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maelialuv · 11 months

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A Farmer's Friend. a Bridgerton fanfic <3

part one: A Chance Encounter

Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.

Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.

Wordcount: 3.4K

The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.

Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.

From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.

You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.

A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.

You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.

John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"

John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."

Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"

John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.

"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."

"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"

In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.

"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."

Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.

Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.

Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.

You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.

The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.

You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.

With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.

"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.

You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."

"From the tree?"

"Yes, from the tree."

"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.

"Yes, that tree."

"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.

"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.

"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."

"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.

"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."

"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.

"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.

"Yes, I do."

"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.

"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."

"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.

"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."

"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."

"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.

"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."

You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.

"All right, just George."

A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.

The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.

George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."

You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.

You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."

"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.

"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."

"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.

"For a stranger you are certainly bold."

"I do not hear a defence."

"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.

"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.

You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.

It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."

George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.

"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.

"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.

"Laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."

"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."

"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."

You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.

"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.

George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.

"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.

"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."

This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.

'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."

In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.

"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."

You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.

George chuckled breathily.

"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."

The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"

You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."

"Splendid."

He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.

He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.

"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.

His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.

Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.

You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.

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darknights04 · 1 month

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are you still working on the Elijah mikaelson Bridgeton fic?

I'm sorry it took so long 😭😭 Lots of life changes have been occurring. But here it is, a small blurb of what could be the start of a series if you guys like it.

The Social Season

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x reader Summary: The Mikaelsons have returned to London for this year's social season. No girl had ever caught Elijah's eye before, until now. Word Count: 2772 Masterlist

London 1814

The London social season had been in full swing by the time the Mikaelsons had returned to the city during one of Lady Danbury’s events. Elijah and his siblings had barely walked through the doors before ruthless mamas began to smooth our their daughter’s dresses while eyeing them from across the room. Elijah was the prize, certainly, but if any woman was to catch a Mikaelson son at all they would consider it a win. Rebekah had also never had a difficulty keeping her dance card full.

It was well past the first soiree of the season, but it was the first that the Mikaelson siblings had made an appearance at. The marriage-minded missus of the city (and their mamas) always kept a keen eye out for them. While they may not have had the status of the Duke, the Mikaelson family was both well known, respected, and equally as feared. Not even Lady Whistledown dared to write more than their names.

“Must we return to this god-awful city every year?” Niklaus groaned as the wave of young bachelorettes swarmed towards them.

“Speak for yourself,” Kol smiled, watching the ladies with a much different expression. “I rather like being adored.”

“Mikaelsons!” they all heard coming from the opposite direction. Upon inspection they saw none other than Anthony Bridgerton advancing towards them. Rebekah and Elijah turned toward him with bright smiles with Niklaus and Kol tended to the hoard of ladies with empty dance cards.

“Bridgerton,” Elijah greeted with a smile, meeting his arm in the middle to shake his hand in greeting.

“You’ve missed a great amount in the short few weeks you’ve been absent this season.”

“Yes, well, we had some family business to tie up back in the states across the water.”

“No matter, you are all here now. You must join our family for a promenade sometime soon so I might regale you with all the happenings from the season thus far.”

“I’m sure we’ll catch up plenty with a reading of the last couple Lady Whistledown issues,” Rebekah remarked with a small chuckle.

“Yes but surely, sister, as you know as well as I Whistledown doesn’t know everything,” Elijah corrected before turning back to Anthony with a smile. “We’ll be glad to join you, Bridgerton. You shall name the day.”

“Fantastic! Oh and we must not forget the ball my mother is hosting at our estate in the country. You’d all be welcome there as my guests if you so desire.”

“I would be honored, my lord,” Rebekah said with a smile, bowing her head slightly. It was no secret that she fancied the man. Her whole family could see it. While Rebekah had no intention of being courted or heavens forbid marrying anyone, she could still dream about the life she might live were she able to. The beautiful family that might surround her. The number of children she and the viscount might have been able to have together. But that was nothing more than a fantasy. Precisely the reason that Elijah was hardly ever seen taking any young ladies to the floor. He felt it foolish to fill them with futile hopes of him proposing. Every respectable lady of the ton desired marriage, children, a real family. Something none of the Mikaelsons would be able to provide.

Nonetheless, the Mikaelsons always appeared before the ton each year during the height of the social season just long enough to maintain appearances. Not to mention, Kol had not found an easier afternoon snack than that of a young lady hoping for a betrothal. They never killed any of the members of the ton, of course. Such a high standing society member would surely be missed. Nothing a bit of the vampires’ own blood and a little compulsion couldn’t resolve.

“You must meet my dear cousin,” Anthony stated after a brief moment. “She’s come to live with us after the passing of her mother, my aunt.”

Anthony turned as he beckoned you over to them. Elijah sighed as he looked down at his feet, readjudsting his posture to be more proper as he awaited your arrival. When his eyes met yours, however, his reluctance towards the introduction vanished.

“Mikaelsons,” Anthony continued. “This is my cousin, miss Y/n Ledger.”

