Enchanted
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
You smiled as you stepped off the boat onto English cobblestones. It had been such a long time since you had been in England.
You took a deep breath in, stopping a moment to appreciate the sights and smells you had not experienced in a decade. You wondered how much had changed. You knew a bit of what had been going on, still regularly exchanging letters with Eloise, but still… You were all so much older now; an entire 10 years had passed. 10 years since you had hugged Penelope, 10 years since you had heard Colin’s voice, or seen Hyacinth. 10 years since you had confessed to… well. Best not to think about that.
You run your hands down the front of your dress, smiling at your mother as she passes by you to step into the carriage. You had kept your return a secret from all your English pen pals, including Eloise, only Lady Violet knowing about your eventual reveal at the ball tonight. You couldn’t wait to see your old friends’ reactions!
The entire ride to the Birdgerton estate was spent fixing your hair and perfecting your outfit. You had been careful to change into the perfect dress before heading for the mansion, but you were still fussing over it. Sure, you were 5 and 20 now, but the thought of seeing… You shake your head, forcing your hands to still. You were not going to focus on that. On him. You were an adult now.
The carriage pulls to a stop in front of the beautiful home, and you cannot hide your excitement. The Bridgertons were seconds away!
You ascend the steps, arm in arm with your mother, before stopping at the height of the stairs and the entrance to the house. The dancing hall is just as extravagant as you remembered. As you survey the various guests, waiting to be announced, you take time to note the faces you recognize. There was Daphne, her husband with her, and their children around them. There were Colin and Penelope, looking just as in love as you knew they had been when you were young. Your smile widens when your gaze lands on Eliose, hanging off the arm of… You look away for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking back. You could look at him. It had been a decade! You would handle looking at Benedict Bridgerton. You focus your gaze on him and allow your heart to settle. You could do this.
But, oh, how handsome he has grown! His eyes twinkle the way they had all those years ago as he laughs at something his sister says, and he holds himself with a sense of self he seems to have grown into over the decade you hadn’t seen him. He looks wonderful, the Bridgerton Blue he’s wearing making his eyes almost glow as they meet yours… wait. He’s looking at you! His jaw is slack, and he has frozen midstep the same way you have at the realization.
He mouths your name at the same time the servant next to you announces it to the room. Your mother tugs on your arm gently, guiding you down the steps, and the spell is broken, allowing you to look away at last to appreciate the shocked faces of your friends. You straighten to your full height and begin to descend.
When you reach the bottom, Penelope and Colin get to you first. She wraps you in a hug immediately, and you smile at Colin’s nod over her shoulder. Anthony and his new wife are thrilled to see you as well. Daphne finds you next, giving you another hug before introducing you to her family. You curtsey deeply, but the Duke waves a hand.
“There is no need for that. From what I’ve heard, you’re an old friend!”
“Indeed!” Eloise’s voice pipes up from behind him as she all but shoves him away to get to you. The hug she gives is as tight as it is enthusiastic, and you wheeze out a laugh as you hug her back. She leans back with her hands on your shoulders as she eyes you up and down.
“Oh, my dearest friend! You forgot to mention how tall you’ve gotten in your letters! You’re just beautiful. Benedict, isn’t she beautiful?” With a wink at your mortified face, she stands to the side. He’s standing right behind her, because of course he is, and you make eye contact again.
You’re expecting a polite nod in response to Eloise’s meddling, maybe even a smile, but the smouldering once-over Benedict gives you steals your breath.
“Yes. Yes, she is.”
His voice is deeper than you remember, although the quiet confidence you fell for all those years ago remains unchanged. You’re proud of your ability to stand your ground, voice remaining steady as you say, “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”
You think (you hope) that that will be that, the ordeal of seeing your decades-old crush survived, but Benedict seems determined to prove you wrong tonight. He extends a hand to you when you start turning away, murmuring a quiet, “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Your eyes meet his again in shock, and he hastily adds, “In honor of your return, of course.”
You meet what you assume is a challenge with as much confidence as you can muster, placing your gloved hand in his and letting him pull you away. You have an inkling he is teasing you, the same way he had when you were young, about your ill-returned confession. Despite your hurt at his enjoyment of your embarrassment, you cannot deny how wonderful it feels for his arm to wrap around your back and your hand to be in his. You startle when he pulls you closer than strictly necessary, but you manage not to show it on your face. This close, you note that you and Benedict are at eye-level, something he seems to notice simultaneously.
He smiles at you, leaning forward to whisper, “You truly have grown taller, Little Lark.” Your old nickname was something you should have been expecting, but it tips the scales in your embarrassment’s favor, causing you to break eye contact. He chuckles teasingly, a sound you are positive you will never forget, before spinning you under his arm to pull you even closer than before.
