing and you can’t help but smile as he places another kiss on your lips, then another, then another, and another before he slowly backs you up towards the bed. You let out a laugh as you fall onto your back, Benedict falling on top of you. Benedict continues to smile, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, then another on your neck. You don’t stop giggling for the rest of the evening, as he finds every possible place for his lips to meet your skin. Always finding a place to kiss, and then another.
Part 1: Daisy's POV
Part 2: Benedict's POV
Part 3: Unsaid becomes said
Summary: Daisy Lancaster has always known her one-sided crush on Benedict Bridgerton needed to end, but the journey to move on wasn’t easy. Follow her timeline, from their childhood meeting to the difficult confrontation of her unrequited love as a grown woman, where Daisy faces her deepest feelings and learns to let go.
In exchange, Benedict, in a moment of introspection, is forced to confront the choices that led him to ignore the feelings he’s long known were there.
word count: 2.7k
warnings: none
A/N: hi! if you'd like to be tagged when part 2 comes up, please leave a comment or send a question/dm <3 also !! be encouraged to comment or like if you enjoyed it, i'd love to know every single thought !! xx
Daisy had long known the ache of yearning, a feeling that had started when she was just twelve years old, on the very day she first met Benedict Bridgerton.
It was a normal day at their country house when her father took her for a walk near the property’s edge to meet the new owners of the estate next door.
“Papa, I’m getting tired.” The little girl whined. Her white dress, adorned with yellow details, fluttered gently in the breeze. A fresh daisy, her namesake, was tucked into her hair. “Why are we walking so far?”
"My little darling, be patient. We are to meet our new neighbors," her father replied as they approached two men—one about his age, and the other a young man, standing beside him.
"Edmund!" her father greeted warmly. "How have you been settling in?"
"James! Fantastically, right, Benedict?" Edmund turned to his son, the young man next to him. Daisy, the moment they arrived, clung to her father’s side, her shy gaze fixed on the strangers.
"Me? Uh, sure... yeah," Benedict replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Both older men chuckled.
"Benedict has just reached the age of entering society, as an eighteen-year-old," Edmund explained.
"Hence the clumsiness. Happens to the best of us," her father laughed. "This isn’t my case, though. I’d bet if my little darling here were to debut now, she would capture the attention of all the suitors. Right, little darling?"
"Papa!" Daisy whined, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She clung to her father’s side, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
“Oh, forgive my manners,” her father said with a sheepish grin. “This is my daughter—”
“My name is Daisy Lancaster.” She straightened and introduced herself, trying to dispel her shy first impression. Edmund smiled widely and nudged Benedict.
“That’s how you do it, son,” Edmund said with a chuckle. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Lancaster. I am Edmund Bridgerton.” Daisy curtsied gracefully, causing Benedict to shift uneasily.
“And I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton.” He half-bowed, his awkwardness apparent. Daisy met his eyes, her heart giving an unbidden flutter. There was something about him that intrigued her—he wasn’t what she expected.
He’s not like the polished men I’ve seen at society events, Daisy thought, her gaze lingering a moment longer than she intended. She quickly pushed the feeling aside, not wanting to reveal how much she liked him.
“How would you evaluate his presentation?” Edmund asked, teasing his son. Daisy glanced at her father, who gave her a knowing nod, allowing her to be as honest as she liked.
“He lacked confidence. He made it feel like a chore.” Her non-malicious yet honest comment made both older men burst into laughter, while Benedict huffed and lowered his gaze, embarrassed and amused to be clocked by a girl younger than him.
“Well, I appreciate the feedback, Miss Lancaster,” Benedict forced a smile. “I bet when your debut comes, you’ll make quite an impression.” The words left his mouth before he even thought about them. There was something about her—something he couldn’t quite place.
“Ah, yes,” her father chuckled with a proud smile. “Society isn’t quite ready for her, but when she enters, she’ll be a force to reckon with.”
As the focus of the conversation went back to the adults, Daisy took a moment to stare at Benedict. A new desire was blooming in her heart—an unspoken wish. To enter society for him...
Even so, from that day on, Daisy was a welcome guest in the Bridgerton household, as well as her father. Mostly because of her friendship with Daphne, a girl her age, and how Edmund quickly made his wife grow fond of her.
That was, until that fatal day struck the family.
“Little Darling, do you remember when Mama left us?” Her father asked, as they walked hand in hand towards the Bridgerton’s house. Daisy nodded quietly. “And do you remember what you needed the most?”
“Company,” Daisy answered, her voice a mere whisper, the weight of her father’s words sinking in. Her father stopped and kneeled to speak more clearly to her.
“I want you to be the person you needed when Mama passed away.” Daisy glanced up at him, her heart tightening as the memory of her mother’s death washed over her. He continued gently, “Daphne and the others need it. Can you, little darling?”
“I can.” She cleared her tears. Her dad kissed her forehead and stood up, holding her hand strongly. “I’m going to miss Viscount Bridgerton.”
“And so will his family.”
Daisy did her best to try and be there for them. Anthony, as the now head of the family, was too busy dealing with formalities of the situation. Daphne was trying to distract her younger siblings, so she spent most of her time helping her too.
At one point, she went to the kitchen to fetch water for little Eloise. On her way, she noticed Benedict crying to himself behind some furniture. Her heart clenched. Not finding a better thing to do, she neared his position and took out the daisy she always wore in her hair. He lifted his gaze for a second, and Daisy handed him the flower without saying a word.
Benedict stared at it, then at her. There was something in her eyes—an understanding, a quiet sympathy that made his chest tighten. He nodded gratefully. She offered him a faint smile and turned to leave, giving him more time to himself, just as he needed.
Daisy lived in a different part of Mayfair, so when vacations were over, she went back to her usual life and managed to share letters with Daphne. It was natural for the Bridgertons to take distance and process these hardships, hence the rest of that year there was less and less to be known of them.
The distance only made it clear for her that her affections for the second Bridgerton were more than a summer crush. She missed him dearly.
Although she did spend more summers in the company of the family, Benedict was never the same. He took interest in a free-like lifestyle, not even visiting Aubrey Hall as often as he would. Daisy remained close to the others, even more to Daphne, who grew up to be her best friend and the sister she never had.
But time always makes its twists and turns, and the unavoidable time for debut came to Daphne and her at the same time. Daisy, as naive as she once was, held hopes on Benedict laying his eyes on her for once.
“Enjoying the swooning and wooing, Miss Lancaster?” Benedict asked, as he caught her on a corner sipping a glass of lemonade.
“My Father seems to do so more than I do. But he managed to dodge half of the possible suitors.” Her eyes led to the mentioned man, who was chattering away with three young men.
“As expected from the Duke.” He chuckled.
“As expected from the Duke.” She added humorously. “What about you? Any debutante worthy of your attention? Or are you still adamant of doing as the ton wishes?”
“You are by far the most interesting debutante I have seen ever since I’ve attended these events. And that is a lot to say for it has been six years of torture.”
“Are you saying I’m worthy of courtship?” She lifted a brow while hinting a smile.
“Of course you are. I’ve always wanted to see which suitor would dare to handle the smart mouthed Daisy Lancaster.” Her smile turned bitter, as he dismissed the chance of him being a suitor.
Daisy thought that by debuting she would have more chances of seeing him and have a chance to call his attention. Sadly, she learned the hard way, that he was a lost cause. He showed up at events and left unannounced half the way. He avoided promenading and Daisy later found out he was mingling around with Madame Delacroix. That was a cut ending for her, because, one thing was knowing of his endeavors, but a very different one was seeing him doing so.
Daphne, on the other hand, held most of her attention and she considered it a blessing. Daisy was her keeper regarding her situation with Simon; the first one to know they would end up together, and the first one to find out they were expecting their first kid.
Although not marrying is considered unsuccessful, Daisy managed to make a turn on her reputation. Her father’s title and her strong character facade made her seem unreachable. What happens when someone sees something unreachable? They desire it. By the time her first season was over, she was determined to forget about him and find someone who actually wanted her back.
Since Daphne married, Daisy decided not to visit the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall. Instead, she accompanied her father on his Duke duties, becoming acquainted with his surroundings and people, all while focusing on her own future.
“Little Darling?” Daisy lifted her gaze from the desk in the library, where she was studying her father’s contracts. “Is there something wrong?”
“What do you mean, Papa?” She knew exactly what he meant. The man approached and sat in front of her.
