Title the midwife and the footman part5
Parring footman John x midwife!reader
Summary: Called to London to care for Sophie Bridgerton, you expect difficult days and long nights not a dangerously charming footman determined to win your approval.
part 1/part 2/part 3/ part 4/ part 5
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Evenings in the servants’ hall were usually simple.
After a long day of work the staff gathered around the large wooden table, grateful for a short moment of rest before the next round of duties began. Boots were kicked off beneath chairs, sleeves were rolled up, and tired laughter slowly filled the room.
Tonight felt no different.
You sat among them with a warm cup of tea between your hands, listening as one of the younger footmen attempted to recount a story that had clearly grown more dramatic with each retelling.
“I swear to you,” he insisted, leaning forward across the table with theatrical seriousness, “the gentleman refused to move until someone polished his shoes again.”
One of the maids burst out laughing.
“They had already been polished twice!”
“Exactly,” he said triumphantly. “Which is why I believe he simply enjoyed watching people run about for his amusement.”
Another maid shook her head.
“Some gentlemen have far too much time.”
A ripple of agreement moved around the table.
You smiled faintly, taking a sip of your tea.
Across from you, John sat with one elbow resting on the table, watching the conversation unfold with quiet amusement. His eyes moved between the speakers, though every now and then they drifted toward you for a brief moment.
You had begun noticing that more often lately.
It was subtle.
But it happened.
And every time it did, something small and warm stirred somewhere deep in your chest.
You pushed the thought away and focused on the conversation.
Someone else began telling a story about a guest who had accidentally locked himself in the library earlier that afternoon.
“You should have seen his face when we finally opened the door,” the maid said between giggles.
“Was he angry?” someone asked.
“Oh terribly. But mostly embarrassed.”
The room erupted into laughter again.
These moments were rare.
Moments when the staff could sit together without rushing off to their next task. Moments where hierarchy softened slightly and everyone simply became tired people enjoying a well-earned break.
You had grown fond of these evenings.
Even if you were technically not part of the household staff, they had welcomed you easily enough.
And you had grown especially comfortable sitting among them.
Especially when...
The door opened.
The sound was soft.
But it was enough.
The room fell quiet almost instantly.
Mrs. Wilson stood in the doorway.
Her posture was as perfectly composed as always, hands folded neatly in front of her.
Everyone straightened slightly.
She stepped inside the room.
“I have an announcement.”
Several curious glances moved around the table.
Mrs. Wilson continued calmly.
“This evening you are all relieved of your duties.”
For a moment no one reacted.
The words seemed too unexpected to process.
One of the maids blinked.
“Relieved… for the evening?”
“Yes.”
The silence lasted only another second.
Then the entire room erupted.
“What?”
“You mean we’re finished?”
“Already?”
Chairs shifted, voices overlapped, and someone let out a delighted cheer.
Mrs. Wilson lifted one hand slightly.
“Quiet, please.”
Gradually the room settled again, though the excitement had not disappeared.
“You are free for the remainder of the evening,” she continued. “However... there is one condition.”
Several people leaned forward.
“You are not to remain in the house.”
That produced a few puzzled expressions.
A footman frowned slightly.
“Not remain in the house?”
Mrs. Wilson nodded.
“You may spend the evening however you choose, provided you do so elsewhere.”
You tilted your head slightly, surprised.
Beside you one of the maids leaned closer and whispered with a grin.
“Lady Bridgerton.”
You looked at her.
“What about her?”
“She does this sometimes.”
“Does what?”
“Clears the house.”
“For what reason?”
The maid shrugged.
“She likes to have the entire place to herself once in a while. Says she enjoys the quiet.”
Another maid leaned over.
“She drinks tea in the drawing room and reads for hours.”
Someone further down the table added,
“And sometimes she plays music.”
You smiled slightly.
That sounded exactly like something Lady Bridgerton might do.
Meanwhile the room was already buzzing with excitement again.
“Well I’m not wasting a free evening sitting in the garden,” one of the footmen declared.
“Agreed,” another said.
Someone tapped the table.
“The tavern down the street!”
Several heads turned immediately.
“Oh that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Yes!”
A maid clapped her hands.
“We haven’t been there in weeks.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Another voice chimed in,
“Everyone’s coming.”
