Benedict Bridgerton Series - Tumblr Posts

Over the Garden Wall - Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten - Tricked by the Past

A.N.: ...I did warn you all that this fic would be heavy, right? I'm pretty sure I did.

Title is from Spectre by Radiohead

Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warnings: depression; forced medicating; not eating; anxiety; fit; panic attack; kind of a physical fight?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

As always, 18+ Minors DNI!

Benedict rode home with a smile on his face. He could not stifle it no matter how hard he tried. He knew there would be questions the second he stepped foot back into Bridgerton House, but he knew he could side step them if need be. 

He expected to be accosted the moment he entered, but that was not the case. There was a rather somber feeling in the house. Something felt wrong. 

He stepped into the drawing room to see his family pacing around, his mother talking to Mrs. Wilson about flowers.

“What has happened?” he wondered from the doorway.

Violet’s eyes widened. “Benedict, where have you been?” 

“Out,” he said with a shrug. “All is well. With me, at least. What has happened here?”

“Oh,” Violet said, placing her head on her forehead. “Miss Kate Sharma has had a terrible accident. She was out riding and fell from her horse. Thankfully, Anthony was there. He might have just saved her life.”

Benedict’s eyes widened as he looked around the sullen room. Eloise was slumped on the chair. That was when he remembered what had happened at the ball the night before. He had pushed it out of his mind the second that Marietta had arrived with the letter. Eloise seemed rather dejected. 

“Will she be alright?” he asked.

“The doctors think so,” Violet said with a nod. She walked over to Benedict and spoke softly. “Would you please check on your brother? He seems…quite shaken by the turn of events.”

“Yes, of course,” Benedict nodded.

“And after, we will be having a discussion about what exactly that was last night.”

Benedict’s lips tightened and he nodded. Finding his way out of the drawing room, he knew that Anthony would be in only one place. The study. Benedict never went in there unless he had to. The image of their father’s portrait looming over them was always a bit too much for him. 

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. There was a choked, “Enter,” so Benedict pushed open the door. Anthony sat in the chair behind the desk, his fingers pressed to his temples. “You’ve returned,” he said quietly.

“I heard,” Benedict said, walking in. He shut the door behind him and made his way in, avoiding the burning gaze of their father’s portrait. “How…are you?” he wondered. Benedict plopped down in the chair opposite the desk and watched Anthony as he scrambled for what to say. 

“I am fine, Brother,” Anthony said with a sigh. “It is Miss Sharma with whom my worries lie.”

Benedict nodded. “Mother says that she will recover.”

“Yes,” Anthony breathed. He cleared his throat. “She…I hope she will.”

“Brother…” Benedict said, leaning forward. “I know we have not spoken much this season, but I see that something is troubling you. It has been since well before the wedding. You…love her…don’t you?”

Anthony pursed his lips and turned his head. He had not yet even looked at Benedict, almost like his emotions were so raw that he knew one look would be the end of him. He took a shuddering breath. “Where were you last night?” Anthony wondered.

“Brother, we are talking about you right now,” Benedict said.

Anthony sighed heavily and finally looked in his brother’s eyes. What Benedict saw there was an anguish he had not seen since their father’s death. It stopped Benedict’s heart for a moment. “I do not know what else to say,” Anthony replied with a shrug. “I do not know what to do.” His bottom lip trembled and he looked away again. 

“Be there for her,” Benedict said as though it was the easiest thing in the world. “If you truly love her then…the opinions of others should not matter.” Anthony looked at his brother, seeing something else in his eyes. “If people oppose it, then they simply do not understand what it is like to love someone so deeply that you will never shy away from them. That you will never let anything or anyone come between you.”

“That is how you feel about your woman, then…” Anthony said. “I see it in your eyes.”

Benedict nodded. “That and more.”

Anthony sighed and leaned forward. “I know that there are…expectations, Brother. But that does not mean we, as a family, will stand in the way of you marrying anyone you wish. Mother wishes love matches for us all.”

“So you will finally admit that you love her, then? Miss Sharma.”

Anthony sighed. “If you will admit that you love this woman.”

“I have never said anything to the contrary,” Benedict responded. “And while I do appreciate your support and understand your position, I must say that my…situation…is a bit more complicated than you might believe.”

“She is not with child, is she?” he asked, panicked.

“No! No,” Benedict said quickly. He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Good,” Anthony replied with a relieved sigh. “That would be another matter altogether, one I do not believe I have the temperament to handle currently.”

“Do not worry, I am handling it all on my own. I have to.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed. “I have never known you to keep such secrets, Benedict. You are usually more open and honest. Brutally so, in fact.”