He ducks his head, blue eyes sparkling again as they meet yours. “Come now, Little Lark! Where did all of that courage go?” Suddenly, you’re aware of the eyes on you, the whispers, and how much of a fool you were making of yourself. You had been here for all of 10 minutes, and you had already let him sweep you away! You needed to get a hold of yourself.
You frown, and Benedict’s smile drops in turn, squeezing your hand gently where it rests in his. “Did I say something wrong?”
The dance, thankfully, ends then, and you use it as an opportunity to get away. You step back quickly, offering a curtsey and a quiet, “thank you for the dance, Mr. Bridgerton,” before turning and leaving, walking as briskly as societally allowed to where you knew the balcony was. You all but throw open the doors to the outside air and grasp the balcony railing with both hands, taking a gasping breath and letting the cool night wash over you.
“You still haven’t gotten over him, have you, 'Little Lark'?” a voice you had almost forgotten sneers behind you, and you hang your head in disappointment. While you had missed many things about England, Cressida Cowper was not one of them. You remembered just who it was who had found you when you had fled your confession all those years ago, still recalling the awful words she’d said to you despite being 3 years your senior. It seemed she had not changed, despite all the growing up everyone around her seemed to do. Guessing you have to give her an answer, you turn around.
“Charming as ever, Miss Cowper. It truly astounds me that you are not married yet.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable, and at your clear disdain, her smile disappears.
“He will never marry you. You know that, right? Everyone in the Ton knows he refuses to wed, and that show out there was either pity or a ploy to get under your skirts.” Your eyes begin to sting, but you stand your ground even as she sneers, “You’re in love with a rake, darling. It’s about time you realize it.”
You stalk past her without a word, so focused on getting away from her sickening laugh that you don’t realize Benedict has just opened the door to the terrace. You all but run into him, his warm hands holding your arms when you stumble. He definitely notices the tears in your eyes, but you don’t give him the time to comment on them, brushing past him quickly.
You all but run to your mother, pulling her to the side to ask her to leave. At first, she disagrees, but one look at your face is enough for her to acquiesce.
The ride to your new home is silent, and your sleep is fitful when you get there. You only hope Benedict takes the hint to stay away.
He doesn’t. It takes all of two days for you to get a caller, and although you expect it to be Eloise, it is Benedict who walks through the door to your parlor instead. Your mother, who, bless her, has wanted nothing more than for you to be married for nearly a decade, leaves you alone the second she sees him.
The first few seconds are awkward, neither of you saying anything. After counting to five, you look up from your needlepoint to acknowledge him. You are shocked by what you see.
Benedict is a wreck. His hair is a mess, his shirt is untucked, and his hands cannot seem to be still. You make eye contact, and your eyebrows raise when you see the beginnings of a blush creeping up his neck.
You open your mouth to speak, to put him out of his misery somehow, but he beats you to it.
“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am about the other night,” he says, taking a step forward, seemingly in distress.
You huff an awkward laugh. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean. Miss Cowper-”
“Was wrong.” Benedict interrupts. He kneels before you and takes your hands in his, looking up at you earnestly. “She was wrong.”
You tilt your head, bewildered. “Whether or not you decide to marry has nothing to do with me-”
Benedict interrupts again, shaking his head. “It has everything to do with you, Little Lark.” He sighs, then, and looks away before muttering, “You… may have had two correspondents when you wrote to my sister for all of these years.”
When you catch on, your face flushes. “You read my letters?!”
You go to stand, but Benedict stops you with his palms on your bent knees. Even through your dress fabric, they seem to burn, and the familiarity of it stuns you into stillness.
“I know! I know they were not meant for my eyes,” said eyes don’t leave yours for a moment, “but after finding the first, I couldn’t help myself. Your thoughts, your heart, your mind… were enchanting.” One of his hands rises to meet your cheek, the other moving to pull your hand to rest against his chest over his heart.
“My soul has been yours since I read the first paragraph, and I have only fallen harder since. I did vow not to marry, but only because I knew the only woman I could possibly want lived an ocean away from me.”
You shake your head, as if trying to wake yourself from a dream.
“Why didn’t you write?”
Benedict’s blush rises up his neck into his cheeks.
“Would you believe me if I said I was shy?”
You laugh, and his whole face brightens as he lets you go to stand before you.
“Will you allow me to court you, Little Lark? Let you find if my mind is as enticing as yours?”
You take his offered hand and stand, smiling at him brightly.
“Why, Mr. Bridgerton. I thought you’d never ask.”