“A pleasure,” you said with a polite smile and a perfect curtsy.

“The pleasure is mine,” Elijah replied quickly, offering his hand for you to take. Once you softly placed your hand into his, Elijah brought it ever so slowly up to his lips as he touched the softest kiss to your gloved hand; an action that did not go unnoticed by Rebekah, nor the ravenous mamas behind them. Elijah was not one to give more than a curt nod to young ladies introducing themselves. “Lady Ledger-”

“Just miss Ledger,” you corrected. “Lady Ledger was my grandmother.”

While the response was simple, it answered many of Elijah’s questions. For one, you were not married. If you had been married you would either hold a title as a lady or hold a different last name than your grandmother. Second, your mother was not married. Had your father been a Ledger himself, your mother would hold the title of Lady Ledger, not your grandmother. As that title is still her grandmother’s to hold, your mother hadn’t married a lord to gain the title herself. Thirdly, she must be related to the Bridgertons through the sister of the current vicountesses Bridgerton.

“Pardon me, Miss Ledger. Would you care to do me the honor of a d-”

“Y/n, surely you must join me for a cool glass of lemonade,” Rebekah interrupted, linking her arm through yours as she dragged you away to the drinks table.

Elijah stood dumbfounded as you both walked away. Rebakah knew it was improper to interrupt, but after living for 800 years she couldn’t come to care. Elijah watched your expression closely. He expected a protest, or for you to at least look back towards him. There wasn’t a chance you didn’t catch what he wanted to ask you. Any other lady would have jumped at the opportunity to be led to the floor by a Mikaelson. Especially by Elijah, being the eldest for all intents and purposes.

As soon as the two of you were gone, Elijah was swarmed by the ton much like his brothers were just moments before. Nikalus and Kol could not agree to another single dance, having agreed to partner with a different lady for each one, so naturally the crowd has turned next

‘’ towards both Elijah and Anthony, knowing this was the season the viscount longed to secure a wife.

Anthony looked towards Elijah with raised eyebrows as he let out a deep sigh before having to face the wolves.

---

As the week went on, Elijah and Rebekah agreed to join the Bridgerton family in a turn about the park in Mayfair. Rebekah loved their family. She envied Violet’s ability to have so many children. A life she longed for herself. Elijah, on the other hand, wanted to know more about you.

“Bridgertons,” Elijah greeted the family with a nod as they approached. “Miss Ledger,” he said toward you.

“My lord,” you greeted back with a smile and a small bow.

“Would you care for a turnabout the lake?” he offered, holding his arm out for you.

“Oh,” you said with a slight tone of surprise, looking back at the Bridgerton family. Before you could find the words to accept or deny, Violet spoke up for you.

“She would love one,” Violet beamed with a nod, pulling you forward to take his arm.

You chuckled in defeat as you wrapped you arm around his, hand resting on the crook of his elbow.

The two of you had barely gotten ten feet from the rest of the family before he bagan to bombard you with questions. You didn’t mind, of course. Most most began conversations this way, especially when “interviewing” their potential matches.

“So I really must ask,” he began. “How is it that you’re not married yet?”

You chuckled at his question, one of the ones you expected to hear first. “Well, my mother had me out of wedlock. If it wasn’t for or connection to the Bridgertons then I would be labeled a bastard child and thrown out of society entirely. Instead, my mother trained me from a young age so I could have the perfect match. She was determined. Too determined. Her determination ended up turning away a lot of possible suitors.”

As you spoke, you noticed Elijah was genuinely interested in what you had to say. He wasn’t spaced out as you rambled on, he didn’t seem annoyed or simply waiting for you to be finished. He wanted to know about you. About your life.

“As the seasons past, and I got older, everyone began to lose interest. I’ve been officially put ‘on the shelf’ as they would call it, at the ripe age of three and twenty.”

“Yet you still attend events with the rest of the ton?” he questioned.

“Living with the Bridgertons comes with a surplus of invitations,” you explained with a smile. “And Eloise needs encouragement through her first season.”

Elijah let out a laugh at that. “I pity any man who tries to tame her.”

“Not possible,” you rebutted with a laugh of your own. “Eloise is one horse that cannot be tamed.”

As you continued to walk, you noticed many eyes turned to stare at the two of you.

“And what of you?” you asked him. It was his turn to answer your questions.

“What of me?”

“Surely you have your number of available matches. Why have you gone so long without securing one?”

Elijah chucked while glancing to the floor, watching your feet walk in sync. “In truth I’ve never had the desire to settle down with anyone,” he explained. “It didn’t seem like the type of life I was meant to live.”

“And now?” you asked. Both of your steps had halted as you turned to face one another, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the words to answer you.

“Now…” he began, not truly knowing what his answer was. “Now, I’m not sure what the future holds for me.”

The two of you stayed in silence you a couple moments longer, stuck searching the others eyes for answers to questions you didn’t know. It wasn’t until you remembered where you were that you tore your eyes from his, clearing your throat.

