#bridgerton edit

The sun was setting over Mayfair, its golden rays casting long shadows over the well manicured townhouses of the neighbourhood. The evening air was alive with the sounds of carriages and the distant hum of a society preparing for another evening of balls, dinners, and dances. Amidst this world of propriety and tradition, a young woman walked with purposeful strides. Y/n Harrington had returned to London after many years away, having been sent away to France after her mother died. As her father said, for lessons in propriety and manners. Her hair curled softly around her face, framing her delicate features, and a soft touch of rouge added colour to her complexion. Her gown was a fashionable dark emerald silk, the fabric billowing slightly around her figure with each step she took. She carried herself with an air of elegance and confidence, a stark contrast to the rebellious girl she had once been. As she strolled through the bustling streets, heads turned discreetly. The young men who passed her by did so with subtle admiration, their gaze lingering just a tad too long on her curvaceous form. Some whispered to each other as she passed, her return to society was certainly a topic of interest. Y/n approached the familiar town house of her childhood, a feeling of nostalgia washed over her as she took in the familiar facade. With a deep breath, she ascended the steps and rang the bell. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and her father stood before her. His eyes widened slightly as he regarded the lady standing on his doorstep. She had grown into a stunning young woman, her features delicately framed by her curly locks, and her gown hugged her curves in a most admirable way.

"Y/n..." he managed, a mixture of surprise and relief in his tone. His gaze swept over her, taking in the changes that years apart had brought. "It's good to have you home." His words were simple but heartfelt, and the warmth in his eyes spoke volumes of the years he had missed her presence. "Father." Y/n replied with a soft smile, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions. She reached out for him, her slender fingers grasping his hand. "It's good to be back."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, and despite her time away, the familiarity and comfort of her father's arms brought a sense of belonging she hadn't realized she had missed so much. After a few moments, her father drew back, his grip lingering on her shoulders. "You've grown into such a woman, my dear." He said, his gaze studying her face. He took in the subtle changes, the hint of French sophistication that now danced in her eyes, and the way she carried herself with a newfound confidence. "I trust your time in France was... enlightening?" He inquired, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Y/n chuckled softly, a familiar playful glint lighting up her eyes. "Enlightening, indeed. I've learned many things, including proper dances and how to wield a fan with the precision of a dagger."

Her father chuckled, shaking his head indulgently. "I should have known you would find a way to turn propriety into a weapon."

Y/n's mischievous smirk widened, and she shrugged her shoulders delicately. "One has to add a touch of entertainment to the rigors of etiquette lessons, Father. Otherwise, I might have gone mad with boredom."

Her father sighed, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "And yet somehow, I suspect you still managed to scandalise your tutors and your cousins more than once."

Y/n pressed a gloved hand to her chest in mock offense. "Moi? Scandalous? Jamais.” The French word rolled off her tongue with effortless charm before she grinned. "Though I may have convinced a certain Comtesse that fencing lessons were an essential part of a lady's education."

Her father groaned, rubbing his temples. "Mon Dieu, child. What am I to do with you?"

"Love me unconditionally?" she teased, looping her arm through his. "And perhaps escort me to call upon the Bridgertons? I do owe them a visit after all these years of letter tedious writing" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I’d hate for Anthony to think I’ve forgotten how to trounce him at Pall Mall."

Her father chuckled, patting her hand. "Very well. But please try not to send Violet into palpitations within the first five minutes."

Y/n's laugh was bright as she adjusted her gloves. "No promises."

Benedict’s POV

The Bridgerton drawing room was alive with its usual lively chaos,Hyacinth and Gregory debating the merits of raspberry tarts versus lemon cakes, Francesca calmly embroidering, and Colin stealing bites of said tarts when Hyacinth wasn’t looking. Benedict lounged near the window, sketchbook in hand, idly tracing the curve of Eloise’s scowl as she argued with Anthony over something trivial. And then, a sharp rap at the door. The butler’s voice, slightly perplexed. “The Harringtons,to see you”

The Harringtons?…Benedict’s pencil snapped between his fingers.

Y/n.

Before anyone could react, the doors swung open and there she stood. Her gown was demure in cut but daring in color,a deep emerald that made her eyes glow like mischief incarnate. The faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips as she surveyed the room, as if she’d been waiting for this moment for years. Which, of course, she had.

Violet gasped. “Y/n Harrington!”

“In the flesh,” she replied, dropping into a curtsy that was technically perfect but carried just enough irreverence to make Benedict’s chest tighten. “Though I do hope you’ll forgive my absence. France was lovely, but it sorely lacked” her gaze flicked to Benedict “adequate company.”

