bridgerton imagines.

the great return: simon basset.

i have not known a days peace since i entered into my teens.
since that dreadful day,
it has been difficult to come to terms with who i am as opposed to the wife i will be.
i must prepare my womb with this,
and brush my hair with that.
i must only wear this silk and never dare leave my home without the most crushing of corsets sinking into my skin.
it is the only life i have known and the only life i am allowed to lead.
though if i must admit,
only to myself in this dark, seldom moment of solitude,
i do not wish for children.
might i be honest for another second?
i would make a horrible mother.
i do not know how to quickly remedy something for a sick, coughing child.
i do not know how to assuage a wailing baby.
i do not know how to navigate the complexities of womanhood nor manhood simply because i am not well versed in life itself.
how can i meant to be a mentor when i have hardly lived myself?
the carriage comes to a stop and my heart slams in my chest.
"we have arrived?"
"we have."
i stop myself from growing frantic or smearing the rouge on my cheeks onto my white gloved hands.
instead,
i swallow my fears and exit with the poise that has been instilled within me from the moment i took my very first steps.
the nerves rise and rise,
threatening to spill over by sounds of my madness,
until my gaze falls on a familiar face.
suddenly,
i am at ease.
surely,
i can handle this night with him so near.
i smile at simon basset,
the duke of hastings,
the way a lady does:
gentle,
just barely touching the edge of my cheeks.
he returns it with a gentle nod,
calming my heart full of fret.
the moment passes by in a blur.
i could not tell you what happened the moment i walked through those doors.
or what happened after i curtsied in front the queen herself.
all i remember is a particular set of eyes baring into my being,
filling me up on the appreciation of my own beauty.
i do remember, however, being deemed the diamond of the season.
all of my mothers eon-long worries have now been put to rest as there is little chance for me to remain unmarried by this seasons end.
personally,
the true worry has just begun.
i can no longer hold off on preparing myself to bring forth a child.
the pretending must begin now.
"well, definitely the rarest and most beautiful diamond i've ever seen. the queen sure knows how to pick them."
interrupting my suffocating thoughts,
i turn to find simon making way towards me.
i laugh, though softly, and nod.
"thank you, kindly. and—and thank you for coming, your grace."
"please,"
simon scoffs with the wave of his hand through the air.
"enough with the pleasantries. you know me, y/n. i am simply simon."
"well, simply simon,"
i mock.
"thank you for traveling all the way from..."
i stop short because truth be told,
i have no idea where simon has been these last few months,
"...just...being here to support me."
simon smiles that gentleman's smile,
takes my hand into his and squeezes it ever so gently.
"the heavens could have rained upon me and still, i would have showed for you."
"you are too kind to me, simon. you always have been."
he rolls his eyes.
"only doing as a gentleman does."
we grin at each other in a knowing sense.
there is nobody who could know my soul better than the man before me,
standing with his hand in mine.
i wonder how different our friendship is to be after i'm married.
might he be allowed a visit or two every so often?
or might i find myself betrothed to a jealous man who would never hear of simon's name?
as though i have drained myself of any color,
simon draws his eyebrows together to ask,
"are you well, y/n?"
i swallow my panic,
find solace in those eyes,
and somehow find that everything will be alright.
"quite well, thank you. i'm just...overwhelmed, i suppose."
"as expected. you are the most sought after woman in england, after all."
simon's eyes turn to find the swarm of men creeping their way towards me.
i do not look because i do not think i can stomach it.
instead,
i focus on simon.
i find the column of his throat and trace it,
wondering what it might feel like beneath greedy lips.
i survey the curve of his lips and wonder what they might feel like against my yearning skin.
"oh!"
i exclaim at my abrupt thoughts of impertinence.
simon finds my gaze again,
worried and confused.
"y/n?"
i hold a hand to my racing heart,
then shake my head to chase the thoughts away.
"my...i think the heat is getting to me."
simon smiles a knowing smile,
like there might be a joke i am not in on.
still,
i return it with ease.
"i shall leave you to cool, then. let the suitors woo you. find me should you need me, jewel."
he teases now,
bowing his head before he leaves.
though i sense a hint of hesitation,
and maybe even an envious look in his eye.
he is gone before i can question it further,
so i assume i have imagined it for my own sake.
i am alone for mere seconds before another man has taken my attention,
taken the place of where simon stood just before.
and as these conversations grow longer,
grow tedious,
and absolutely boring,
i find myself comparing them to simon: