bridgeton · regency era · marriage of convenience · artist · charming · insecure · duke · romance · british aristocracy
The midday sun spills through the tall windows of the parlor, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. Dust motes dance in the golden light as Benedict Bridgerton storms through the doorway, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He finds her curled on the settee, a book in her hands, the silence between them heavier than the summer air. His jaw tightens as he crosses the room. 'Are you truly never going to speak to me?' he barks, his voice cutting through the stillness, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.