Anthony choked on his tea. Colin grinned like a fool. And Benedict? Benedict realized, with dawning horror, that he was smiling like an idiot. Benedict's heart leapt into his throat. Y/n was here, and she looked... different. Gone was the rebellious young girl from his memory, letters over the years didn’t quite picture… well this. She was replaced by a woman who commanded attention without even trying. The way the green fabric hugged her figure, the way her hair fell softly around her shoulders, it was enough to make a man lose his composure. He forced himself to stay seated, his grip on the sketchbook tight. He couldn't let her see how much her sudden reappearance affected him.

His mother’s eyes welled with tears as she rushed forward, arms outstretched. “Y/n!" She pulled her into a crushing embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, my dear girl,look at you! A vision! And just in time for the upcoming season”

Y/n laughed as she was passed from one sibling to the next,Francesca’s polite but warm hug, Anthony’s gruff, but Try not to start a scandal before supper hug and Colin’s enthusiastic lift off the ground before she swatted his shoulder. Then came Eloise,who seized her hands with wicked delight. “Finally! Someone with sense. Do you know how unbearable it’s been? Anthony married, Colin insufferably smug about his marriage, Francesca practically won’t shut up about her engagement”

“Eloise," Mother warned.

“…and Benedict," Eloise finished pointedly, “who still scowls at debutantes like they’ve personally offended his paintbrushes. I mean at least we can count on Benedict to scare off any potential suitors”

Benedict bristled at the mention of his name, his attention caught despite himself. He wanted to protest, to defend himself against his younger sister's teasing. But it was difficult to argue when she was entirely correct. He'd spent the last three years, gosh more, dodging every debutante that came his way, using his art and free spirit as both shield and excuse. The idea of marriage, of settling down with someone who wasn’t… her. Well it was all just suffocating.

And now here she was. Y/n, standing in his drawing room again,with her infuriatingly perfect smirk.His fingers tightened around his ruined sketchbook. "Scaring off debutantes is a sport at this point," he drawled, forcing nonchalance into his voice as he rose from his seat. "Though I suspect you might still give even give me a run for my money this season."

Her eyes,God, those eyes locked onto his, sparkling with mischief. "Oh, Benedict," she sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart. "You flatter me. But I promise not to steal all your thunder."

His mouth quirked despite himself. Her banter, their easy back and forth, it was like no time had passed at all. Without thinking,he crossed the room to stand in front of her. Up close,the differences in her were even more pronounced. The way her dress hugged her curves, the faint scent of flowers that clung to her skin. He fought down a wave of unwelcome desire and, instead, opened his arms.

"Come here, troublesome”

She quirked an eyebrow questioningly, that damned smirk still in place. But she stepped forward all the same, her slender frame fitting against his like puzzle pieces. Benedict's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. He inhaled deeply,his chin hooking over her shoulder. She felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his, it was both comforting and excruciating.

"I missed you" he murmured quietly, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. Her hands slid up his chest, settling lightly on his shoulders. Her touch, even through layers of fabric, was like a low simmer in his blood. He could feel her chuckle more than hear it, the vibration of her chest pressed against his. "Benedict Bridgerton, confessing he actually missed my company...the world must be ending."

He pulled back slightly, his grip remaining on her waist. "Don't let it get to your head," he retorted lightly, his eyes roaming over her face. "Too late. I can already feel my ego inflating by the second." she chuckled. He rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. His fingers traced a path from the curve of her hip to the small of her back, his touch almost involuntarily possessive.

"It'll be a nightmare having you around again," he grumbled. "Causing trouble, driving my siblings mad..." His hand stilled on her waist. "Driving me mad, you sure it’s not too late to send her back Mr Harrington?”

Benedict barely had time to react before Y/n’s gloved hand swatted his arm with mock indignation. “Benedict!" she gasped, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "One would think years might have softened your tongue or at least your terrible manners."

Her father chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, she shouldn’t be as much of a troublesome lady, she has certainly changed, my boy." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "...Well, that is yet to be seen at least, France looks to have done her the world of good."

Benedict’s gaze flickered back to Y/n’s face, lingering on the sly curve of her lips. Changed? Oh, she was different,softer curves, sharper wit, that maddening air of French elegance draped over her like silk. But the mischief? That glint in her eye? That was still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to erupt. He leaned in, voice low enough for only her to hear. "If you think I believe for one second you’ve turned into some docile debutante, you’re sorely mistaken." His thumb brushed her waist,once, twice, before releasing her. "But by all means… prove me wrong."

Eloise groaned playfully. “God help them all then."