“Well, it seems your demeanor has changed after your first season. Logically, of course. But I’m wondering whether this shift is due to a bad experience or not.” He spoke with his usual delicacy. “Don’t misunderstand me; I’m happy that you’re finally taking an interest in my legacy, it’s just…”
“I know,” Daisy sighed, closing the papers in front of her. “I guess the reality of my situation opened my eyes.”
“Regarding a certain Bridgerton?” He lifted a brow, his gaze not leaving hers. “You hide it very well, little darling. But I know you too much.”
Daisy stiffened, not expecting him to speak so directly, but her father’s perceptiveness was never in question. He could read her as easily as an open book. She met his eyes squarely. “Then you do know how it made me feel.”
“Only because I know you so well, Little Darling,” he said with a small smile. “It’s not that hard to see what’s written on your heart.”
She sighed deeply, the weight of the past season settling once more. “It’s not something I expected to be so… complicated,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “I thought I could handle it, but now…”
“Now it stings,” he finished softly, his voice full of understanding. “I know. I remember the sting well.” He paused, his voice dropping to something more sincere. “But I’m proud of you, Daisy. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She gave him a half-smile, but it was bittersweet. “Even if I become an old spinster?” she asked, though the question felt more like a challenge to her own heart than a real worry.
“Especially then,” he grinned, his eyes softening. “Even if it means I have to go to balls in my grave, I’ll keep dancing with you. And, if you insist, I could make a case to the Queen herself to make you a Duchess.” His wink was playful, but there was no hiding the affection behind it.
“Easy.” She mocked, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll catch up to your ability to charm in less than a year.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
The rest of the year was a bit more healing for Daisy. She got to visit Daphne, and apart from their usual gossiping, they both bonded over the duties of a Duchess. Daphne’s more comforting demeanor helped her feel less alone in her experience. The rumors of Daisy taking more interest in her father’s business weren’t passed by Eloise and Penelope, who insisted on discussing the intricacies of what it meant to be a woman in their fields. It gave Eloise a sense of hope, even if the burden of debuting weighed heavily on her.
Even if she wanted to, Daisy knew it would be impossible to avoid Benedict. But since she was the one who usually initiated their interactions, they naturally stopped happening. They waved and nodded at each other once a week when he went for Eloise, or when they passed each other in public spaces. Aside from that, Daisy was resolute in getting over him.
Before her second season began, her father took Daisy to visit family in France. There, her aunt—a woman of great experience in society—encouraged Daisy to embrace a new look. “You need a makeover,” her aunt said with a knowing smile. “It’s not about pretending to be someone else; it’s about reclaiming who you are. A woman like you shouldn’t hide in the shadows anymore.”
The idea of a makeover seemed frivolous at first, but something in her aunt’s words stirred something deep within Daisy. She wasn’t running from her past; she was simply preparing herself to step into a new chapter. The process was meticulous, from changing her wardrobe to altering her hairstyle. The results were subtle but striking. Daisy saw herself differently in the mirror—not as the girl who had been rejected by the one man she desired, but as a woman who could take control of her own future.
Her father’s approval of the transformation wasn’t as important as her own. For the first time in a long while, Daisy felt like she was living for herself. The quiet strength that had been buried under layers of expectation began to emerge. The future, for once, felt like something she could shape on her terms.
And in the blink of an eye, Lady Danbury’s traditional first ball came to life. Her arrival made heads turn and people gasp as she walked into the ballroom, accompanied by her father. Naturally, she made her way to the Bridgertons, where she knew Eloise would be in a state of utter paranoia while accompanied by Benedict.
“This is splendid!” Eloise said, her eyes wide. “Now all the attention is on you, Daisy. Wow, you didn’t have to go that far for me.” She joked. “Oh! There’s Pen.” And as quickly as she spoke, she was off.
“Add the fact that Anthony has finally decided to look for a wife.” Benedict commented, his charming smile not faltering even for a second. “But that is definitely nothing compared to how stunning you look, Miss Lancaster.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow, ignoring his compliment. “Anthony is settling?” She was deliberately baiting him. “I should apply to the list.” She said with a teasing smile, her eyes locked onto Benedict's as she watched for his reaction.
A flicker of surprise passed through Benedict's eyes, but he recovered quickly, though his smile faltered for just a moment. “Are you serious?” He asked, his voice a mix of amusement and something else—something deeper that he wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She challenged, her tone light, but there was an edge to her words, as though she were testing him. The thrill of making him uncomfortable stirred something in her.
“Daisy!” As if on cue, Anthony intercepted their interaction. “My old friend, what do you say about stirring the pot and giving the crowd a show of the most desired people of the night?”
“Evil and manipulative. Anthony Bridgerton, please never change.” Daisy chuckled as she accepted his arm, but her eyes never left Benedict’s. She gave him a small, almost dismissive nod, then turned back to Anthony.
While dancing they didn’t need to clear out the fact that this was in fact a friendly type of dance. Anthony wanted to remain as the main character for debutantes and other ladies for a better chance to find a good wife, and Daisy didn’t have any reason to not comply. Benedict, of course, had no idea of this arrangement. And the sight of her dismissing him to dance not with someone else but with his brother, stirred something unknown within him, something he wasn’t sure if he could begin to accept.
Summary: In the glittering world of high society, Belle Cowper has always stood in the shadow of her sister, Cressida—until an unexpected encounter with her nemesis, Benedict Bridgerton, sparks a desire to defy her family's expectations. As the Masquerade Ball approaches, Belle dares to embrace her boldness and seize the freedom she's always longed for.
word count: 6.1k
warnings: physical (once) and verbal violence.
A/N: hii, thanks for waiting if you did<3 lmk if you liked it in the comments :') if you'd like to read more of me i will be posting another benedict fanfic soon, so you can stay tuned to my profile. thanks again for reading and happy end of the year!! xx
As the dance came to an end all eyes were on the couple. It was odd enough to see the Benedict Bridgerton dancing, so imagine the ton’s surprise when they couldn’t even recognize the mysterious lady accompanying him. But he did; he recognized her, and even if he had met her multiple times before, this felt like seeing Belle’s true self for the first time. And he loved every second of it.
“It appears we have a crowd.” He whispered, so only she could hear. Belle’s eyes wandered around nervously.
“I shouldn’t attract this much attention...” Her concern made Benedict react, softly holding her hand and leading her towards a secluded corner. “Let’s wait for a few seconds before they get distracted again with another song, alright?” She nodded, while cautiously admiring him from behind. She was used to seeing him as her natural enemy in her envious eyes, but today all that grudge faded away and Belle reluctantly admitted to herself that he was painfully charming. “Come, we are safe.” He pulled her out of her thoughts, her body naturally following his lead as they moved outside the ballroom to the hallway.
“Someone could walk out here any second.” Belle said worried. “It’s your house, don’t you know a hidden and safer place?” At the question, the man’s eyes lightened as he let out a soft smile.
“I know the perfect spot.”
They walked through the hallway to a door that led to the back garden. Even from the inside one could see the enlightened and perfectly adorned walking path, but as she followed, Benedict moved even further. Every few seconds he turned to smile and squeeze her hand in reassurance, and Belle found herself blindingly trusting him. Now that they were at a decent distance from the house, she caught a glimpse of the spot he talked about. It was a gazebo, perfectly decorated with threads of leaves and small lights to illuminate them, as well as multiple kinds of flowers giving it a sense of life and color.
“It is indeed the perfect spot.” Belle said as she surrounded the place, the view was breathtaking. When facing Benedict, he had already taken off his mask.
“We are safe here, Miss Cowper.” He said her name for the first time as he walked dangerously close, to then lift his arms around her head. As Belle’s breath hitched, he untied the lace of the mask revealing her face to him. “There you are.” He said with an amused grin.
“Here I am.” She chuckled nervously, for he was still near her. “I followed your advice... and found a way to come.”
“Oh, I can tell.” His side grin made her heart flutter. “You look... astonishing, Miss Cowper. You have always been gorgeous unbeknownst to most, I must admit. Yet tonight, there seems to be a different light in you. It’s like seeing you being fully yourself in your greatest splendor, and dare I say, it made me breathless for a second. Additionally...” He trailed.
“Additionally?” Belle inclined her head with a hint of confidence due to his sincere words.
“It fascinates me.” He lifted a hand to trace strands of her long hair, usually put up in a bun, now cascading beautifully down her chest.
