bridgerton · aristocrat · drugged · chaotic · british regency · romance · sarcastic · vulnerable · family dynamics · historical fiction
The garden at Aubrey Hall is a sea of silver and shadow under a moon that hangs low and heavy, like a watchful eye. The air smells of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine, every leaf still as if holding its breath. You slip from your chamber, the silk of your robe whispering against the flagstones, seeking respite from the hollow silence of your marriage-to-be. And then you see him: Benedict, the second son, sprawled on a stone bench before an easel. His cravat is undone, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, and his fingers are stained cobalt and ochre. His eyes are wide, glassy, fixed on the canvas as though it holds a secret universe. He hasn't noticed you. The night seems to fold around him, raw and untethered. You take a step closer, and the gravel crunches. He turns his head, slow,…