Violet clapped her hands together. "Well! Now that you’re back, Y/n, you simply must attend the Danbury’s ball tomorrow night. I insist!"

Y/n offered a gracious nod, her smile never slipping. "I'd be delighted."

Benedict's hand clenched at his side. Danbury's ball. Of course. It was the perfect opportunity to display London's newest “diamond” to society. Or she would be once the Queen sets her eyes on her again. And he'd have to watch every desperate man in the ton tripping over themselves to secure her attention, like bees to honey. He hated the thought of it, of all those other men, circling her like vultures, trying to impress her, to claim her. But he had no right to the possessive heat crawling through his veins. She wasn’t his. She never had been. Not in the way he wanted at least. His gaze flicked back to Y/n. She was chatting with his mother now, laughing at some whispered confidence. Something inside of him clenched tightly at the sight. Bloody hell. This season was going to be the death of him.

Y/n’s laughter echoed through the drawing room as Francesca and Hyacinth dragged her toward the sofa, already demanding a full account of her French fashions. “Oh, but you must let us see your gowns before the ball!” Hyacinth insisted, bouncing slightly in her seat. “Oh you will look a beauty and I heard the French cuts are scandalously low..”

“Hyacinth!” Violet gasped, fanning herself, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Colin, ever the charmer, leaned down to press a quick, brotherly kiss to Y/n’s temple. “More of a beauty than she already is? Impossible,” he teased, winking before straightening. “But alas, duty calls,Penelope awaits”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully at his comment, swatting his shoulder. "Go on then, you rogue, say hello to pen for me"

Benedict watched the exchange with a frown, his jaw clenching. Colin’s easy affection, the way she giggled at his teasing, it was all perfectly innocent. She was like this with everyone. Always had been. But it didn’t stop the possessive, irrational part of him from wanting to step forward, to yank her away from the others, to keep her entirely to himself. Benedict tuned back into his sisters’ conversation just in time to catch the direction of it. Oh.

It was inevitable, really. With Y/n back, the topic of her suitors or lack thereof he hoped. It was bound to come up eventually. But that didn’t make it any easier for him to stand there, feigning nonchalance as his siblings grilled her. Francesca, ever the diplomatic one, began the inquisition.

"So, have you met any…interesting gentlemen in France, do you plan to here?"

Y/n's lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk as she settled against the settee, fan flicking open with practiced ease. "Interesting gentlemen? Oh, dozens," she mused, tapping her chin. "One who recited poetry...terrible poetry under my window and a rather persistent man who insisted fencing lessons required very close instruction." Her eyes slid to Benedict, glittering with challenge. "Though none quite as stubborn as the Englishmen of my acquaintance."

Eloise snorted into her tea. Hyacinth, perched on the armrest, gasped. "Were you courted?”

"Flirted with," Y/n corrected lightly, snapping her fan shut. "There's a difference. Besides...," she added, tilting her head slightly as if it all bored her. Benedict's eyes narrowed, irritation stirring at her nonchalant attitude. She'd flirted with other men. Of course she had. It was Y/n. But hearing it, so casually tossed out as if it were nothing, it stung more than he cared to admit. He wanted to snap at her to cease, but what right did he have?. She was free to do as she pleased. His jaw ticked as he shifted, trying to mask his irritation. "Oh, of course, just some light, meaningless flirtation."

Y/n's smirk deepened at his sarcasm. "Jealous, Bridgerton? and what about you hmm?”

Benedict's jaw tightened. Jealous? Who, him? Of some faceless French fools she'd toyed with in Paris? As if. Eloise, ever the provocateur, chimed in with a sly smile. "Mother's been quite insistent that our dear Benedict finally step into society, to stop the rakish behaviour this season...." she glanced her way at him. "remember that Benedict? our own mother calling you a rake?”

Benedict shot a sharp look at his sister, his eyes warning her silently to shut her trap. But she merely continued. Benedict groaned, raking a hand through his already unruly hair. "Eloise, must you…”

But Y/n was already grinning, that wicked gleam in her eye that he knew all too well. "A rake?" she repeated, leaning forward slightly, her fan tapping against her knee. "Oh, Benedict, do tell how many hearts have you broken this season?"

His nostrils flared. "None," he bit out.

"Liar," Eloise singsonged under her breath.

Benedict shot her a glare before turning back to Y/n, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register. "you have no room to judge by the sounds of it”

Y/n arched a brow, unimpressed. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because," he countered, stepping closer, the space between them crackling with something unspoken, "you've been off in France, charming poets and fencing instructors, while I've been stuck here enduring my mother's matchmaking schemes."

She tilted her head, studying him with those infuriatingly knowing eyes. "Poor Benedict," she teased. "So tormented."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for her. "You have no idea."