“If we are being honest, then it’s fair I admit tonight I could finally live what it feels to be charmed by the Benedict Bridgerton.” She grinned, while holding the hand that as touching his hair. “So indeed, perspectives have changed.”
“You know what?” He smirked at the feeling of her touch, now boldly holding the other hand. “I think my mind has always thought like this. Perhaps this instance helped to clarify what my mind has trying to deny.”
“Is that so?” Belle sang. “Then I am glad you are the only one I trusted to be with tonight.”
“How has it been so far?” He asked genuinely invested, as he swayed their interlaced hands in a natural motion. “To move freely at a ball, without worrying what your Mama or Cressida would say.” Belle laughed at his emotion and squeezed his grip.
“It has exceeded my expectations. Though I mostly give credits to the secret keeper that danced with me.” She admitted, making Benedict smile bashfully as he lowered his gaze.
“Are you sure you are quite inexperienced in the flirtatious department? Because you seem to be a natural...” His reaction made Belle tilt her head with curiosity, never seeing this side of him before.
“I am. I’ve never gotten this close to a suitor before.” He let out an amazed breath, putting on a thinking expression.
“So, you’ve never danced or interacted with a man before...” He began. “Does that also mean you have never been kissed?” The last word slipped out his lips with a hint of a smirk. Her, noticing the slight mocking tone, scoffed with a grin.
“Yes, it does mean that. Any issue with it?” She defensively asked, releasing from his grip and putting both hands on her hips. Benedict couldn’t help to laugh at her reaction, finding it somehow endearing.
“None at all.” He replied with a smile. “In fact, it comes in handy for what I’ve been thinking this whole evening.”
“Surely? Any hints on what would that be?” Belle asked weary as her hands lowered, clueless to his intentions. Noticing this, he stepped closer and took one of her hands again.
“Kissing you.” He said in a lower, more intimate tone, making her freeze for an instant. And that is when it got to her, the way he stared, talked, touched and danced with her all evening... he wanted her. He wanted to kiss her. After a small pause he lifted the back of his free hand to softly rose her face. “Will you let me, Miss Cowper?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Bridgerton.” Belle answered in such sweet tone that made Benedict’s heart flutter.
Without further a due, he gently cupped her face and pressed his lips against hers softly, considering he wanted to go slow for it was her first time. She was nervous, but it all seemed to feel right the second their lips touched, making her feel safe and even confident. Hence, Benedict didn’t count on Belle taking initiative as she began moving her lips softly yet surely. That second, he lost it. His free hand went to grab her hip as he fastened the pace and took back the lead of the kiss.
“Good Lord, you’re going to be my undoing.” He murmured over her lips, before closing the distance again. Belle whimpered as a reaction, making Benedict take advantage of her open mouth to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushed hers in a slow, deliberate exploration that sent shivers through her. “And taste sweeter than I imagined.” He added, pressing open kisses in her jaw, and then lowering to her neck. All she could do was closing her eyes and be open to all the new sensations he induced. Her hands found their way to his chest, trembling slightly as she felt the rhythm of his heartbeat mirroring her own.
“Benedict,” she whispered, her voice shaky yet resolute, drawing his attention back to her eyes. “This is all so... new to me.”
He paused, his gaze searching hers with a tenderness that made her breath hitch. “I know,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t want to rush you. Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
But Belle surprised even herself. “Don’t stop,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks flushing as she leaned closer, brushing her lips to his once more.
Their kiss deepened again, more urgent this time, as though they were both trying to etch this moment into memory. Yet, just as Benedict’s hands began to skim the curve of her waist, a faint noise; a creak of a nearby door, shattered the fragile bubble of their privacy. Belle pulled away abruptly, her hand flying to her lips as her wide eyes darted toward the house. Benedict instinctively stepped between her and the direction of the noise, shielding her.
“It could be nothing,” he murmured, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.
Belle, suddenly all too aware of the impropriety of their situation, took a step back. “We shouldn’t be out here,” she whispered, her voice tinged with panic. “I shall leave soon before they find out I’m gone.”
“Wait.” He reached for her hand, holding it gently. “I’ll walk you back. Just-” His expression softened. “Don’t regret this. Please.”
Belle hesitated, torn between the pull of her emotions and the reality of the world waiting for them inside. “I won’t,” she finally said, her voice trembling but sincere. “But I really must leave. We may discuss... or continue... or whatever you need, later.”
“Later?” His eyes showed distrust, aware of her difficult situation. “Are you sure?”
“I promise.” She said, and to give property to her words, she gave him one last reassuring kiss. “Thank you for tonight.” And without giving him a chance to say anything else, Belle turned away, her steps light yet purposeful. The mask she wore, the one that kept her safe from the world’s expectations, settled firmly back in place as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving Benedict with the lingering taste of her promise and a faint ache in his chest.
Belle, in exchange, fought the internal emotions that haunted her on her way back home. On one side, she felt the adrenaline of his kiss and touch engraved on her body, still lingering even if she was physically already far from the ball. He held her with such security, emotion and desire; it made her feel alive, making her yearn to keep doing so. Yet on the other, her reality was a completely different thing. The anxiousness she felt at the mere idea of being discovered made all her insides crumble, and even if this magical night was the best she ever had, she wasn’t sure if she’d take this high risk again.
Soon enough the carriage arrived to the back of her house, where all the servants entered and exited. With the help of the coachman, who was Fiona’s partner, she entered the house safely and changed to her night clothes. Her maid was supposed to be taking her place at her bed, so she quietly made her way to the bedchamber. Belle’s heart was beating fast when turning the handle, and it ended threatening to be out of her throat the second Cressida, her mother, and a low headed Fiona waited for her arrival.
“You had a great night, I presume.” Araminta Cowper said sharply, making Belle’s body shudder in fear of her reaction.
“Did Benedict Bridgerton entertain you?” Cressida added with a hypocrite smile.
“I-I...” She mouthed.
“Don’t.” Her mother cut her off. “I had no idea you could be so shameless, selfish, and fool enough to think you could get your own way. Overshadowing your sister while dancing with that promiscuous man, compromising a supposedly loyal servant, and for the first time ever: ignoring a command I give.” She stepped closer. “You are a disappointment. A disgrace to the Cowper name. If you didn't exist, we would have the means to have already married Cressida.” Belle felt her soul crashing with such harsh words, her body trembling with the pain inflicted by them as the tears fell down to her face.
“Mama, I think she should get punished.” Cressida said.
“Oh, she will. Fiona is no longer a servant in this house. Since we can’t afford a replacement, you will be our newest maid.”
“What? No, Mother I beg you, leave her out of this. It’s my fault, not hers.” Belle tried to stand for Fiona, since she couldn’t even stand for herself. “You can’t! This is-” A harsh slap cut her words short, making her fall to the ground.
“Enough with the insolence, Isabelle. Now be thankful we aren’t kicking you out, even more; if you continue to be disobedient and insolent, or even breathe near Benedict Bridgerton, I swear I’ll marry you off to the 75-year-old widowed I know in France. Are we clear?” Araminta stared down at her. All Belle could do was nod in defeat.
“Oh, and by the way,” Cressida added. “You won’t be attending social events until I marry.”
And with that, both women left the room to her and now former servant. Fiona didn’t take a second to fall and hold Belle as she cried her soul out, defeated not just by the events of tonight, but by the constant crushing weight of her life. What did it all mean, this cruel, suffocating world she lived in? Her heart ached not just from the cruel punishment she’d endured, but from the helplessness that had always clung to her. She had never had the luxury of choice, of freedom. All she’d ever wanted was to breathe, to feel something beyond the constraints of her family’s manipulations. And now, even that; what little she’d found in the brief moments with Benedict, had been ripped away.
“Your Mother is wrong Belle, you aren’t worthless.” Fiona reassured. “I will be fine; I will never leave you alone.”
“I... I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” She said as she controlled her sobs.
“You won’t.” Fiona secured as her grip tightened. “We will find a way out; you just have to hold on. I can help from the outside now.”
Belle tried to hold on to that small hope, even if it was dumb. Because it was all she could do for now; wait, hold on, and hope.
