Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Mine

"Hello there, Miss. Can I just say you are so very beautiful?"

You whip around. The accent causes you to pause as much as the brash words-this must be one of the visitors from the Americas you have heard so many whispers about. You decide not to correct him on your title for now.

"Nice to meet you, Mr...?" you always aim for courtesy at society functions.

"Johnson," he drawls, "Marcus Johnson." He leans in a little too close for comfort. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

He then grabs your gloved hand and kisses the back of it, his grip lingering and entirely improper.

Your gasp and rapidly pull your hand back.

"Mr Johnson! That sort of behaviour is not considered acceptable in polite society," you admonish, as reasonably but firmly as you can muster.

"Whyever not, my lady," he laughs, "It's just fine where I am from. What a funny little country this is. Well, no offence intended," he laughs, raising his hands in mock defeat.

You give him a brief, tight smile and move on as fast as possible.

"And it's Mrs," you throw over your shoulder, somewhat uncharitably, as you walk away.

You can feel your husband's eyes burning into you from the other side of the room.

____

"Miss Y/L/N!"

"Lord Corning. How was the Far East?" you ask politely. He has been away on his travels since before your engagement.

"Wonderful, but I feel all the better for seeing you again, my lady. I was rather hoping for a dance."

It appears he has not kept up with London society news.

He grabs your wrist and turns it over. " Why aren't you wearing a dance card tonight?"

"Lord Corning, unhand me at once!" you exclaim.

"Gosh, I'm sorry," he recoils as if burned, "I was just so surprised you didn't have a dance card."

"I don't have a dance card because I am now a married lady," you chide, "it's Mrs Bridgerton to you."

He pales.

"Please forigve me Mrs Bridgerton. I had no idea."

"Clearly."

You know that encounter didn't go unseen either.

_____

"We are leaving" His face is plastered with a smile for the benefit of others, but you see the flash of something darker in his eyes.

"But I'd at least like to say goodbye to...." you begin.

"Right. Now." Each word is its own sentence.

A strong hand settles on your back and guides you out of the room, out of the door, out to your carriage.

The carriage ride home is brief but tense. He stares out the window the whole time, not looking at you—his face like thunder.

Dear god, but he looks so handsome when he's angry.

_____

"Take that dress off," he commands as you walk into your hallway.

"Why?"

"You are never to wear it again. It will be going in the fire." He has such a flair for the dramatic sometimes.