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You were doing your very best to fade into the background, and it seemed to be working. You were seated at a table in the darkest corner of the elegant ballroom, hidden away in shadow and alone as the rest of the party danced and drank and chattered to one another. Dinner was over and the floor had been opened for dancing, waitstaff mingling through the crowds with trays of a signature Christmas cocktail. You had decided to give it another half hour before sneaking off to retire to your room for the evening.
You didn’t hear him approach and pull out a chair, sidling up next to where you had turned your own to watch the crowd.
“I take it this is your first Bridgerton Christmas party?” he asked, startling you out of your thoughts.
“Oh!” you said, turning sharply at the sound of his voice. “Oh… yes, it is. Am I that obvious?”
He grinned and your heart fluttered in your chest. He had one elbow resting on the table beside him and his head propped up on his fist, watching you with a curious gaze. It was clear he had come dressed for the black tie affair but lost some of his accouterments along the way, down to a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar undone, his requisite jacket and tie tossed away somewhere. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes – beautiful eyes at that, though you could not decide if they were blue or green or some perfect mixture of the two – and a small, crooked grin on his handsome face. His dark hair bore the look of artful tousling though you had the suspicion it was messier than it had started out, as though he had been running his fingers through it during the evening meal.
“I’ve been to enough of these to recognize a newcomer,” he replied, and gestured around the room with his free hand. “How are you finding Aubrey Hall?”
“It’s beautiful,” you replied honestly, plucking your drink from the table to take a small sip. “I’ve never seen anything like it, really. My room for the week is like something out of a fantasy.”
You’d been dumbfounded when Daphne had shown you to the guest room where you would be staying for your visit: an antique mahogany four poster bed, rich damask curtains in soft shades of blue, plush thick carpet on the floors… It was finer than any hotel or home you’d ever visited and you were astonished that you were being afforded such luxury.
The man’s chestnut eyebrows raised and his lips dropped open in delightful surprise.
“Oh, so you’ve been invited for the week and not just the party? Lucky you,” he said in a gently teasing tone. “What did you do to warrant an invitation?”
You gave an unladylike snort, cheeks heating at the uncontrollable noise and the way it made his smile grow. You covered as best as you could by taking another sip of your drink, which had grown increasingly watered-down as the ice had melted.
“I was invited by Daphne Bassett,” you explained. “I work with her at Hastings House Designs and I had mentioned that I didn’t have plans for the holidays.”
“I find it hard to believe a lovely lady like yourself would be free for the holidays,” the man countered, the flirtatious pique to his tone impossible to ignore.
“My family prefers to travel for the holiday season,” you explained. “A different trip each year. This year, they decided on a cruise. I get seasick. I was outvoted.”
He shook his head with a disapproving click of his tongue, straightening up in his chair. “Now that seems terribly poor-mannered for any family to do,” he told you. “No one should be left behind on a holiday!”
You laughed softly at his indignation on your behalf. “It’s alright with me,” you told him with a slow shrug of your shoulders. “Every year it seems the family gets bigger, louder, more chaotic… sometimes it's nice to be left to my own devices. Besides, I get to spend the week in this lovely house.”
He nodded. “That much I can understand,” he agreed.
“As would our hosts, I imagine,” you replied, gesturing towards where Daphne and her husband stood, speaking with other guests while simultaneously corralling a small herd of children. “Daphne told me she has seven brothers and sisters, can you imagine? Many of them married, having children of their own… it has to be a circus some days.”
The man at your side chuckled. “Truly,” he agreed. “Did Daphne tell you much about them?”
You shrugged again. “Only that they’re all quite close, and alphabetical by name. And to be careful with the brothers, the artist and the youngest.”
“Really? Do tell,” he said, leaning a little closer towards you. Clearly, he was curious, but you didn’t mind it; it gave you a chance to get a better look at his eyes, the color still unnameable, and the delightful dusting of dark stubble on his chin. If he was a good example of the sort of men who frequented a Bridgerton party, you thought, you would be a fool to ever turn down an invite in the future.