*
It wasn’t the Art Gallery three days later that made Benedict doubt on Belle’s wellness, his gut told him something was wrong ever since she left that night at the Masquerade Ball. But what the event did do, was confirm his theory, for only Araminta and Cressida showed up, and the latter didn’t waste a second to give him a knowing stare and finally a mocking grin. She even had the audacity to still be friends with Eloise, and create an excuse for Belle’s absence. She caught a fever. Given the nature of those women, Benedict was scared to ask or act in fear of it affecting Belle in whatever state she was.
“Brother, are you well?” His sister asked on the carriage, as he couldn’t hide his distress.
“Oh, sure thing. It’s just... the gallery was disappointing.” He brushed off, and Eloise seemed to buy it. On his way home, he clings to the hope that her absence was going to be temporary.
Four days after the showing. Horse racing. Araminta and Cressida alone. No trace of Belle. She didn’t feel like coming, they said. If he was already in distress, right now he was aching. This time even Francesca noticed his demeanor. He brushed off again, thinking there was still hope.
Five days after the horse racing. Earl’s garden party. Araminta and Cressida alone. No trace of Belle. She was visiting the countryside, they said. He reacted in anger, the lack of sleep taking its toll. A glass was pressed until broken and his hand hurt. This time Violet, who had been noting his change, forced him out the event. Violet asked. Eloise asked. Francesca asked. Even Anthony asked. He wouldn’t talk. He couldn’t. He still held onto the hope that Belle would return soon.
One day after the Earl’s Garden party. Benedict’s studio. Closed curtains, him sprawled in the coach. She was nowhere to be seen. He faced the truth; something happened to her. Eloise stormed in, walked aggressively and pulled him by the collar. She asked. He finally told the truth.
“What’s going on with you, Benedict?” Eloise asked, her voice filled with concern as she watched his state. His distress was no longer hidden, and he seemed lost in thought.
Benedict rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of his worry making him feel heavy. “Remember the girl from the Masquerade Ball?” he began quietly, almost hesitantly, as if reluctant to voice the truth.
Eloise nodded, her brow furrowing in realization. “Belle,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing in thought.
He nodded; his gaze distant. “It was her. She came in hiding. Cressida and her mother forbade her from attending... We were together, and I can’t shake the feeling that something happened to her.”
Eloise didn’t need any more explanation. “She hasn’t been to any event ever since. That’s four times now, Benedict. Something’s wrong.”
“Help me, we need to find clues of what happened without involving with her family. I fear if we do something reckless it will fall on her.” His sister listened and nodded, her mind already trying to think of an outing.
“Who keeps more secrets than everyone else from people? Apart from Whistledown.” Benedict’s brain clicked.
“Madame Delacroix.” He stood up. “Let’s move.” Soon after, the Bridgerton siblings were in a carriage heading to the modiste’s shop. As they entered, the familiar tinkling of the bell above the door announced their arrival, and Madame Delacroix greeted them with a serviceable smile.
“Bridgertons, how may I help you today?” she asked with practiced politeness. Eloise glanced around to ensure no one else was listening.
“Madame, we’re aware of your collection of ton secrets,” Eloise said, her voice low and urgent. “They could be used for ill purposes, but today, more than ever, we need them for good.” Delacroix studied them both for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. After a tense silence, she nodded, signaling for them to continue.
“What is it you want to know?” she asked, her French accent smooth but with a hint of wariness.
“Belle Cowper.” Benedict blurted the name, his voice betraying his anxiety. “What has happened to her?”
At the mention of Belle’s name, Madame Delacroix’s expression shifted. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes flickered with recognition. She looked toward the door, then back at them, as if weighing the decision. “Wait here,” she said, her voice low but firm. She quickly moved toward the back of the shop and shut the door behind her.
Benedict and Eloise exchanged a glance, nerves prickling their skin as they waited in silence. A few minutes passed before the workers’ door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped out. Benedict’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her.
“Mister and Miss Bridgerton,” She began. “I’m Fiona.”
“Former maid.” She lowered her gaze. “Madame Delacroix gave me a job for a while. But you must know what happened to Miss Cowper.”
As she put on a bitter expression, she began explaining everything that happened to Belle ever since she returned from the Masquerade Ball. How her mother and Cressida abused of her, and according to Fiona’s partner, she was treated as another servant. Busy all day with house chores and attending Cressida and Araminta to whatever they needed. It was horrifying.
“We must do something.” Benedict quipped.
“I hoped you would say that, Mr. Bridgerton, but you mustn't take this lightly. If we make a plan to save her and it fails, her destiny is worse. She could be sent to France and marry a 75-year-old widowed.” The mere idea of it made Benedict’s insides crumble. Belle not only being far away from him, but in the arms of another man she would never want in a million years.
“We must manipulate the situation.” Eloise said determined. “I can make use of my friendship with Cressida.”
“With all due respect, Miss Bridgerton, we could plan many things. But in this society, only one thing gives a woman security.” Fiona said, making his sister frown, but he immediately got the clue.
“Marriage.” He sentenced, and Eloise gasped. She instantly turned at him.
“Benedict. Are you really considering...?”
“Eloise,” He began. “I’ve known Belle for many years, mostly as someone who kept up with me and put me in my place. But those intimate moments we shared... conversations, looks, laughs where I could truly know and see her, changed something within me and kept me like that ever since, for good. These weeks, not only far, but without notice of her, adding now the knowledge of the suffering she has been put through, have been genuinely the most challenging of my entire life. Even if this wasn’t the predicament, my body and soul would find a way to notice one way or another that she is the one for me. Always has, and she has been in the front of my nose for ages. So, if you ask me whether I’m sure of saving the woman I love by marrying her as it always was meant to be, I would have to say I fucking am.” The strength and determination in his voice charged the room with emotion, and Eloise, who had never seen her brother like this before, felt a deep surge of pride for him. Her eyes brightened, and she found herself smiling softly at his resolve.
“Alright then,” she said with a trembling voice, her smile softening with a mixture of pride and concern. “Let’s create a plan to save my future sister-in-law.”
Benedict’s smile mirrored hers, though his was filled with both love and anticipation. “Let’s save my future wife.”
*
Belle sighed to herself as she walked through the back garden of the state, a big bucket of dirty water in her hands ready to be tossed away. Unlucky for her, no one saved her breakfast, so she wasn’t strong enough to carry it and ended up dropping the water all over to herself. She wasn’t even upset about it at this point, since her gray clothes were ugly already, dirtying them up wouldn’t make a difference. This has been her life for the past two weeks, doing as her mother said; taking Fiona’s place. The lack of social events was a blessing in disguise, for she didn’t have to tend Cressida nor be sadder than she was of once again not seeing Benedict.
Oh, Benedict.
Her predicament not only served her to miss him every second of the day but to relive every moment they shared, specifically the ones at the Masquerade ball. Her mind was filled with worry of how was he doing, if he wondered where she was, or if he was upset because she couldn’t keep her promise of getting back to him. Belle’s thoughts were a constant whirlwind. How can someone who has been an incidental character of her life suddenly mean so much to her?
Belle was snapped out of her thoughts when hearing a carriage parking in the front entrance, and she was about to go find out when a pull in her arm stopped her. She turned; it was Cressida.
“What is it?” She asks clueless. Her older sister huffed in annoyance as she pulled her inside, Belle following.
“Mama said you must be in your room.” As she was following already, she let her out her grasp. Belle was at a point in life where she didn’t even ask why, she just accepted.
“Is it because someone came to visit?” She spoke when she entered the room. Cressida stared from the frame of the door.
“Not just someone. The Bridgertons. Hence, you are staying here.” And after giving a wicked smile, she closed the door on Belle’s nose and locked her in without giving her a chance to fight.
“Cressida! You can’t do this!” Her cries were met with silence. Belle slumped against the door; her fists clenched. She wouldn’t let them silence her, not this time.
All of a sudden, a new force has reborn within her. Her will to try and be happy came back in a dashing realization, and she wasn’t going to give in, not anymore. Belle paced back and forth, her mind racing. She wouldn’t let her mother and Cressida control her, not when the Bridgertons, people who might actually care were here. Her eyes darted to the window.
The drop wasn’t far, and a trellis ran up the side of the house. With a determined breath, she grabbed her shawl, tied it around her waist, and hoisted herself out the window. Her heart pounded as her feet found the latticework, and she carefully climbed down, her fingers scraping against the wood. Once her feet hit the ground, she didn’t pause. She darted around the side of the house and slipped through a side door, moving swiftly through the halls until she reached the drawing room.
