Bridgerton Imagines

this and the next // B.B.

Warnings: married couple, marriage, fluff, Benedict is slightly dramatic, happy couple, happy endings, mentions of food and drink (alcohol), kissing, tickling.

WC: 2.8k

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The annual Smythe-Smith musicale was always welcomed with a hint of anticipation combined with an overhanging sense of dread. For newcomers, they couldn't wait to see the quartet of young women begin their ode to Mozart or Bach. However, those who had attended the musicale once or twice, awaited the performance with dread for no matter how wonderful the young ladies were to talk to, they did not hold a musical bone between them.

Benedict's hand rests on the small of your back; the heat of his skin felt through the many layers separating you both. Expectations dictate that Benedict should really offer you his arm, but he preferred to have his hand rest gently at the bottom of your spine, leaving you both free to turn and speak to others without having to leave the other.

"What's wrong?" You ask out of nowhere, catching sight of the ever-present frown on Benedict's face. It had been an almost constant presence for the last two weeks, but instead of press, you let the man be. He would come to you when he was ready, but the worry growing in your gut had you asking the question before you could realise.

"Nothing," He answers quickly, glancing down at you hurriedly.

"Why don't I believe you?" You tease, nudging Benedict gently. His gaze softens as he hears the undercurrent of worry in your tone; guilt settles heavy on his chest, leaving him close to breathless. "I need you to know that you can always come to me," You all but whisper, reaching up to caress Benedict's cheek softly.

Benedict leans into your touch, turning his face, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "I know, my darling." He whispers, his famous Bridgerton eyes oddly sombre despite the evening's promised entertainment. "I promise you; it isn't anything dire."

"Now you have me intrigued, Mr. Bridgerton. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Benedict sighs, feeling rather as if he's made a mountain out of a molehill. "I feel a block on my art. I haven't painted anything now in close to a fortnight." His voice drops as he finishes his confession, shame painting his words with a muted tone that has you reaching out to bring him closer to your embrace. "I worry," He pauses, glancing around the room, "I worry that I might not paint again."

Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight of the pain written across Benedict's face. He had always been the artist of the family; choosing sketching and oils over touring Europe and Asia.

"I have every faith that you will paint again, Benedict Bridgerton," You begin, keeping your voice low but firm. "I have no doubt in my mind that in the coming days or even hours, that you will find some inspiration that will help you to pick up a paintbrush once more. Talent such as your simply does not lie dormant, and if it does, it doesn't like dormant for long."

"You're a wonder," Benedict exclaims, his voice awed as the gas lamps adorning the walls begin to flash, signalling the start of the musicale.

"And you're my love. You'll paint again, Benedict." You answer, reaching up to press an all to brief kiss to his jawline. Stepping back, you take Benedict's arm, hoping that the burden he had shared with you just now had halved the weight sitting on his shoulders. "But for now," You state, "Let's try to enjoy the musicale."

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For many attendees of the musicale, it was not the talent that attracted them but the party afterwards. Guests would gather, drinks would flow, and fun would be had as most tried to forget the event that had barely taken place.