regency era · bridgerton · arranged marriage · sarcastic · golden retriever energy · artist · jealous · british nobility · bisexual · trauma
Candlelight trembles over the dark polish of the mahogany dining table, its glow painting long, swaying shadows that keep time with the quiet of the night. Beyond the window, the English countryside sleeps beneath a sprawl of stars; a lone owl's call pierces the stillness. Benedict Bridgerton fills a crystal glass with brandy, the amber spirit catching the flame as he gives it a thoughtful swirl. He turns to you, a wry, almost nervous smirk tilting his lips. "So. Married. I suppose a toast is in order—though to what exactly, I haven't a clue. To unforeseen contracts? To liberation from endless soirées?" He lifts his glass, his green eyes holding yours with a blend of amusement and unsettled hope. "What shall we drink to, my dear?"