John leaned back in his chair slightly.
“That sounds suspiciously like a command.”
“Of course it is,” someone replied.
Laughter followed.
Then one of the maids looked toward you.
“What about you?”
You blinked.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re coming.”
You hesitated for a moment.
Truthfully, the idea of joining them at a tavern had not crossed your mind.
Your evenings were usually far quieter.
But the excitement in the room was contagious.
And everyone was looking at you expectantly.
You glanced briefly toward John.
He raised one eyebrow slightly.
“Well?” he said.
You exhaled softly.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
“Well,” you said, “it would be terribly rude to refuse such enthusiastic company.”
Cheers immediately filled the room.
Chairs scraped loudly as everyone began standing up.
Coats were grabbed.
Scarves were thrown around shoulders.
Someone knocked over a chair in their excitement.
Within minutes the servants’ hall had transformed into a lively procession heading toward the door.
The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside.
The street was quiet, lit only by lanterns and the pale glow of moonlight.
Laughter drifted easily among the group as everyone began walking toward the tavern at the end of the street.
You found yourself walking beside John.
He glanced down at you.
“You appear remarkably calm for someone about to enter a tavern with this group.”
You smiled faintly.
“I believe the correct word is adventurous.”
He chuckled softly.
“I stand corrected.”
A few moments later warm golden light spilled through the windows of the tavern ahead.
Music drifted faintly into the night.
Someone in your group cheered.
And as the door opened...
The noise, laughter, and music inside rushed out to greet you.
The real evening had just begun.
The tavern was alive.
That was the first thought that crossed your mind the moment you stepped through the door.
Warm light spilled from several lanterns hanging low from the wooden beams above. The air smelled faintly of ale, roasted meat, and smoke from the large hearth near the back wall.
But more than anything...
It was loud.
Laughter bounced off the wooden walls, mugs clinked against each other, boots stomped against the floorboards, and somewhere near the corner a fiddler played a fast, lively tune that seemed to vibrate through the entire room.
The moment your group entered, several heads turned.
One of the men sitting near the bar raised his mug.
“New faces!”
A few cheers followed.
One of the maids beside you laughed nervously.
“Well… this is lively.”
John leaned slightly closer to you so his voice could be heard over the music.
“Too lively?”
You glanced around the room.
People were laughing, talking loudly, some already dancing near the center of the tavern where the fiddle player sat.
You shook your head.
“No,” you said with a small smile.
“Just lively enough.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
Your group quickly claimed a long wooden table near the side wall.
Chairs scraped loudly as everyone squeezed in.
One of the footmen raised his hand toward the bar.
“Ale!”
“Lots of it!” someone added.
Laughter followed.
You found yourself sitting between one of the maids and John. The table quickly filled with mugs, and soon everyone was raising drinks.
“To unexpected evenings!” one of the maids declared.
“To Lady Bridgerton’s quiet tea!” someone else added.
“And to freedom from polishing silverware!” another voice chimed in.
Everyone laughed and clinked their mugs together.
You took a careful sip.
The ale was stronger than you expected.
You tried not to make a face.
John noticed immediately.
“Not what you’re used to?” he asked quietly.
“It tastes like bread and fire.”
He laughed.
“That is a surprisingly accurate description.”
Around you the table had already become lively again.
Stories began circulating almost immediately.
One of the maids leaned forward dramatically.
“You should have seen Mr. Smith last week.”
“Oh no,” another groaned. “What did he do this time?”
“He attempted to give Lady Featherington a bow.”
“That sounds perfectly normal.”
“Except he slipped halfway through and nearly took the carpet with him.”
The table erupted into laughter.
Even John nearly spilled his drink.
Another footman joined in.
“Better than when Mr. Halford tried to flirt with the cook.”
Someone choked on their drink.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
“What did he say?”
The footman puffed out his chest and attempted a dramatic imitation.
“My dear lady, I cannot help but admire the grace with which you chop vegetables.”
The room exploded with laughter again.
You covered your mouth, trying to suppress your own.
“That cannot be real.”
“Oh it was very real,” the maid said between giggles.
John leaned toward you again.
“I must admit,” he murmured, “I am beginning to enjoy this evening far more than expected.”
“You were skeptical?”
“I had concerns.”
