𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 | benedict bridgerton

►mon sauveur

*re-edited*

Marie grinned at the pleasureable sight of Daphne Bridgerton dancing with the Duke of Hastings, who narrowly escaped Lord Berbrooke - a man who seemed to be eyeing all of the other wealthy girls in the room. His gaze flittered over Marie who was straightening the crinkles in her beaded dress after she fell into Anthony. 

His rotten smirk widened at the sight of the young girl, licking his lips at the freckles which scattered her collarbones but disappeared when they got to her face. A rouge peppered her cheeks and nose which added to natural beuaty. "Princess Howard?" He smiled at her, baring his yellowing teeth. She looked up, noticeably disgusted. 

"Bonjour," She smiled politely, without her teeth, realising some eyes were still on her as she curtsied. "I have been told you are looking for a husband? I can surely recommend a few suitable men," He raised his eyebrows, straightening his ironed collar. "I hope they're not like you," She looked him up and down, coughing into her hand. Her mother would have scalded her for such unladylike behaviour.

"No, I am not looking for a husband, no matter my mother's wishes. I am not interested in the men here," She artificially chuckled. "Well, even so, please could I have the honour of having a danc-" He was interrupted by her. "I have actually just exited the dance floor, I'm quite parched," She smiled at him, turning to the drinks table and dropping her smile as she sipped at the cocktail. 

"Well, we can get to know each other before you go back to dancing with me," He smirked, his breath making her stutter. She walked backwards, him following her eagerly, his grin widening as she hit the wall with her back. "No, merci, Lord Berbrooke," She began but he grabbed her gloved wrist with his cold hand. "I wasn't asking," He snarled. 

Marie's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Her father's confrontational stubborness was obvious on her face as she snatching her gloved arm away. "Well, you are not mon ami, nor my mari and I have denied you a dance, so you can take your proposal somewhere else. I am a woman not an object for you to play with," She sneered and he took a step back in shock. Marie attempted to exit his near vicinity but was yanked back by his hand on her shoulder. "Get off me," She whispered, attempting to not make a scene. "Morceau de merde!"

"Lord Berbrooke?" A low voice cut through the air. The pair halted and Marie was quick to relieve her shoulder from his grasp. He went to reach for it again but the person interrupting got in the way. Broad shoulders in a well-tailored suit blocked Lord Berbrooke from her vision. 

"I was about to ask this Lady to dance actually, do you mind?" Her savior asked, standing in front of Marie protectively. "She's just left the dancefloorm, we were about to get drinks," Lord Berbrooke started to explain but Marie grabbed her new suitor's hand in a rush. "I'd love to dance."

Lord Berbrooke cowered under the gaze of the tall man in front of him. "Farewell then," The suitor cocked his head, watching Lord Berbrooke as he took Marie to the dance floor. "Are you okay?" He questioned whilst putting his hands on Marie's waist, swaying her to the slow music. 

The pair hopped in time to the melody when Marie looked up, her breath hitching in her throat. He was the man from the debutante ceremony. His darkened hair was messy, his suit cancelling out the roughness as it was pristine and sharp. His hand that held hers, whilst they circled each other, was covered in charcoal 

"Good evening, Miss, are you alright?" He asked again, looking into her soft brown eyes. Marie snapped from her daze, quickly grabbing a cocktail from a passing waiter and sipping on it. They left the dancefloor, another couple easily taking their place. 

The handsome mans eyebrows raised in humour when she finished the glass. "That is exactly how I feel," He confessed, a small smile placed on his face. Marie let her shock wear off before she placed the empty glass down on a nearby table. 

"I had Lord Berbrooke under control." She snapped, surprising the man who had helped her out. "I do not need a sauveur," She glared at him, turning to leave. He grabbed his wrist which she pulled towards herself, slipping out of his hands. "Get away from me," Marie glared. 

"What is it with men in Anglais," She cradled her gloved hand. "That attitude will get you nowhere, I tried to help you, my Lady!" He looked at her, reciprocating her tone. "It is Princess to you," She spat, taking a dislike to the man in front of her. "A woman can take care of herself."

"I-I never said you couldn't, I just thought that you needed help," The brown-eyed man stared at her curiously. Marie felt her heart sink in apolgetic sadness, although her stubborness would not let her give in to admitting she was wrong. "Well then, let me move on with my night as a free woman." 

Marie left him stood there, trying to regain his composure but his eyes kept leading to back her. "God, what an awful girl. Nobody will court her," He shook his head in distaste. Benedict was truly shocked that such a graceful debutante could have such a dirty mouth. "Mr Bridgerton, Phillipa would love to dance," Mrs Featherington overheard the conversation and pushed her daughter in his direction. "Right," He huffed, leading the badly-dressed girl to the dance floor. 

Marie huffed, attempting to get rid of her anger. Men annoyed her. Everybody annoyed her. 

She quickly walked up to the exit, talking to the polite butler and ordered a carriage home. Bea opened the door and hurried the girl in, a scolding look present on her face. "You left without a chaperone!" She exclaimed, ushering the girl to the bathroom where she washed Marie's face and took out the pins in her hair. 

"I do not need a chaperone," Marie huffed angrily. She felt bad, knowing that Bea would've had to deal with the lonely man whilst she was out. "What happened? You are tense," Bea noticed, pressing her warm hands down on Marie's tensed shoulders. She then soaked a sponge in warm water, letting it run down Marie's back. 

"Lord Berbrooke tried to get me to dance and I had the problem sorted but this man was so sure he could save the day. It was a tragedy," Marie spilled to Bea, the maid nodding and listening when MArie went into further detail about her night. 

"I believe to be on bad terms with the gentleman. I cannot apologise because I never earnt his name," Marie shook her head. "Please, dress into these," Bea held up Marie's night dress and hung up her ball dress before closing the curtains. "I'm sure you can apologise at the next ball. There will be many this season," Bea reassured her, asking the cook to make a cup of tea for her mistress. 

Bea placed herself at the end of the bed, blowing out the candle so the room was relatively dark. "Marie, just be careful. Men can be vicious creatures and without a chaperone or a husband, you are prone to the dark eyes," Bea advised wisely, patting the duvet which Marie lay under. "Just make sure the man you apologise to is a good one, I'd be cautious," She whispered in the darkness. "Anyway, goodnight Princess Howard," She bowed before leaving Marie to think in the dark of her words.  

Benedict Bridgerton is fullfilling This Author's hopes for Princess Howard's love story. It seemed he saved her from the treacherous Lord Berbrooke who was supposedly forcing her onto the dance floor. However, it was reported to This Author that the Princess was not at all happy with Mr Bridgerton. She, in fact, stormed away from him in anger. She wanted to save herself! How feminist of this forgein royalty. Maybe Marie was not meant for England after all.  

Yours Truly, Lady Whistledown.