“I hope that one day, after we marry…I will be able to tell you. She will tell you herself if she so wishes.”

“So you are engaged?” Anthony asked, his eyebrows flicking up.

“Not in so many words,” Benedict responded. “But in all things less concrete, yes…I have promised myself to her and her to me. Though, there are a few…” he trailed off with a laugh. “Obstacles to surpass.”

Anthony nodded and sat back. He was silent for a moment before he spoke in a quiet voice. “Is it worth it?” He turned to see Benedict’s questioning gaze. “Loving someone so deeply that you are terrified of losing them. Is it worth throwing caution to the wind?”

“Yes,” Benedict responded with ease. “Every day makes it worth it.”

Anthony gave him a tight smile. “Mother was worried when you did not return home,” he said. “We were all quite…confused.”

“I am sure,” Benedict said. “Though, as I said, there is not much I can tell you. All I can say is that…she is fine. I am fine. We are happy. As happy as we can be whilst still not married.”

“I hope to meet her one day soon,” Anthony said.

The smile that broke out on Benedict’s face made one grow on Anthony’s. “You will love her. The whole family will. She is an amazing artist. A brilliant mind.”

“An artist,” Anthony hummed. “I must say, I never expected you to fall in love with an artist.” His words were sarcastic, of course, making Benedict chuckle. “Is there anything I can do to rectify your situation?” he wondered. “I need to…do something. To get my mind off of everything.”

“No,” Benedict responded honestly. “As I said, it is complicated.”

“More complicated than being left at the altar by the sister of the woman you are in love with?” Anthony said.

Benedict laughed. “Was that a joke, Anthony? God, will wonders never cease.” Benedict’s laugh forced one out of Anthony. They sat there for a few minutes, heads in their hands, trying to quell their laughter. 

“Yes, though,” Benedict said, finally answering his brother’s question. “It is more complicated.”

“Good God.”

----------

Y/N sat in her room at Kew Palace, as she did almost every day. Still, she was only ever allowed to leave for meals or, on the off chance that her father requested her, she was allowed in the observatory.

It seemed that nothing had changed since Benedict left. Everything went back to normal. 

Her father would ask her about “Farmer Ben” during meals, but she rarely had any updates. They were few and far between because, according to Benedict, his family was going through something. Or, at least, Anthony was. Y/N did not fault any of them for that. In fact, she admired Benedict for standing by his brother through everything. Hearing the news of Miss Sharma’s accident did frighten Y/N. It surprised her that Anthony’s reaction was so strong. Benedict said that Anthony was actually in love with her and not Miss Edwina. 

That was a piece of gossip she knew better than to share with her father. 

Besides that, their correspondences focused solely on proclamations of love and plans for the future. She had promised him that she would speak to her mother as soon as she was able. The Queen seemed rather busy. Or rather reluctant. Y/N really did not know which it was, nor did she care to discover the true answer lest it hurt her heart. 

“Your mother should be visiting tomorrow,” The King said. That pulled the princess out of her haze. She smiled widely at her father. “We shall speak to her.”

Y/N's smile never faltered. “Thank you, Father. Oh, I must write to Benedict.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Her chair was pulled out for her and she ran out of the dining hall and through the halls of Kew Palace. She had finally been given some parchment and quills at the behest of her father, so she knew they would be waiting there. She was actually happy to find that her bedroom was blissfully empty. She ran to her desk and immediately started to pen the letter.

My love, 

Father has informed me that Mother is to join us at Kew Palace tomorrow. He is hopeful that he can convince her. It is all he talks about at meals these days. In between talks of the planets and the stars, it is always Farmer Ben. 

I fear you shall never get rid of that name now that he has branded you with it. 

His Royal Highness, Farmer Ben does have quite a nice ring to it. 

Have you thought about that? It just crossed my mind. When we marry, you will technically be a prince. That shall be quite fun to tell your siblings. 

I cannot stop dreaming of it. Our wedding. I had never been one to dream of such things before. As a child, perhaps I did imagine myself walking down an aisle toward some faceless man, but after everything, that dream vanished.

I fear it has returned tenfold. 

Although, I think I would rather enjoy a quieter wedding, that will not be possible seeing as how royalty is. I fear it shall be grand and opulent and gilded and obnoxious yet no less wonderful. For now when I picture myself walking down the aisle, I see you at the end of it. 

That is enough to keep me happy for years to come.

I will send word as soon as I speak to Mother. Please, keep me in your thoughts. I have doubts that she will be amenable. I do have hope still.