“And now?”
“Now I believe the night has potential.”
More drinks appeared.
Stories grew louder.
Jokes became more dramatic.
And slowly, without quite noticing it at first, the warmth of the room and the alcohol began to soften the edges of everything.
Your cheeks felt warm.
Your thoughts felt lighter.
Someone started clapping along with the fiddle player.
Then someone else stood up suddenly.
“Dance!”
The shout cut through the noise of the tavern.
Several people cheered immediately.
A group had already gathered near the center of the room where others were dancing wildly to the music.
One of the maids grabbed your wrist.
“You must come!”
“I absolutely do not...”
Too late.
You were already being pulled to your feet.
The music quickened as the fiddler shifted into another lively tune.
Boots stomped against the floorboards.
Hands clapped in rhythm.
Someone spun one of the maids in a quick circle and she burst out laughing.
The energy in the room was infectious.
It spread like a spark through dry leaves.
Soon you found yourself caught in the middle of it.
Someone grabbed your hands and spun you once.
You laughed in surprise.
Another maid pulled you into the circle.
The music grew faster.
People moved in quick steps, turning and clapping, bumping shoulders and laughing when they nearly collided.
Across the room John was dancing too.
Though “dancing” might have been a generous description.
He was attempting to follow the rhythm while one of the other footmen shouted instructions that made absolutely no sense.
You caught his eye.
He grinned.
Then someone spun you again and the room blurred briefly around you.
The floor vibrated beneath the stamping boots of half the tavern.
Someone started singing along with the music.
Another person clapped wildly off-beat.
At one point you nearly collided with John in the middle of the crowd.
His hand caught yours instinctively to steady you.
For a brief moment the two of you stood very close.
Your laughter faded slightly.
The warmth of his hand lingered around yours.
Then someone bumped into him from behind.
“Keep moving!” the footman shouted.
The moment broke instantly.
You both laughed again.
The dance continued.
The music changed again and again.
The tavern grew warmer.
Louder.
Wilder.
And before you truly realized it...
Time had slipped away completely.
By the time you and the others finally left the tavern, the night had deepened into that quiet hour when the city seemed to hold its breath.
The noise and warmth of the tavern faded behind you as the door closed, leaving only the cool air of the street and the distant hum of London somewhere far away.
Your small group stepped onto the cobblestones in a wave of laughter and lingering excitement.
One of the maids nearly tripped over her own skirt because she was laughing too hard at something one of the footmen had said moments earlier.
Another was still humming the tune the fiddler had played, though she had long since lost the melody.
The entire walk back toward the Bridgerton house was filled with soft giggles, quiet teasing, and exaggerated retellings of things that had only just happened an hour ago.
You walked near the back of the group.
And beside you...
John.
Or rather, a version of John that was considerably less balanced than usual.
At first you only noticed the slight change in his stride.
His steps were slower.
More careful.
As though he had suddenly decided the ground beneath his feet required deep concentration.
Then he stepped onto a slightly uneven stone.
And swayed.
Your hand reached out instantly.
You caught his arm before he could lose his balance completely.
He blinked down at you slowly, clearly taking a moment to process what had just happened.
“Oh,” he said after a pause.
“You have appeared.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“I have been here the entire time.”
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully.
“That does seem likely.”
He glanced down at the street.
Then frowned suspiciously.
“...The road is misbehaving.”
“The road is perfectly normal.”
“No,” he insisted.
“It is definitely moving.”
You tried not to laugh.
“John.”
“Yes?”
“You are drunk.”
He considered this carefully.
“...That would explain some things.”
You continued walking, still holding his arm just in case.
He did not protest.
In fact, he seemed almost pleased about it.
The group ahead of you turned the corner toward the Bridgerton house, their voices echoing softly in the quiet street.
By the time you finally guided John down the quiet servants’ corridor, the house had fallen completely silent.
The laughter from earlier had faded. The other servants had already disappeared into their rooms, leaving the hallway dimly lit by only a single lantern flickering against the wall.
Your footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor.
Or rather...
Your footsteps.
And John’s less coordinated attempt at them.
His arm rested loosely around yours, more for balance than necessity. At least, that was what you told yourself.
His warmth lingered through the fabric of your sleeve.
