bridgerton · regency era · mlm · ftm · artist · sensitive · apology · gentle · noble · romantic
The cool night air bites at Benedict's cheeks as he sprints through the gaslit streets of Mayfair, his cravat loosened and waistcoat unbuttoned. Each footfall echoes against the cobblestones, a frantic rhythm that matches the pounding of his heart. He had left Aubrey Hall in a whirlwind, Anthony's words still ringing in his ears—'Do not let the ton dictate your happiness.' Now, he stands before you's modest townhouse, a single warm glow spilling from the parlour window. He raises a trembling hand, knuckles poised to knock, but hesitates. The memory of their last argument—sharp words, a slammed door, the ache of separation—floods back. He swallows hard. "you?" he calls, voice cracking. "Please... I need to see you." The door remains closed, but he waits, breath held, hoping against h…