I love you so much. 

Yours,

Y/N

She sealed the letter with a ruby colored wax, actually meaning it this time, and ran out of her room. She was determined to send the letter out with the nightly post. She knew she had little time seeing how correspondence left right after dinner. She had to make it in time.

Y/N skirted down the halls with the letter in her hands. She jerked to a stop when Mrs. Willoughby rounded the corner. 

“Your Royal Highness,” she said with a curtsy that contained little feeling other than contempt. 

“Mrs. Willoughby,” the princess responded, tasting blood in her mouth. She tried to move around the woman in the middle of the hallway, but the space was tight. It was filled with paintings and stools and suits of armor. 

Mrs. Willoughby narrowed her eyes. “What is that in your hands, Your Royal Highness?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said, quickly putting the letter behind her back. 

“Your Royal Highness, I hope you are aware that Her Majesty, The Queen has forbidden you from sending and receiving letters.”

“I am aware,” Y/N responded. “It is simply a note for my father.”

“Then you will not mind if I read it.”

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. Not only was this the longest conversation she had ever had with Mrs. Willoughby, she was also surprised at the woman’s tone. No one, outside of her mother, had ever spoken to her in such a way. 

“I do not believe that will be necessary,” Y/N said. She felt her hands start to shake and tried with everything that she could to force it back. This was not the time. It was the worst time, in fact. 

“I must insist,” Mrs. Willoughby said. Her hand reached out and Y/N jerked back. “Your Royal Highness—”

“Exactly,” the princess hissed. “I am Princess Y/N. You will not tell me what to do.” She took a shuddering breath, the force behind her words lost in the sinking feeling of her chest. She stumbled back, hitting the wall, rattling the picture frame.

“Your Royal Highness,” Mrs. Willoughby said in a harsh voice. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed. Y/N thought she looked like a bird. She reached behind the princess again to grab the letter.

“No!” Y/N shouted. She turned on her heel and started to run, but her vision was growing spotty and blurred. The lights started to streak and turn. She stumbled to the side when she felt a hand on her. “Stop!” Y/N shouted.

“Your Royal Highness!” Mrs. Willoughby shouted back. “You will give me this letter!”

“I w-will n-not!” she responded. Y.N took a deep breath, trying to move away. “No, no, no,” she whimpered. “Please…” Mrs. Willoughby grabbed the letter and Y/N lashed out. Before she could even stop herself, she was swiping her hand in the air, not really knowing what she was doing until she connected with skin. The fear inside her increased tenfold as she looked at Mrs. Willoughby, seeing scratch marks on her face.

The woman stumbled back, grabbing her face. Y/N noticed that she had somehow still gotten the letter. She made her way for it, but tripped over the edge of the rug, tumbling to the ground. 

“G-Give…” she said, trying to take a breath. The breath rattled in her chest. She could almost hear it. She turned over, trying to pull herself to the wall, but her shaking limbs made it almost impossible. 

Then she tasted the bitter liquid. 

Y/N had no idea how it had happened. She knew that time stopped making sense the moment her hands started to shake. Hours could pass in a matter of seconds and she would not know. 

The world started to turn, her head started to throb. Through her blurred vision, she saw Mrs. Willoughby opening the letter.

“Stop,” she tried to say. She was not really sure if her lips had even moved. Her eyes weren't open anymore, she knew that. At least, she thought she did. Right before she succumbed to the darkness, she thought she felt someone grabbing her, but she couldn’t be sure. 

She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

----------

“This is most improper, Mr. Bridgerton,” Marietta said as she stepped into the back entrance of the house. Benedict stood in the middle of the small courtyard surrounded by discarded pails of water and broken farming equipment. “My mother will think poorly of me.”

“I apologize, Marietta, it simply could not wait.” 

He had been filled with anxiety all day. Well, he had been for the past few days in fact. Ever since the letters stopped. He still had Marietta’s address from the letter and decided to take a carriage out there. It was a bit outside of London. 

“Is it the princess?” she wondered. “I thought…from your letter…that all was well?” she said it with hope in her voice. Hope that was almost completely clouded by worry.

“It was,” Benedict said, his jaw tight. “It was. I saw her that night and I met The King.” Marietta’s eyes widened. “He seems rather open to our relationship, in fact. However…We have been writing back and forth since I came back to London. We are trying to figure out a way to convince her mother—”

“Her Majesty—” Marietta corrected. 

“Her mother,” Benedict countered. “We are trying to find a way to convince her to allow us to marry. The King has said that he will help. The last thing I heard was that they were figuring out exactly what to say but that there had not yet been any plans for The Queen to visit.”

