Bridgerton Imagines

Gretna Green // A.B. (Part 1)

Warnings: fluff, overbearing mothers, stress, wedding talk, weddings, eloping, mentions of pregnancy (no-one is).

WC: 1.6k

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"I think red roses would suit the theme more."

"Roses are last season. I think we should have something more elegant."

"More elegant than a rose? Pray, tell me what you have in mind."

"I believe Dutch Tulips would suffice."

An unimpressed scoff sounds in the room.

The back and forth was now entering its third hour; the barbed rhetoric from your mother compared to the gentle coaxing of Lady Bridgerton was not providing the entertainment you once thought it would. Instead, their voices were beginning to grate on your nerves, setting your teeth on edge with every suggestion from either woman. As much as you adored both women in your life, they would not listen to a word from you, deeming your opinion as unneeded and unwanted.

Clearing your throat, you grab the attention of the bickering matriarchs. "I believe I would like neither Roses nor Dutch Tulips," You announce, fixing both women with a stern stare. "I should rather like Gardenias and Sweet Peas."

An amused huff leaves your mother; her eyes twinkling with the amusement that's already written across her face. "Hush child," She murmurs, sipping her tea, "You don't need to stress over such things. Lady Bridgerton and I have it all sorted."

Annoyance flares through you. With gritted teeth, you force yourself to remain calm. "Mother, I do not want Roses or Tulips. Please, I would rather have Gardenias for my bouquet."

Your mother sighs; her whole body sagging with the force of it. "Very well," She relents though her pursed lips highlight her annoyance at your stance. "Gardenias it is."

"Thank you," You whisper, voice lost in the new line of conversation – your wedding dress.

Slumping in your seat, you catch the warning glance from your mother. Naturally, at such a sight, you would work to correct your posture, however, she had hijacked your wedding out from under you and left you little to plan. Your posture could be the least of her worries, for all you were concerned with.

You fade in and out of the conversation; overhearing fabric names – lace, tulle, satin, silk. They fly in one ear and out the other because despite what you may wish for in your wedding dress, you were not to receive it if your mother had anything to say about it.

Cup of tea after cup of tea, biscuit after biscuit – they're all consumed as the matriarchs of the two families bond further over the neckline of your wedding dress.

They only fall silent when the door opens and in walks your fiancée.

"Anthony!" Violet greets, standing from her seat, welcoming her son with a kiss to his cheek. "We didn't expect you today."

"I'm well aware," Anthony murmurs, answering his mother with his eyes firmly fixed on you. "However, I missed my fiancée."

"Anthony," You smile, reaching a hand out for him to join you. He slides into the chair next to yours, ignoring all societal expectations, leaning across the gap between you, kissing you softly and sweetly.

"How are you?" He whispers, pulling away far enough to see the harried look in your eyes.

"I'm okay," You answer, smiling reassuringly at the brunette.

Anthony smiles in response though you can see he doesn't quite believe you. His hand finds yours; tangling your fingers together, giving yours a comforting squeeze as he settles further into his chair. His thumb rubs encouraging circles into your skin; you sink into the motion, letting Anthony's love for you bolster you as you continue to listen to your mother dictate your dress.