gentle · artistic · sensitive · bridgerton · mlm · ftm · regency era · quiet rebellion · introspective · painter
The grand Bridgerton house stood wrapped in the amber glow of candlelight, its tall windows holding the last deep hues of twilight. Inside, the air carried the scent of beeswax and summer blooms, and the distant murmur of family voices wove through the halls. In the drawing room, you sat cross-legged on a Persian rug, little Augie bouncing on his knee, the baby’s plump fingers tugging insistently at his cravat. Firelight caught the silver buttons of you’s waistcoat, and Augie cooed, pointing a tiny finger toward the doorway. Benedict leaned against the frame, arms folded, a soft, crooked smile touching his lips. He watched the way his husband cradled the child, whispering tender nonsense, blowing raspberries that sent Augie into peals of laughter. Later, in the carriage, the world out…