You laughed softly. “Daff said the youngest boy is still a teenager and has a certain proclivity towards infatuations with older women, including one of his sisters-in-law for a time,” you explained, amused at the thought of a lovesick teenage boy chasing around women twice his age. “And the artist is an outrageous flirt. I’m not sure who is who, unfortunately. Daff didn’t have time to introduce me to anyone before being pulled away.”
He grinned. “I can help you with that,” he said, moving his chair just a little closer so he could speak directly in your ear. He reached to direct your gaze with a thumb and forefinger on your chin so that a man in a dark blue dress shirt and striped waistcoat took center in your gaze, a curvy redhead in a pale green dress at his side.
“There we have Colin Bridgerton, third son and writer by trade, with his lovely bride Penelope, a novelist. He is absolutely besotted with his wife, acting like newlyweds even three years after marrying. They just returned from an extended holiday in Italy and with the way Pen has been refusing any cocktails all evening, are expected to be announcing their first child on the way any day now.”
He gently moved you to look a few feet to the left where a young man stood in a powder blue jacket, surrounded by a bevy of small children.
“There’s the young man himself, Gregory Bridgerton, doing his best to escape his nieces and nephews. Nineteen, freshly returned from uni for the holiday, and formerly prone to mooning over dear Penelope, though it seems Colin has put the fear of god into him on that front. Two things you should never covet from Colin: his dinner, and his wife.”
You laughed at his words, unable to help yourself, enjoying the way he was giving you the low down on everyone present and had slipped his free arm around your shoulders.
“Next up are Francesa and Eloise,” he went on, the two lovely brunette women talking together at a table nearest the dessert spread. “Francesca is in the pink gown. She teaches piano and is engaged to John Stirling, the tall, dark, and handsome gentleman approaching the table with fresh drinks for the ladies. Eloise is in the lilac, highly opinionated, staunch feminist, and in her first year out of law school, working for the Bridgerton Family Trust. Fun fact, Penelope is her oldest and dearest friend. She had been fighting for custody from Colin since they were children. He thinks he won in marrying her, though Eloise contends she has won, as he is no longer a best friend but a husband.”
You giggled again, reaching to cover your mouth to stifle the sound, your fingers brushing his where they had stayed gently touching your face.
“Then there’s Anthony, the gentleman there in the maroon coat, looking somewhat constipated,” he went on, and you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing again. “Eldest brother, all around pain in the arse, future viscount. The dark-haired beauty beside him is his entirely too good for him wife, Kathani, and jointly they own several of the children running around here. Worth noting that Anthony and Kate met when he took her younger sister, Edwina, out for a date and Kate lost her mind over it, insisting their age gap was inappropriate. I’m inclined to agree, as it all seemed to work out for the best in the long run. That’s Edwina in the yellow chiffon, heading towards Francesca and Eloise.”
“That’s five,” you told him, and he nodded.
“Daff you know, and I assume Simon as well. Simon is Anthony’s oldest mate from his uni days. Ant invited him to this very party several years ago after Simon’s father passed and had no plans for the holidays. Went a bit too big-brother over Simon and Daphne having a chat and the two conspired to drive him mad by pretending to date, just to rile him up. It all went a little sideways when the two went and fell in love, and here we are now.”
You smiled. “That’s two siblings falling for friends of the others’?” you asked. “That sounds like something out of a romance novel.”
He chuckled very near your ear and you straightened, suppressing a shiver. “It does, doesn’t it?” he agreed. “It’s fitting, with the viscount and his wife having quite a lovely story of their own. I’m sure Daff at least introduced you to Lady Violet?”
You nodded. “She was so nice. I’ve never really known members of the aristocracy before. Honestly I wouldn’t have expected her to be so warm and kind.”