The Cowper estate was cold and unwelcoming, a reflection of its inhabitants. Benedict, flanked by Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury, stepped into the drawing room, their presence like a storm breaching the smug serenity of the Cowpers. Lady Cowper and Cressida were seated with an air of practiced indifference, their faces masks of poise that betrayed nothing.
"Lady Cowper," Violet began, her voice calm but steely. "We have come to discuss your daughter, Miss Belle Cowper."
Lady Cowper tilted her head with feigned confusion. “Belle? What about her? She’s perfectly fine.”
“Perfectly fine?” Benedict’s voice cut through; his tone laced with barely contained fury. “Then why is it that we’ve heard reports of her being treated as a servant in her own home?”
Cressida smirked, fanning herself lazily. “Reports? From whom? Certainly not Belle herself.”
“She’s indisposed at the moment,” Lady Cowper said smoothly. “Resting in her room. A delicate constitution, you understand.”
"How convenient," Lady Danbury snapped, her cane tapping the floor for emphasis. "Delicate or not, keeping a grown woman locked away like a caged animal is not only deplorable but an insult to her very dignity."
The door to the drawing room burst open, and all heads turned as Belle stormed in. Her hair was slightly askew, and her face flushed with exertion, but her eyes blazed with defiance.
“Isabelle!” Lady Cowper exclaimed, her voice sharp. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done years ago,” Belle said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands. She turned to Violet, Benedict, and Lady Danbury. “They’ve kept me locked away, treating me like a prisoner in my own home. I’ve been silenced and humiliated, but I won’t stay quiet anymore.”
Lady Cowper’s face turned pale. “You ungrateful-”
“I’m not ungrateful,” Belle interrupted, her voice rising. “I’m angry. I’ve had enough of your lies and your cruelty. You’ve controlled every aspect of my life, and I’m done letting you.”
Cressida, regaining her composure, let out a mocking laugh. “And what do you think you’ll accomplish, Isabelle? You’ll just end up as a bigger scandal than you already are.”
Belle turned to her sister, her expression unwavering. “I don’t care about your opinions, Cressida. You’ve spent your life tearing others down to make yourself feel important. I won’t let you do it to me anymore.”
Lady Danbury stepped forward, her cane striking the floor with a sharp crack. “I applaud your courage, Miss Belle. And as for you two” she glared at Lady Cowper and Cressida “If you so much as breathe near Belle in a way I disapprove of, I’ll see to it that every respectable family in London shuns you entirely.”
Cressida’s smugness faltered. “And what of her reputation?” she countered. “I could tell everyone about her and Benedict. What will happen then?”
Benedict stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “If you want to gossip, go ahead. But it won’t matter, because Belle doesn’t need saving. She’s stronger than you’ll ever be and has mine and my family’s support in any case. And if you think she’ll fall because of your threats, you don’t know her at all.”
The room fell silent, and for the first time, Lady Cowper seemed to deflate.
Lady Danbury’s cane struck the floor sharply as she stepped forward, her commanding presence filling the space. “Here is your one choice, Araminta Cowper,” she declared, her voice cutting through the room like steel. “Miss Belle Cowper will legally become my protégé. You will provide her full dowry, and you will relinquish any claim to her belongings the day she marries. Consider it a mercy that I allow you this opportunity to avoid complete disgrace.”
Cressida’s voice trembled as her fear began to seep through her usual bravado. “And how will we face society after this?” she demanded, her tone a mix of panic and indignation. “How will we go to events? How will I marry?”
Lady Danbury turned her sharp gaze toward Cressida, her lips curling into a wry smile. “Ah, so there it is—the real concern. You.” She leaned slightly on her cane, her words slicing like a blade. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before treating your sister as less than human. But fear not, Miss Cressida Cowper. With your charming disposition, I’m sure society will be forgiving. Or not. That is hardly my concern.”
Lady Cowper finally spoke, her voice tight with barely contained fury. “This is outrageous. You can’t just take Belle from us.”
“Oh, I can,” Lady Danbury countered with an arched brow. “And I already have. Do you truly wish to test me further, Araminta? I’ve ruined families for less.”
Violet Bridgerton, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her tone soft but resolute. “This is the best outcome for everyone, Lady Cowper. You retain your reputation, and Belle gains the freedom and respect she deserves. If you refuse, I assure you, the alternative will not be so kind.”
Belle, who had been standing quietly, finally found her voice. She stepped forward, her gaze steady as she faced her mother and sister. “You’ve spent years controlling and belittling me, making me feel small. But I won’t allow it anymore. I deserve happiness, and I will fight for it.”
Cressida’s face crumpled, her usual confidence crumbling under the weight of reality. “But what about me?” she whispered, almost pitifully.
Belle’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You’ve always thought of yourself first, Cressida. Maybe it’s time you learn to stand on your own, just as I’ve had to.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Lady Cowper, sensing that she had lost, straightened her posture and spoke through clenched teeth. “Fine. If this is how it must be, then so be it. Take her.”
Benedict stepped closer to Belle, his presence grounding her. “You’re free now,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. “You don’t have to fight this alone anymore.”
Lady Danbury gave a satisfied nod, her gaze sweeping the room like a queen surveying her court. “Well then, I believe this concludes our business. Come, Belle. Let us leave this dreary place.”
As they turned to go, Cressida called out, her voice tinged with desperation. “Belle... I-”
Belle paused, glancing back with a calm but resolute expression. “Goodbye, Cressida.”
And with that, she walked out of the room, her head held high, leaving behind the suffocating weight of her past.
*
After changing into a more suitable dress, Belle descended the grand staircase with a newfound lightness in her step, though the weight of uncertainty still lingered in her heart. She entered Lady Danbury’s drawing room, where the formidable matron was seated, her ever-watchful cane resting beside her. Violet Bridgerton sat across from her, offering a kind smile as Belle approached.
“Thank you,” Belle began, her voice soft but earnest. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness.”
Lady Danbury waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense, young woman. Consider it a down payment for the greatness I expect of you.”
Belle managed a faint smile, curtsied, and then turned to Benedict, who stood leaning casually against the mantel, his dark eyes warm and inviting. “May I speak with you for a moment?” she asked, tilting her head toward the doorway.
Benedict pushed off the mantel with an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose your hero can spare a moment from his busy schedule of standing around and looking handsome.”
“Modesty suits you,” Belle quipped as they stepped into an open balcony. She hesitated, fidgeting with her hands. “It’s... strange,” she began. “Living with Lady Danbury, I mean. She’s been kind, but it feels... overwhelming. And Cressida, I am telling you, she won’t stop. I know she’s plotting some way to ruin us. I can feel it.”
“Well,” Benedict said with a lopsided grin. “You didn’t think I walked into this without a plan, did you?”
Belle raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to ask?”
“There is a way to save us from scandal and secure your future,” He said, wiggling his eyebrows like an overenthusiastic stage actor.
Belle crossed her arms. “I swear, if this involves disguises or some elaborate ruse-”
“Not at all,” he interrupted. “It’s quite simple. We get married.”
Her mouth fell open, her cheeks reddening. “Married? Benedict, that’s- have you lost your mind?”
“Completely,” he admitted cheerfully. “But think about it: no more worrying about Cressida, no more whispers or rumors. You’ll have my name, my family’s protection, and, bonus, you get to boss me around legally.”
“Tempting,” Belle said dryly. “But marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly. And I certainly wouldn’t want you to feel obligated”
“Oh, yes,” Benedict stopped her yet again, clutching his chest dramatically. “Poor me, shackled for life to the woman I love, building a home with her, making her as happy as she deserves. Truly, a fate worse than death.”
Belle rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re deflecting,” he countered, his tone softening. “Belle, this isn’t about duty or obligation. It’s about you. I would endure any scandal, face any gossip, just to see you free and happy. Marrying you isn’t a sacrifice, it’s everything I want.”
Her breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her doubts. “Benedict...”
He stepped closer, his expression earnest. “But only if you feel the same. If not, I’ll support you no matter what. You have my word.”
Belle searched his eyes, finding nothing but honesty and a warmth that made her heart ache in the best way. Slowly, she smiled, her resolve softening. “Well,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “If I’m going to marry anyone, it might as well be someone I can torment endlessly.”
“That’s the spirit,” Benedict said, grinning.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Benedict’s smile lit up the room, his boyish charm shining through as if the sun itself had found its home in his expression. “You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.” He said softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.