You could feel it every time he shifted slightly closer.
Which happened more often than necessary.
“You walk very steadily,” he murmured thoughtfully.
You glanced sideways at him.
“Someone must.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying you as though you were a fascinating puzzle.
“You are very composed.”
“That is because someone must remain sensible.”
His lips curved faintly.
“You are always sensible.”
“Yes.”
“And yet…”
He leaned just a little closer.
“...you kissed me.”
Your heart skipped.
There it was again.
That moment.
The garden.
The quiet stars.
The memory still had the power to make warmth spread across your chest.
“You remember that rather clearly for someone who can barely walk straight.”
“I remember it perfectly.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“And I have thought about it far too often.”
You stopped walking.
Just for a moment.
He nearly walked into you when you paused, his hand instinctively catching your waist to steady himself.
The movement brought him closer.
Much closer.
The hallway suddenly felt smaller.
Your breath caught very slightly.
“You should remove your hand,” you said quietly.
“Yes,” he agreed.
In fact, he did not move it.
Your eyes lifted to his.
Even drunk, his gaze was intense.
Too focused.
“You kissed me,” he repeated softly.
“I am aware.”
“You surprised me.”
“That was the intention.”
A faint, crooked smile appeared on his lips.
“But then I kissed you back.”
“Yes.”
His thumb shifted slightly against your waist without him seeming to notice.
“You remember that too.”
You did not answer immediately.
Of course you remembered.
The warmth of his hand.
The way he had pulled you closer.
The sudden intensity of that second kiss.
“Yes,” you said softly.
“I remember.”
His eyes drifted briefly to your lips.
The silence between you stretched.
The kind of silence filled with something far too warm to be comfortable.
You cleared your throat gently.
“You need to sleep.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But you should know something first.”
“Oh?”
He leaned slightly closer again.
His voice dropped into something softer now.
“I liked it.”
Your breath caught.
“That kiss.”
His gaze lingered on your mouth again.
“I liked it very much.”
Your heart beat faster now.
“You tasted like tea,” he murmured.
You stared at him.
“...What?”
“And something else.”
He frowned slightly in concentration.
“I have not decided what yet.” he murmured “And then you put your hands in my hair.”
Your breath caught.
“John—”
“I liked that part.”
You pressed a hand to your forehead briefly.
“You cannot say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you will regret them tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.”
His expression softened slightly.
“But right now I am thinking them.”
The tension in the hallway thickened.
He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke.
And the worst part...
You were not stepping away.
You should have.
You knew you should have.
Instead you simply stood there.
Watching him.
“You are doing it again,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you did in the garden.”
Your pulse quickened.
“That was week ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you have been avoiding kissing me again ever since.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“I have done no such thing.”
He smiled faintly.
“You absolutely have.”
Before you could respond, he swayed slightly again.
The moment broke.
You caught his arm again before he lost balance.
“That is enough,” you said firmly.
“You are going to bed.”
You guided him into his room.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
For a moment he simply watched you move around the small space.
Removing his boots.
Straightening the blanket.
Making sure he did not fall asleep half sitting.
His gaze followed you with quiet intensity.
“You are very beautiful,” he said suddenly.
You exhaled.
“That is the ale speaking.”
“No.”
He shook his head slowly.
“That is the part of me that has been too polite to say it until now.”
Your stomach fluttered.
“You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he said softly, “you kissed me.”
You looked at him again.
His voice softened even further.
“I think about it all the time.”
Your breath slowed.
“You should sleep.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But first I was going to tell you something very important.”
“Oh?”
He focused very hard.
“I think I...”
His eyes closed.
You waited.
“...John?”
Nothing.
His breathing deepened.
He had fallen asleep.
Mid-sentence.
You stared at him in disbelief.
“...You cannot possibly be serious.”
Then shook your head softly.
Typical.
You pulled the blanket gently over him.
He shifted slightly but did not wake.
Your gaze lingered on his face.
On the messy hair.
The relaxed expression.
The man who had just spent ten minutes confessing things he would probably never dare say sober.
You leaned slightly closer.
Your voice was barely a whisper.
“I think I love you too, John.”
He did not hear it.
And perhaps...
For tonight...
That was easier.
You blew out the candle.
And quietly left the room.
——————-
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