“We should make our way back,” you said simply. “They’ll be serving tea under the gazebo soon. Would you and your sister care to join us?”

It was Elijah’s turn tp clear his own throat, facing back towards the path in front of you as he continued to walk.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “That would be quite agreeable.”

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up again. “You must join us in Aubrey Hall next week.”

“Yes, Lord Bridgerton mentioned retiring to the country for a ball his mother is hosting.”

“He’s invited the Sharma family to join us before the rest of the invited guests arrive, I insist your family do the same.”

“Are you certain?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “We would not wish to be a burden.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him. “There is plenty of space and I could use the company while Anthony is busy in his dance of courtship. I shall discuss it with the family upon our return.”

As the two of you walked back towards the Bridgertons, you felt eyes on you left and right. Both lords and ladys staring at the pair of you with two feelings on their mind. Confusing and envy.

---

As the Mikaelsons dismounted from their carriage at Aubrey Hall, the entirety of the Bridgerton family was waiting to greet them.

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet smiled, greeting him with open arms.

“Elijah, please,” he corrected, bowing his head slightly towards her. “You’ve invited us to be guests in your home, its only fair that you might call us by our given names. You know my sister, Rebekah,” he continued, motioning towards his siblings. “And might I introduce my brother, Niklaus and Kol.”

“A pleasure, Lady Bridgerton,” Kol greeted with a bow of his own, followed by Niklaus.

“You have a lovely home,” he spoke up with a warm smile.

“While you’re here you may think of it as your own,” Violet began before motioning towards the front doors. “Please, we were just about to sit down for tea. The Sharmas should be arriving any moment.”

As the group walked into the house, Elijah’s face lit up with a smile seeing you sitting in the parlor, waiting for everyone else.

“My lord,” you smiled, standing up to offer a quick curtsy. “I’m pleased you could make it.”

Elijah grabbed your hand before your eyes raised to meet his, bringing it once more up to lightly caress it with his lips. Your breath hitches in your throat as this time, you weren’t wearing your gloves.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” his said, looking back at you with a smile, you hand staying in his while he looks up at you.

His eyes held yours for another moment before you heard a throat clear behind you. Elijah turned to see Kol with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ah, yes, miss Ledger allow me to introduce my brothers, Kol and Niklaus.”

Both men in question smiled warmly as they each gave the the girl a quick bow.

“Brother,” Elijah continued. “I’d like you both to meet miss Y/n Ledger. Cousin to the Bridgertons.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” you said with a smile of your own, giving a small curtsy.

“Miss Ledger,” Niklaus starting, stepping forward to be next to Elijah. “I hear you’re quite the artist. I myself dabble in painting every now and again, I’d love to see your work.”

Elijah looked towards his brother uneasily. Anyone who overheard him may have taken his comment as a kind remark, but Elijah didn’t miss the calculating grin on his face. He had an agenda.

“An artist?” Elijah repeated with a slight tone of surprise. He wasn’t sure how his brother came to know this.

“Yes, brother. I’ve done my research,” Klaus answered back simply.

“Oh,” you began, a bit take off guard by his knowledge of you. “Well I’ve tried my hand at painting every now and again, but Benedict is the true artist of the family. It’s him you’d be wanting to speak with about it.”

“Miss Ledger I don’t recall ever seeing you on the dance floor,” Kol spoke up next. “You must allow me to lead you sometime. I am, after all, the best dancer in the family.”

“Perhaps the best male dancer,” Rebekah spoke up, seemingly appearing beside him. “Both of you, stop overwhelming the poor girl.”

“Oh, I really don’t mind, Lady Mikaelson.”

“Rebekah, please,” she almost scoffed. “Titles make me feel much too old.”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” she interrupted. “In any case, we are all most comfortable being called by our given names. When one hears the name ‘Mikaelson’ being thrown from across the ballroom we never know for who it is intended for.”

“Very well, Rebekah. Then you all must call me Y/n. Especially here in the country, away from the rules of London society.”

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet could be heard from behind, approaching the small group in the parlor.

“Again, Elijah really is fine,” he corrected again with a chuckle.

“Elijah,” she repeated, a warm smile on her face. “You really must allow Y/n to take you on a tour of the grounds. I hear you’re quite the reader and my late husband, Edmund, had quite the collection in his library.”

“But aunt Violet,” you started before Elijah could give an answer. “I told the kitchen staff that I would assist in serving the tea.”

Violet waved you off. “I shall send down Eloise to help them. You go on and show Elijah your uncle’s library upstairs.”

“I would love to see it,” Elijah added, urging you with his smile.

“Very well,” you nodded. Elijah help out his arm, motioning for you to go first, following close behind as you led him up to the Bridgerton’s library.

“Might they be needing a chaperone, Lady Bridgerton?” Rebekah asked her with a sly grin, catching onto Violet’s schemes.

“I’m not sure as to who you are referring,” she replied with an innocent shrug, turning back to return to the rest of her family.

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