“I think it’s happiness that does that for people,” he replied. “Lady Violet was close friends with the viscount, Edmund, both of them feeling their attachment turning into something much more passionate but afraid to speak up. Thankfully, Edmund found the nerve, and the next thing anyone knew, the two were married and raising a brood of children, the last born being Hyacinth. There, beside her mother, the girl with the curls in her hair. Youngest, incorrigible prankster, and absolutely tickled each time she sees her family grow. If you’d ask her, she’d tell you there’s no such thing as an in-law, just more sisters and brothers added to the fold.”
“That’s very sweet,” you commented.
“Even extended family is included, as far as she is concerned. Penelope’s sisters – you’ll note the various redheads and their children milling about – and Edwina, everyone. Of course, she does do her best to annoy Gregory, so take all that with a grain of salt,” he told you.
You turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for the introductions, but you haven’t introduced yourself yet…?”
His grin turned outright rakish and he held out his hand for you to shake. “Benedict Bridgerton. Second born, wannabe starving artist with a trust fund and, apparently, if you ask my sister, an outrageous flirt. Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”
You gasped in surprise, covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh god, Mr. Bridgerton, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or offend, I just…”
Benedict only laughed. “You don’t need to apologize,” he told you, shaking his head. “Believe me, it’s not the first time I’ve been laid bare by one of my siblings and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
“Still, I feel terrible,” you told him.
“Tell me your name, then, and we’ll call it even,” Benedict told you, those beautiful eyes drinking you in as his gaze dropped only to drag its way back up your form. “I can’t stand not knowing how to address a woman as lovely as you.”
You replied with your name, adding, “Really, though, Mr. Bridgerton, I must apologize, I didn’t mean to…”
He shook his head. “Please, call me Benedict,” he interrupted. “And truly, there was no harm done. I did enjoy explaining away the madness that I call family… and I have been enjoying your company as well.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be spending your time with your family?” you asked.
Benedict shook his head. “Here, tonight? No,” he replied. He glanced around the crowded ballroom, taking in all the sights and sounds: throngs of well-dressed people, laughing and talking and drinking, an orchestral quartet playing on a small platform near the front of the room, couples dancing across the floor. “Tonight is not about family, not really. It’s a tradition, of course, so we adhere to it every year, but it’s more about putting on a nice display for the guests. Tomorrow is when the real family holiday begins.”
You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “But I’m meant to stay for the next few days,” you told him, sparing a glance towards Daphne and her family. She had taken you under her wing almost immediately as you started at Hastings House, so friendly and sweet that you truly had no idea that she was on the executive board for at least a month after. It had earned you the ire of some of your coworkers, but you got along with her so well; beneath her posh and charming exterior lay a wicked sense of humor and an innate kindness that you hadn’t realized you needed in your life.
Benedict smiled. “Then my sister must think very highly of you,” he replied. “And I’m rather happy she does, because now I have a dance partner for the evening.” He stood and held out his hand.
You looked towards the dance floor with no small amount of anxiety. The quartet had been playing all evening, cycling through well known classical pieces, Christmas carols, and instrumental versions of popular songs. They had just started what sounded like a Christina Perri song and the couples on the floor had fallen into what looked to be a waltz, of all things.
“Oh, I don’t… I can’t dance like that,” you said, shaking your head.
“Of course you can,” Benedict replied. “A waltz is very simple, just follow my lead. I promise that you’ll enjoy it, if you’ll do me the honor?” He stared down at you with that crooked smile and those enigmatic eyes, and you felt your resolve crumble.
“Alright,” you conceded. “One dance. But you can’t get upset if I step on your feet!”
You made good on your warning, but Benedict hardly paid it any mind when you trod on his polished dress shoes now and again. The hand at your back felt warm against the thin silk of your dress and you could feel the callouses from holding a pencil or paintbrush in the opposite one as it held yours. Daphne and her husband, Simon, were dancing nearby, and the petite woman cast a friendly smile in your direction that you readily returned.
“Do all you Bridgertons know how to waltz?” you asked your dance partner curiously.
