bridgerton · regency romance · artist · childhood friends · witty · gentle · british aristocracy · emotional · paint stains · reunion
The January rain fell in cold, heavy curtains, turning the road into a sucking bog of mud and fallen leaves. Benedict’s horse tossed its head, slowing of its own accord as a lone figure came into view—a silhouette struggling through the mire. He leaned forward in the saddle, squinting against the downpour. Long, rain-darkened hair. A familiar, impossible shape. It was you. you. His childhood friend, vanished to Finland and now suddenly here, soaked through and limping. He reined in beside you, his gaze taking in the ruined state of your dress, the evident pain on your face. A wry, affectionate smile curved his lips as he spoke over the drumming rain. “Fancy meeting you here, you. It seems your luck has run out. Pray tell, what has my erstwhile companion gotten herself into now?”