“How long ago was this?” Marietta wondered.

“Three days,” Benedict said. “It is not abnormal for there to be a day or so in between letters. I understand if she is not feeling alright. But…Marietta, I am worried.”

Marietta took a shaky breath and nodded. “I understand,” she said. “Although she is plagued by these fits, they rarely last longer than a day. The majority of that time is just spent recovering.” She turned back to the door behind her, wondering if her mother was listening to the conversation, then turned back to Benedict. She took a step forward and ushered him to the other side of the courtyard. He followed with ease. “I have not since found a job, Mr. Bridgerton. I have no access to other servants in the royal households.”

“What about Reynolds?” Benedict wondered. “Was he not the one to write you that letter?”

“If letters from you are not coming through then surely letters from me will not either,” she said. She crossed her arms and sighed. 

“Do you think something is wrong with her?” he asked in a quiet voice. Marietta looked up to see the pure dread in his eyes. Dread that she, herself, felt. 

“I…” Marietta started, then stopped. She did not know exactly what to say. She did not know the truth or if she should tell Benedict her fears or keep them to herself. “Her Majesty is intent on keeping Y/N a secret. You now know…everything. That puts you in danger.”

“I do not care,” Benedict said. “I love her, I would do anything for her.”

“Even risk hanging?” Marietta asked. “Beheading even, if Her Majesty sees this as treason.”

“I would risk anything.”

“Benedict,” she said. He looked at her, wide eyed, surprised at her use of his first name. He knew that this was serious. “I know that you two love each other. Believe me, I have heard nothing other than talk of you for months. But this is putting you and your family at risk. This puts Y/N at risk. Do you think isolation in Kew is the worst place for her? Her Majesty has threatened to send her to Bedlam in the past.”

“I will not let that happen,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will not.”

“You may not have a choice,” she said. “I wish this for you both. Truly, I do. The princess deserves nothing but happiness. Happiness that she has only ever found in you. But I cannot sit by and be silent while her life hangs in the balance.”

“You care for her more than I would think from a lady’s maid,” Benedict said.

“Well, you have not known many lady’s maids, then. But, yes, Y/N and I are very close. Despite our disparity, we are friends, I think. Were friends.”

“Then as her friend, what do you suggest I do?” he asked pleadingly. “I do not want anything to happen to her nor my family. But I refuse to let her disappear.”

Marietta took a shuddering breath. “I will see what I can find out. Carefully. I will write to you if I hear anything. But…Mr. Bridgerton…You cannot go to The Queen.” He looked surprised. “I see it in your eyes, that same defiance that the princess has when she stands up to her mother. Her Majesty is her mother, you are simply her subject.” 

Benedict took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I cannot promise that I will not do anything though. I cannot sit still and wait.”

“I know,” Marietta said with a nod. “I understand.”

He gave her one last tight smile and went on his way. After he closed the gate to the courtyard behind him, Marietta ran her hands over her face. She looked up at the sun shining bright in the sky and glared at it. 

----------

Everything in that room was limp and lifeless. There were no paintings on the stained white walls. The door was old, the paint chipped. The handle and hinges were rusted. The window looked out over a green field, nowhere to run for miles. 

The bed was small, metal, and it creaked with every movement. There was one singular wooden chair. 

That was all. 

Y/N stared at the patterns the light created on the white walls, her mind not completely there anymore. There was a cup of water next to her, but it had been left untouched for days. At least, she thought it had been days. The sun rose and set. Yet, she was still there.

Time meant nothing anymore. 

Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried to keep her breathing focused. But there was nothing for it. No one came to visit her. No one wrote. No one called on her. She didn’t even know where she was.

At first, she had tried to figure out where the field was. It seemed familiar, but her mind was too addled from the medication Mrs. Willoughby continued to give her. Gone was the useless Balm of Gilead. It had been replaced by something much more sinister. Something that she used to scream and fight against. Something that had only ever been used as a last resort. 

She knew that it was probably around sunset, because the light that shone in from the window was orange. It plastered itself on the white wall beside Y/N's rickety bed. She would crawl on the ground and pull herself against the wall beneath the window, using whatever strength she had left. 

If she positioned her hands just right, images would appear on the wall. Her father had done that when she was younger. Shadow puppets, he called them. Though, his stories were much nicer than the ones Y/N's brain supplied at that moment. 