Before Belle could reply, he closed the space between them, cupping her face with the gentlest touch. For a moment, he hesitated, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was at once tender and electrifying. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of warmth and certainty. Belle’s hands found their way to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat mirroring her own.
When they finally parted, Belle couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, her cheeks flushed. “Well,” she said, her voice teasing, “I suppose that seals the deal.”
“Just to be clear.” Benedict replied with a smirk, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I fully intend to make you regret agreeing to this.”
“Too late.” she shot back playfully. “I’ve been regretting it since the moment I met you.”
He laughed, the sound rich and joyous, and pulled her into another embrace. As they stood together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of uncertainty that had plagued Belle for so long melted away.
Somewhere in the drawing room, Lady Danbury let out an exaggerated sigh. “About time.” she muttered, her cane tapping impatiently. “Now, if the two of you are done being sentimental, we have a wedding to plan. And trust me, it’s going to be spectacular.”
Belle and Benedict exchanged a glance, their smiles widening. Together, they stepped back into the room, hand in hand, ready to face whatever lay ahead. In that moment, Belle knew she had found her home—not in a grand estate or a title, but in the man who stood beside her. And as they prepared to embark on this new chapter, one thing was certain: their story was just beginning.
Swallowing nervously, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold this position. Having sit down for over an hour now. Feeling the sun bath on your face through the window. You needed to move, your body needed to change before you would actually turn into a statue. Taking a deep breath, you went for it. Turning your head towards the sun like a flower would do. Eyes closed to take in the sunlight for you could use all the sun’s blissful energy right now. – “Uh-uhm!” – you heard loud, making you turn your head. Benedict looking past his easel. Gesturing at you to take on your previous position. It made you sigh annoyingly loud to him.
“Are you nearly done?” – you asked with some irritation. Feeling your nose itch, you were even afraid to scratch it. To not ruin his sketch. Benedict came looking past his easel once more, holding his pencil between his fingers. – “You can’t hurry perfection. It takes a lot more time with you. I have to adjust so much to even make this sketch worthy of appeal.” – he replied with a teasing smile. – “Har har.” – you laughed out dryly. If you didn’t know him this well, you would’ve been insulted. Yet it was just his way of teasing. Throwing in sarcastic and laughing comments to make everything lightful.
Benedict focused back his sketch as you sighed again. – “I heard that.” – he spoke from behind his easel, not even bothered to look around. It made you cross your arms annoyed. Thinking half a second about it before setting back in to your position. Benedict appeared once more from the easel, making you throw him a sarcastic smile back. He smiled sarcastically back at you before gesturing at you to turn your head back right. So you did, watching him disappear behind paper once more.
Your gaze looked around the room to occupy yourself. Needing anything to fight this boredom. Gaze gliding to the side seeing one of his paintbrushes on a low cabinet. Pressing your lips together, you had an interesting idea. Remaining still as Benedict’s head popped up once more. Waiting for him to hide behind his paper once more to snatch the paintbrush. You held it underneath your nose, lips puckered up to keep it there. Now you only had to wait for him to look once more.
Benedict looked past his paper to you. Needing to do a double-check, eyelashes blinking rapidly with surprise. You could barely contain your laughter. Catching the paintbrush in your hands once you laughed loud. – “Was I supposed to find that amusing?” – he said making you roll your eyes at him. Having enough of modelling for him, you jumped off the stool. – “I…I wasn’t done yet.” – Benedict called out. You puffed his comment away, coming to take a look at his progress. Your eyes widening. Cheeks bloating up with anger. – “Benedict!” – you shouted loud slapping him hard against his arm.
“Au.” – he chuckled out. You snatched the paper from the easel to show it up more closely to his face.- “You have been sketching the fruit bowl beside me this entire time while I sat there still!” – you tried really hard not to freak out, wanting to scold him for making you sit so boringly long with not even a single line of you drawn out. Benedict started to laugh as it angered you even more. Slapping your hand against his shoulder numerous times to punish him. Benedict unable to stop laughing.
“Y/n be gentle with him.” – Anthony said, speaking from the door opening. Having heard some commotion whilst passing, unable to resist looking. Looking upon the scenery of you beating his brother up. – “He!” – you called out pointing firm at Benedict to make your statement. Cheeks bloated from frustration. Sucking in the rest of your words for even though you knew Anthony for a long time now, you would not argue with him. You let go of Benedict so he could straighten his jacket. When Anthony walked out, you threw him an irritated glare. He could only smile annoyingly charming back at you. Having his head tilted, you so wanted to punch him again.
You helped Benedict clean up his sketching material. Collecting paintbrushes from all around. Benedict stood with his back to you, humming whilst putting his pencils back into the long wooden box. Biting your lip you weren’t sure how to say this. Express what you had decided a few days ago and had been wanting to tell him ever since. – “I’m going to do something different this season.” – you said out loud.
“Like what change your hair?” – he added a snort to mock you just that little extra. – “No.” – you replied firm, hands resting on your hips. Taking a deep breath, you let your hands fall to your side. – “I’m going to find myself a husband this season.” – you let out without warning. – “What?” – Benedict responded loud, nearly startling with how loud his voice was. – “It is my third season, Ben.” – you explained leaning back against his desk, looking painfully away.
“It’s my third season too.” – he answered with a shrug. – “But you’re a boy!” – you let out, gesturing at him. – “Man.” – he corrected you with a smug smile. – “Boy.” – you corrected, corrected him with a sarcastic smile. – “Clearly nothing is working for me as I don’t have any men falling over me.” – you told him. – “Would hurt their knees.” – he answered by bringing his knee up with a pained expression. Sighing loud, you sometimes found it irritating that when you tried to be serious, he was trying to make everything funny.
Feeling already too irritated that he wouldn’t listen properly to you, you had enough. Waving your hand to dismiss the conversation. Benedict removed himself from against his table, rushing over to you. Grabbing you by the wrist to stop you from charging out. – “Alright, alright I’m listening.” – he said tugging at you to stay put. You gave him a glare to not make fun anymore. He responded by throwing his hands up in defence. You exhaled deep making him look with actual concern at you. Throwing you those sweetfull eyes with slight furrowed brows. Trying to get a grip of your internal emotions.
“I am just hopeless.” – you let out, catching your face with your hands. – “Nah.” – he responded loud making you look between the gaps of your fingers. Hand slowly lowering at his dazzling smile. He came sliding his arm over you. – “You just need someone to teach you to flirt. To woo men.” – he responded giving your cheek a good poke. – “I don’t need to learn flirting!” – you exclaimed, feeling a bit offended. Benedict clicked his tongue. – “Your flirting is as stiff as a broomstick.” – he answered with a laugh.
You rolled your eyes at him, arms crossing. Hating to admit that he was spot on. Your flirting was bad. If it was any good, you would’ve found a match a few seasons ago. – “But do not worry my dear Y/n.” – he began pressing a hand on his chest. – “I will take the hard task on me to do so.” – smiling nobly back at you. You elbowed him back for that slight mockery that he always slipped in. He doubled over, rubbing his chest watching you take your leave.
The weather had settled with a soft warmness. Birds chirping happily up in the air. Waiting at the side of the gravely path. Waiting for perhaps the worst day of your life. – “Good day Y/n.” – Colin greeted you with a nod. You curtsied back at him, getting pulled back up by your arm by his brother Benedict. – “Alright, alright.” – he waved his brother away. Colin blinked confused, turning on his heel to keep up with his other siblings. You looked surprised down feeling him slap a fan against your chest to accept.
“What… what is this for?” – you asked confused examining the fan. – “To begin your first lesson.” – he replied with a teasing smile. Taking you by the arm to lead you in the opposite direction of his siblings. – “What… what do I have to do.” – you asked tapping the fan against your palm. – “You’re a girl. Flutter your eyelashes and wave your fan. Men are simple creatures. They would fall over a pleasing smile easily.” – he told you. – “Alright I’ll show you.” – you paused turning more towards him.
“No, you will show them.” – Benedict pointed at a few men standing underneath a tree. Chattering. – “Absolutely not.”- you let out already turning around to run away. Benedict knew what you were up to. Grabbing you by the shoulders. – “Come on.” – he forced out, pushing you forwards while you kept protesting. Leaning back against his hands so he couldn’t shove you so easily over to them. – “No, Ben please…” – you begged regretting ever asking. – “Don’t be a baby, you are the one that wanted a man.” – he breathed out, pushing you forwards to the men. You stumbled forwards as the men turned their heads curious at you.