Benedict chuckled softly. “Mother insisted,” he agreed, pausing in conversation to gently twirl you on the floor before taking you back into his arms. “She had us all take private lessons to learn beyond what they might teach us in school. Comes in handy at these sorts of things.”
“What other occasions would call for it?” you replied, glancing about the room again and noting that most of his siblings were indeed on the floor, with the writer couple, Colin and Penelope, dancing just next to you.
You were by no means an expert but based on the rest of the couples and the significant side-eye they were getting from Benedict’s eldest brother, the two were dancing a little more closely than propriety might demand, though neither seemed to notice, their gazes firmly fixed upon one another. They might as well have been in their own little world – besotted, indeed.
“The occasional wedding, charity gala,” Benedict relented with a nod. “And of course, the annual Christmas ball. Old-fashioned, yes, but rather charming in its way. Would you believe that it is on this very dancefloor that Anthony and Kate finally got their shit together after months of their love-hate stupidity?”
You laughed softly, just as he gave you a gently dip and then righted you again. “Oh, they’re one of those couples?” you asked, sparing a quick glance their way. “I could see that.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Benedict grumbled in response. “If they start yelling at each other, it’s best to just vacate the area immediately… lest you see something you’d rather not when their passion peaks.”
“Scandalous,” you told him, amusement alight in your eyes.
“Actually, I think Pen and Colin finally came to their senses at a Christmas ball,” Benedict mused. The song ended but his hand didn’t fall from your back; instead, he used it to guide you back to your table, motioning a nearby waiter to deposit two of the signature cocktails at your table. “Those two had been pining for damn near a decade… Colin was the idiot on that account, most of us were ready to just smash their faces together but thankfully, a well-placed sprig of mistletoe did the trick.”
“Why do I feel like you had something to do with that?” you teased.
Benedict grinned. “Admittedly, it was a group effort, but I like to think I carried most of the weight. Certainly made my mother happy to see them finally owning up to what everyone else already knew, especially at this time of year.”
“Seems like Christmas must be a very special time for your family, then,” you relented, lifting one of the cocktails to take a sip. It was sweet and tart with just a hint of spice: definitely some cranberry and cinnamon involved, and you thought a hint of gin as well. You picked up the single maraschino cherry by the stem and bit the fruit away, enjoying the rush of juice and liquor against your tongue.
“It really is,” he agreed with a nod. Without a word about it, he plucked the cherry stem from his own drink and dropped the fruit into your glass before swallowing back half of it in one go. “My parents were married on Christmas Eve. It’s always meant a lot to them.”
“And you said Daphne and Simon met at one of these parties too, is that right?” you asked, thinking back to his humorous introduction of each of his siblings.
Benedict leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping back to balance precariously on the back to legs of his chair. He nodded slowly, arching an eyebrow.
“That they did,” he agreed. “And now that I think on it, John was here as a guest of my father’s two years ago when he and Francesca met… his family is in Scotland and he was doing some architectural restoration at Bridgerton House in London and didn’t have time to make the trip there and back again for the holiday.”
You smiled, finishing your drink. “Christmas is lucky for you lot, then,” you told him.
Benedict grinned. Righting his chair, he leaned forward and took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, just as he had to direct your attention in introducing his siblings, but this time only turning you to face him.
“I certainly am,” he agreed, and spared a glance upward. You followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that evening that a sprig of mistletoe hung among the evergreen bunting over your heads. His eyes dropped back to yours, glancing to your lips for just a moment before he cocked his head to the side in question.
You felt a funny sort of effervescence building in your chest and a blooming heat growing from where his gentle hand touched your face. You’d barely been speaking an hour, and he was very much the sibling of your boss, but still… something felt right. You gave a slight nod and were charmed to see the way his eyes fluttered close as he leaned in to press a sweet, chaste kiss upon your lips.
Across the ballroom, Daphne all but squealed, tapping her husband’s arm relentlessly as she resisted the urge to punch the air.
