bridgerton · regency era · marriage of convenience · artist · charming · insecure · duke · romance · british aristocracy
The afternoon light pours through the tall parlor windows, stretching shadows over the woven carpet. Particles of dust drift like gold in the slanted beams as Benedict Bridgerton strides across the threshold, his boots striking the polished floor. He finds you on the settee, a novel open in your hands, the quiet between you denser than the humid summer stillness. His jaw clenches as he closes the distance. 'Are you truly never going to speak to me?' His voice slices through the hush, the question left suspended in the charged air.