“Gentlemen, I believe you are familiar with miss Y/l/n.” – he addressed. The men tipped their hats at you. You only gawked at them, feeling too shy to do anything. It took an elbow nudge from Benedict to get you started. – “What… what splendid weather… is it not.” – you uttered out, flashing your eyelashes perhaps a bit too much and fanning hard. – “Are… are you quite alright miss Y/l/n?” – one of the men asked. You nodded with a hard swallow. Benedict snatched the fan from you, having enough of your tornado wind coming at you.
Smiling sheepishly and awkwardly back at them. He grabbed you by the shoulder, leading you away from them. – “Sorry.” – you told him, feeling ashamed. Benedict pinched his nose bridge. – “No, no it’s alright.” – he sighed out. – “We’ll just go again.” – he added. – “What?!” – you called out in a panic. Panic that he would endure this agony on you more. – “Just…” – he started snatching the fan out of your hands. – “no more of this.” – you gasped loud when he threw the fan behind him into the lake. Watching it settle on the surface for a moment before the weight of the water drowned it.
He forced you towards two other gentlemen. Introducing you and encouraging you to flirt with them. – “I… I truly like… your… hat.” – you nearly shouted out the word ‘hat’ for you had no other clue than what to compliment him on. Benedict shook his head, rubbing his fingers over his forehead in disappointment. With another embarrassment, he led you away. Forcing you towards new gentlemen for a third time. This time you could barely utter a word. Feeling extremely shy with five men staring back at you.
Not able to contain the attention. Stuttering and stumbling over your words like a blathering buffoon. You were relieved that Benedict didn’t drag you for a fourth time to any gentlemen. The first day of lessons was already humiliating enough. So humiliating you immediately left for home. Not even taking the time to greet the other Bridgertons. Needing to get out of here as quickly as possible. To lay down on your bed and wallow in self-pity for how terribly right Benedict was. You were awful at flirting.
Loud muttering deafened out as your hearing couldn’t settle on one voice. Blinking almost tiredly as you stood by the buffet. A presence sliding next to you. – “Lesson number two.” – Benedict said, holding two fingers up. Sighing softly, you turned more to him, listening to what he had to say. – “You my terrible flirter.” – he booped your nose with a teasing smile. – “must talk to five men tonight.” – he finished. – “Five?” – you whined out at how difficult he was making it for you. – “Would you like to have seven then?” – he answered with a cheeky smile.
As a response you gave him a shove. – “Oh and I’ll be watching you Y/n.” – he called out as you had already turned half away. – “Like you have anything else to do.” – you muttered under your breath. Leaving to find five hopeless men to chat with. Feeling Benedict’s presence not far away as you ventured from room to room. Stalking you like a hawk. You found your first victim by the drinks. Approaching him fast.
“Good evening my lord.” – you called out, startling the poor man. Making him choke on his drink as the content splashed up in his face. Staring in shock back at him. He wiped his nose dry, coughing loud. – “I’m so sorry my lord.” – you apologized. Feeling too embarrassed to even continue the conversation. You turned on your heel, meeting briefly with Benedict’s confused gaze. Taking a run for it to venture into another room.
Hoping to get rid of the embarrassment you couldn’t seem to shake. You found another seemingly victim, approaching him with more ease. Laid-back to not give him the fright of his life. – “Good evening my lord.” – you started with a curtsy. The man bowed back at you. – “Lord Morrison, I’ve heard you like dogs is that true?” – you asked to stir up a conversation. The man’s expression turned blank. – “My dog recently died.” – he let you know. Lip quivering as he dropped into loud sobs. – “That… that is unfortunate…” – you answered with awkwardness as you had not expected such a reaction from him.
Foolishly you backed away. – “What happened, what did you say to make the poor man cry.” – Benedict spoke, falling in line with you. – “Apparently his dog died.” – you answered. Seeing how Benedict had to press his lips together to not laugh at that. To not laugh at how much of a fool you had made of yourself. – “Must I really continue this?” – you sighed out, not in the mood for it anymore. – “Yes, you must.” – he answered giving you a little shove to get you back on your path.
So you did trying to complete your task before the end of the night. Filling your evening with walking and mustering up the courage to speak to men. Speak with little effects as seemingly all that you said was not pleasing enough for men to make them fall over you. Utterly exhausted you let yourself drop in a chair. Having lost sight of Benedict. Feet hurting from wandering around for hours. If you could, you would flop your shoes off and rub your pained feet for all to see.
“You must be demanding.” – a man’s voice spoke, catching your sudden attention. Turning to look at the voice, you met up with a gentleman standing beside you. – “I beg your pardon?” – you blurted out, caught off guard. He chuckled deeply, hands shyly folded before him. – “I said you must be demanding.” – he repeated himself. Yet it only raised more questions with you to what he was referring to. He noticed the confusion on your face, gesturing at your feet.
“Your feet are in discomfort. It must be from dancing all night.” – he made himself clear. – “That is where you are wrong my lord.” – you replied with a smile. – “Is that so?” – he answered intrigued. You hummed loud, showing him your dance card. Dangling emptily from your wrist with a cord. – “Good gracious!” – he blurted out. – “These men must truly be blind then.” – he added. You fluttered confused with your eyelashes when he took your dance card in his hand. – “To not ask a fine lady as yourself for a dance.” – you watched as he wrote his name down.
You retrieved your hand, admiring the name on your dance card. The first ever name written down. – “If your feet allow you, I would very much like that dance.” – he spoke. You jumped up out of excitement. – “They allow it.” – answering with euphoria. The man laughed at your silliness. Taking your hand to lead you up to the dance floor. Coming to stand before you.
You greeted him before the music started. Violins and cello’s filling the room with their notes. Both of you stepped forwards, meeting there to step back. Stepping forwards once more to change positions, crossing with your backs at each other. Facing each other once more. Meeting again to come nearer with your side at his and back. He took your arms, letting you turn underneath them. When you weren’t facing him, you pressed your lips together to supress a wide smile. Filled with joy that a gentleman was dancing with you.
Benedict had been searching for you. For one moment, he had his attention drawn away. Only to find you nowhere near when he turned back. Now he roamed the halls wonderingly in search of you. Following the strokes of violins and cello’s. Entering one of the big halls. Finding his brother at the side-line. Gently pushing a man out of the way by his shoulder, he made his way over.
“Colin have you seen Y/n?” – he panted out. Colin pointed forwards, making his brother turn his head to look. Eyes widening on spotting you on the dance floor. With another man. Watching you waltz with someone. Turn and press your back against his chest. Compelled to stand at the side-line and watch. Watch one of his closest friends share a dance, with a smile on her face.
“Aren’t you happy.” – Colin said nudging his brother in the side. Benedict smiled forced back at him. Unsure what to feel, but happiness was not the feeling he would describe. Staring unsettling back. Overwhelmed by something he could not name. The only thing that seemed clear was that it disgusted him. That he felt the urge to pull you away. To yell at you to stop for whatever possessed you. Tensing his jaw ever so lightly he wasn’t sure he could supress his expressions. Having a sense of passing out, he took a stumbling step backwards.
“Are you quite alright brother?” – Colin questioned. Benedict swiped his hand across his forehead, feeling that it was sweaty. Not wanting to explain himself to his brother, he took his leave. Disappearing into the crowd in the hopes to drown out the events from just now. Finding his way to the outdoors, the wind gave him a cold shock. Bringing him back to reality. He grabbed on tight to the railing of the balcony. Laughing loud. Laughing at how silly he was being. Silly for actually feeling bothered by it.
Was it not his intention to help you. Was it not why he chose to do so. Laughing even more at himself for being so ridiculous. You were only Y/n. Just Y/n that he had known almost his entire life. So why did it bother him then? After the dance, you searched for Benedict to let him know the great news. To show him your dance card with the man’s name on it. To show him you weren’t a complete failure this season. Yet no matter how thoroughly you searched, you did not find him. You guessed that was the end of his lesson. Returning to your parents afterwards to leave for home.
You stretched yourself out, coming to lay down on the blanket. Staring up at the clear blue skies with a satisfying exhale. – “Lord Kingsley came to my house this morning. He brought flowers for my mama.” – you spoke turning your head to the side. Looking upon Benedict’s face as he laid beside you. He sighed deep, still looking up to the heavens. – “That is what a true gentleman does. Oh and he likes chocolate too, admires poets just like you.” – you nudged Benedict in the side with your elbow.