For a heartbeat, she looked genuinely startled,then her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Then perhaps," she whispered back, "you should listen to your mother, maybe it is time to settle down”

Benedict's eyes darkened at her words, a sharp retort teetering on the edge of his tongue. Settle down? As if it were that easy. As if some proper debutante with her perfect manners and her simpering smiles could ever hold a candle to-

He bit back the words. No, he couldn't let her see the effect she had on him. He forced a shrug, his voice deliberately nonchalant. "Easier said than done. I have... particular standards, you see."

Y/n chuckled, her fan snapping open with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, of course. I imagine your list of standards must be quite long."

Benedict shifted, leaning against the bookshelf behind him, feigning nonchalance. "You have no idea," he drawled, his gaze roaming over her. "but when you do find a woman worth settling down for.. come find me”. Benedict watched the delicate arch of Y/n's brow lift at his words, her lips pursing in that way he knew meant trouble. Before she could volley back with some razor sharp retort, he pushed off the bookshelf and strode toward the door with purposeful ease.

"Alas," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder like a challenge, "I've pressing matters to attend to today” His fingers paused on the doorframe as he glanced back, letting his gaze trail deliberately down her form before meeting her eyes again with a slow smirk. Y/n's expression remained infuriatingly unreadable, her head tilting slightly as she studied him. But he didn't miss the quickening rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly on her fan. He lingered for a moment, waiting for a witty retort, a spark of annoyance. Something. But she merely offered a nonchalant wave of that blasted fan. "Run along then, I'm sure you have many hearts to break."

Benedict's grin widened at her dismissive tone. She was good, he'd give her that. "Au revoir." And with a final, mocking wink, he slipped out the door, the sound of his sisters giggles echoing faintly behind him as he disappeared down the hall.

Y/N POV

Y/n watched Benedict's broad form disappear through the door, her heart racing a little faster than she cared to admit. The nerve! That damnable smirk, the way he'd looked at her... She forced a deep breath, smoothing a non existent wrinkle from her skirts. She couldn't let him get to her. Still, his words lingered in her mind. Find me woman worth settling down for….

Eloise let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically onto the sofa beside her. “I for one am so glad to have you back," she muttered under her breath, throwing Y/n a knowing glance. “I have very much missed having someone to torment the ton with”

Violet Bridgerton, pointed a look at Eloise as she sat with your father. She was ever the picture of composed grace, merely fanning herself with an air of practiced serenity,though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement at Eloise’s comment. “now now Eloise, there will be none of that.. Though I must say, my dear, it is quite… refreshing to see Benedict so thoroughly engaged in conversation again."

“Yes, well," Y/n replied smoothly, fluttering her fan, “I suppose he finds it entertaining to spar with someone who doesn't swoon at his every word."

Eloise snorted. “Oh please, Benedict hasn’t actually tried charming anyone in years. like mother said.. Rake”, darting a glance at her mother. Violet cleared her throat delicately. “Benedict has been rather… selective for quite some time."

“Selective?" Y/n repeated, arching a brow. “Is that what we're calling his perpetual avoidance of marriage now?"

“Avoidance implies he has a choice," Eloise muttered under her breath. A slight hint of a tease In her voice. Francesca, ever the peacemaker, smoothly intervened. “What matters is that you're back now, and the season will be infinitely more interesting for it."

Y/n smirked. “Oh, I plan to make it very interesting."

Hyacinth leaned forward eagerly. “Does that mean you'll be flirting with all of potential matches of the ton?” Violet gasped. “Hyacinth!" But Y/n merely laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Oh, my dear Hyacinth”

Hyacinth's eyes widened, clearly eager to hear more. But Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. "a true lady never reveals her secrets."

Eloise smirked, unable to resist adding, "And since when have you ever been a true lady?"

Y/n feigned a gasp of mock shock. "Eloise, you wound me." She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "I'll have you know, I have the manners of a proper lady now”

Eloise raised a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, yes. I’m sure”

The sound of Y/n's laughter was cut short as her father cleared his throat pointedly from his seat beside Violet. "Yes, well," he interjected with a look that promised a lecture later, "let us focus on proper topics, shall we?"

Y/n batted her eyelashes innocently. "Of course, Father. We were just discussing... the weather."

Hyacinth snorted into her lemonade. Violet swiftly changed the subject, steering the conversation toward Francesca's upcoming engagement dinner,but not before casting Y/n a knowing glance. Y/n merely grinned behind her fan, her mind already racing with plans for tomorrow’s ball and the infuriatingly handsome Bridgerton who’d be there to witness it all.

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