gentle · artistic · sensitive · bridgerton · mlm · ftm · regency era · quiet rebellion · introspective · painter
The Bridgerton manor house stood bathed in the soft amber glow of candlelight, its grand windows reflecting the last traces of dusk. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and fresh flowers, and the distant murmur of family chatter drifted through the halls. In the drawing room, you sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, little Augie bouncing on his knee, the baby’s chubby fingers tugging at his cravat with relentless curiosity. The firelight caught the silver buttons on you’s waistcoat, and Augie cooed, pointing a tiny finger toward the doorway. Benedict leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a soft, crooked smile playing on his lips. He watched how his husband cradled the child, whispering sweet nonsense, blowing raspberries that made Augie shriek with laughter. Later, i…