He barely moved, staring bothered in front of him. He sighed soft, turning his head to you. – “You have been annoyingly charmed by him.” – he let out with a sarcastic smile. It made you click your tongue. Benedict moved his finger up, pressing it against your cheek. Pushing against it, forcing you to tilt your face away from him. He was too bothered to even look upon you. Sighing loud, you were looking back at the clear skies. Curling up a smile. – “Stop it.” – Benedict spoke. – “With what?” – you answered. – “You are thinking of him, stop it.” – he made himself clearer.
You exhaled deep, coming to sit up straight. – “You are no fun.” – you told him. Benedict came up as well, mimicking your words with childish mockery. Leading to you to give him another shove and get up. Taking your leave from him as you didn’t need his mockery today. Benedict sighed disappointed with himself that he had chased you away. That was not his intention. He just couldn’t stop himself from vexing over Lord Kingsley whenever you spoke of him.
Benedict clasped his hands together to rub any dirt off. A shadow falling over him. Blocking out the sun on his back. With furrowed brows, he turned around to look. Only to find lord Kingsley to his annoyance. Benedict got up, collecting the blanket from the ground. – “What do you want?” – he called out bitsy. The lord cleared his throat nervously. – “You are friends with miss Y/n are you not.” – he asked. – “Yes.” – Benedict replied harsh. Ready to take his leave as he could not stand to be in this man’s presence any longer. Yet Lord Kingsley moved to block out his path.
“I… I was wondering if you could assist me in a matter.” – Lord Kingsley asked fumbling with his hands. – “What matter?” – Benedict let out, carrying the blanket under his armpit. – “I…I heard you are exceptionally good with words… I was wondering if you would perhaps guide me into writing a poem for miss Y/n.” – He offered. Practically begged for him to help. Benedict could only stare blankly at him. Needing to process his request till he fully understood it. An immediate response coming out.
“No!” – loud and clear. – “I…I beg your pardon?” – the lord stuttered out, caught back by his harsh response. – “No!”- Benedict repeated, bumping hard against his shoulder. Storming off before he would wrestle the man. His patience had taken a peak as he couldn’t take it anymore. He had one conclusion. He couldn’t stand Lord Kingsley and he couldn’t stand that he was with you. Dropping the blanket with his mother and siblings, he went to search for you. Search for you, for he wanted you to know the truth. Know the truth about Lord Kingsley.
He found you near the woods. Staring mindlessly at the ducks in the lake further away. – “Benedict?” – you called out when he grabbed you roughly by your arm. Pushing you, dragging you away from any meaningless eyes. Forcing you underneath a willow tree away from society’s prying eyes. – “What is going on with you!” – you shouted, forcing your arm free. Benedict was panting. Unable to keep his eyes away from you. – “That man is a fraud!” – he let out, pointing somewhere beside him. – “Wh… who is?” – unsure to who he was referring too.
“Lord Kingsley.” – he spitted out his name with disgust. His reaction made you scoff loud, turning away in utter disbelieve that he would react this childish. – “You simply cannot comprehend that I for once am wanted.” – you told him. Benedict grabbed you firmly by the arm, forcing you to look at him. – “Comprehend? Comprehend? He speaks of poetry yet cannot even fantom himself to utter a single word. To lay down his feelings with compelling words that flutter your heart.” – he exclaimed, eyes scanning yours desperately for understanding.
“Like you?” – you answered a bit rude. Benedict gave your arm another tug, not wanting you to look away. Forcing you to keep your gaze locked. Captured as there was no escape. His eyes staring longingly back at you. – “What is it truly to admire a woman!” – he called out. His words catching you by the throat, making you nearly jump out of your skin. – “To look at her and feel inspiration?” – he added in a more settling tone.
“To delight in her beauty… so much so… that all your defences crumble…” – his eyes venturing down at your lips. Settling there for a moment before he flashed them back up. – “that you would willingly take on any pain… any burden for you.” – he spoke taking a step closer to you. Touching your arm with his hand. – “To honour your being.” – he breathed out. – “With my deeds and words.” - raising his hand to let his knuckles brush against your cheek. A heavy breath released from your lips, feeling a tug in your chest. Having the need to swallow to dampen the thoughts flashing your mind.
“For that is what a true poet would say.” – he spoke letting his hand rest there. His gaze flashing down to your lips once more. – “For that is what I say to you.” – he corrected himself. Your gaze lowered on his lips as well. Feeling your heart beat loudly in your chest. Relieved that it could not fall out of your chest. – “Ben…” – you whispered out leaning unconsciously closer to him.
Yearning for his lips on yours. Nearly feeling his breath on yours. Benedict allowed his other hand to hold your cheek. Cherishing your face in his palms. – “For you are all my inspiration Y/n.” – he whispered out before closing his eyes. Decreasing the distance between you. Letting his lips find yours. Pressing them gently on yours. Allowing them to settle there for a moment. Retrieving them with a shuddering breath.
Then his lips crashed down on yours once more. Craving more of you than he could ever imagine. Lips kissing you deeper, more rougher as you followed his pace. Grabbing for his back to let your fingers draw deep over his back. Needing him close, closer than he already was. Senses taking over as you became fully blinded by your surroundings. Hand moving to his neck as he deepened the kiss. Panting loud between short releases.
Out of breath, you parted ways. Yet not too far as he allowed his forehead to rest against yours. Panting out a laugh. You smiled back at him, flushed to the bone. He touched your chin with a wide smile before giving you another short kiss. – “I want us to have forever.” – he said. – “Starting from right now.” – you nodded as he took a step back. Taking your hand to lead you out from under the willow tree. For you needn’t be concerned about the season now. For you had romanced yourself a Mr. Bridgerton.
summary: benedict is a simp for his pregnant wife wearing a denim overall.
word count: 540.
After gently closing the door behind him, Benedict placed his keys on the entrance table, taking a deep breath. This quiet moment, when everything was calm and peaceful, was his favorite part of the day. It had been this way ever since you’d gotten pregnant, and he loved it; every little part of it. By 3:00 pm, you’d usually be curled up for your afternoon nap, the weight of the day’s demands catching up with you.
He tiptoed through the house, unable to stop his smile as he noticed all the baby things scattered across the living room. Little shoes, blankets, and the most adorable baby clothes he had ever seen, his heart making a little flip at the thought of their little girl.
He couldn’t wait to see you.
But when he opened the door to the bedroom, it was empty. A slight frown tugged at his lips, and he called out softly, “Love?” His heart skipped a beat when there was no reply. Maybe you were in the bathroom? He checked, but again, there was only silence.
Then, as if by magic, he heard it—a soft melody, floating through the air like a gentle breeze. It was the faint sound of music, and it made his heart skip. He knew that sound. He could recognize it anywhere.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly where it was coming from. He walked to the room with "Violet" painted on the door, and when he opened it, his breath caught in his throat.
There you were—his beautiful, brilliant wife, humming and painting a picture on the wall for their daughter. The sight of you in a little denim overall made his heart swell. He thought to himself that he might just explode from how much he adored you.
“Hey,” Benedict said, leaning against the doorframe with a dazed smile, absolutely in awe of you. He could hardly believe how lucky he was.
You turned, your eyes lighting up when you saw him. “Hi! I didn’t know you were home.”
He stepped forward, eyes locked on you, his voice soft and full of love. “I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if you were actually this perfect. But you—” He stopped for a moment, his heart racing as he took you all in: the way the light caught your hair, the way you looked so beautiful in the simplest of clothes, the way you carried their baby. It all left him speechless. “You’re everything. I’m the luckiest man in the world, I swear.”
You laughed, but he could see the way your cheeks flushed at his words. He moved closer, putting his hand gently on your waist, completely mesmerized by you. “I’m just—wow,” he said, unable to hide his awe. “You’re my whole world. And Violet’s world, too.”
With all the tenderness in his heart, he kissed you softly on the lips, the love in that one kiss speaking volumes. The simple act of seeing you like this, making their home beautiful for their little girl, made him fall in love with you even more.
You were everything to him, and he would never get tired of showing you just how much.
A/N: i finally have time to write, ugh :') this drabble has been on my to write list for months. if u have any request on a specific one with benedict feel free to send me a question<3 ty!