A rabbit hopped along, enjoying its life, until a wolf came and swallowed it whole. The wolf spat the rabbit out, not liking its taste. The wolf toyed with the rabbit. The wolf let the rabbit run as fast as its little legs could take it, but the wolf ran faster. The rabbit’s head start meant nothing. Then the wolf would grasp the rabbit by its ears and tug it back to the starting line. 

The game continued over and over again until the wolf had enough. Then the wolf, hungry after its day of play, would eat the rabbit once again, suffering through the taste. 

She stayed that way until the sun disappeared. Then the room was shrouded in blue. Y/N liked blue. It reminded her of the sky, it reminded her of the vests that Benedict sometimes wore, it reminded her of his eyes. She missed his eyes. She missed everything about him. 

Just as her thoughts turned fully to Benedict, the door opened. 

Mrs. Willoughby came in with a tray of food. She set it down on the chair and walked over to Y/N who was still seated on the floor. The princess did not fight anymore. Instead, she tilted her head back and stuck her tongue out in an exaggerated motion. She did not shy away from the bitter taste of the medication. 

Mrs. Willoughby was silent. She seemed content with this situation. Of course, she was. The door closed before Y/N could even have another thought. 

It was useless to bring her food because after she had taken the medicine she had perhaps thirty seconds to make it to the bed before the darkness took her. 

More often than not, she did not move. She allowed the darkness to take her right on the floor, right under that window, the room still shrouded in blue.

--------------------

A.N.: so like..I'm sorry?? I love angst!!

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist

Love always,

Alma xx

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Unwritten Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: Writer and pen pal of Eloise Bridgerton, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had no plans to come out in society. Her family could hardly afford it after all. And she doesn’t need to marry, not when she can support herself and her family with her writing. But ever the hopeless romantic, (Y/N) embraces London society with hopes of finding inspiration for a new story. Only to find herself the subject of a love story right out of one of her favorite romance novels.

Prologue: The Letters 

Ch. 1: The Wanderer 

Ch. 2: Don Juan 

Ch. 3: Practical Education

Ch. 4: Self Control 

Ch. 5: Vanity Fair

Ch. 6 - coming soon

Ch. 7

Over the Garden Wall - Masterlist

Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

18+

Summary: The youngest daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, plagued by the same illness as her father, grows tired of her lonely and isolated existence. When escaping the prison-like castle she has been sequestered in for her entire life, she meets a young man who shares her love for painting and whom she can not stop thinking about. Secrets, betrayal, and love all fight against one another. Which one will win?

Series Warnings: Love at first sight; POV third person; eventual smut; isolation; dramatic/inaccurate depictions of mental illness; thoughts of death; there will be fluff, okay? I swear; potential historical inaccuracies; complex mother/daughter relationship; historical medical practices; SIMP Benedict; idgaf about historical canon; complicated sibling relationships; execution by hanging

Tags specified before each chapter

(Tags will be updated as the story continues)

Last Updated: 03/28/24 (Complete)

*indicates smut

Chapter One - Loathing Boredom

Chapter Two - Ruinous Secrets

Chapter Three - Never is a Promise

Chapter Four - As the Poets Say

Chapter Five - Vagrant Body

Chapter Six - Codes and Clues

Chapter Seven - Dig My Fingers in

Chapter Eight - No Light of My Own

Chapter Nine - This Sweet Plague *

Chapter Ten - Tricked By the Past

Chapter Eleven - No Label, No Name

Chapter Twelve - Keeping Time

Chapter Thirteen - Only You Can Mend

Chapter Fourteen - Not Above Violence

Interlude - Lady Whistledown

Chapter Fifteen - Matching Wounds

Chapter Sixteen - Go Along to Be With You

Chapter Seventeen - Balanced on Desire

Interlude - Marietta

Chapter Eighteen - Oh, My One

Chapter Nineteen - Like Fuel to Fire *

Chapter Twenty - If I Send for You

Interlude - Honeymoon *

Chapter Twenty One - An Atom and a Star

Chapter Twenty Two - The Bed I Was Born In *

Chapter Twenty Three - Don't Wait to Understand

Chapter Twenty Four - Fingers Laced a Crown

Chapter Twenty Five - Here to Kingdom Come *

Epilogue - A Moment, A Love

Drabble - Pall Mall Drabble - Picnic Drabble - Like Mother, Like Son Drabble - Jealousy Drabble - More Than a Maid Drabble - Coronation Day Drabble - Second Son Drabble - Number Four Drabble - Reasonably Unreasonable Drabble - Tag, You're It Drabble - Sisters Drabble - Spoiled Drabble - Opal of the Season Drabble - Fit for Family Drabble - Garden in Bloom * (smut adjacent) Drabble - What if? AU