“See?!” she hissed at him, grinning. “I told you! Didn’t I tell you?”
Simon smiled indulgently at his wife. “You did indeed,” he agreed, raising his drink to his lips. He hadn’t been terribly excited about her plan to introduce you to her brother at some point in the evening and had done his best to dissuade her, but it seemed the two of you had come together on your own. That was certainly not how he saw the evening playing out.
She slipped her arm into his, finishing her drink and setting it on the empty tray of a passing waiter with a smile and nod in thanks. Her younger siblings, Hyacinth and Gregory, were being paid handsomely to look after the children for the evening, allowing her to indulge in a few cocktails for the first time in ages. The alcohol swimming in her veins, combined with the Christmas cheer and her elation at her plan coming together all on its own, had her bouncing on her heels.
She sighed dreamily. “Christmas magic, Simon,” she told him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Works every time.”
He gave her another smile and slipped his arm around her waist to sweep her out onto the dancefloor. “It certainly worked on me,” he agreed, and Daphne grinned.
It was just a few hours less than two full years later when you woke to a chill in the air in your bedroom at Aubrey Hall, the fire in the hearth having died out hours before. You snuggled deeper into the thick comforter on the bed, wrapping your arms around the warm body next to you and pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
Benedict’s chest rumbled as he groaned. “Is it time to get up already?”
“No,” you responded, your voice muffled. “It’s time to cuddle your wife and keep her warm, since you let the fire go out and it’s too drafty in this wing for the heating to make any difference.”
“Let the fire go out?” he asked with a laugh. “Shall I set an alarm tonight, darling? Wake every hour to stoke the flames?”
You grinned, unable to help yourself. Darling. It wasn’t a word people seemed to use all that often, certainly not one you would have taken seriously, not before Benedict. He was all genteel manners paired with sparkling eyes and incredible charm. Daphne had warned you once that he was an outrageous flirt, and she had been right, but you had been powerless to resist.
Especially after the mistletoe.
Ending up in his bed that night certainly hadn’t been anything you expected, but then you wouldn’t have expected to find yourself the newest Mrs. Bridgerton at this year’s Christmas Ball either.
Fate had a funny way of working things out – fate, or, as Daphne insisted, Christmas magic.
“Don’t you dare,” you warned him, pressing a kiss in just the right place on his shoulder to make him shiver, his arms tightening around you. “Once we are in this bed, you are not allowed to leave.”
Benedict hummed. “I like the way that sounds,” he agreed, then sighed. “Pity our honeymoon has to be cut short by this blasted party tonight.”
You laughed, lifting your head to gaze into his eyes. You still couldn’t settle on the color, but you didn’t mind, so long as one day you’d have children with the same beautiful hue in their eyes.
“Benedict my love, we’ve been here honeymooning for almost six weeks,” you reminded softly, grateful for the time off you’d built up at work that allowed you to relax in the Bridgerton country house for weeks following your November wedding.
“I know,” Benedict groaned, rolling you onto your back so he covered your body with his own, dropping kisses everywhere his lips could reach. “Six wonderful weeks that are now being interrupted by my family descending upon us en masse along with dozens of friends and even strangers who will be dancing and drinking tonight when we could be making love until we haven’t a breath left in our bodies to continue.”
You giggled. “We’ve done that almost every day since we’ve been here,” you reminded, and reached beneath the covers to issue a well-placed slap on his bare bottom. “Besides, it’s tradition. Can’t very well mess with that, not after all it means to your family… and to us.”
He groaned again and then sighed, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his elbow. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “We should probably get up and start getting presentable. I expect my parents will arrive early, they always do.”
You smiled and nodded, giving him a quick chaste kiss before reaching for your robe. “Oh, by the way,” you added. “I did end up inviting my cousin Phillip for the week, so we’ll need a guest room made up. The kids are going to spend Christmas with their grandparents, and I didn’t want him to be alone.”
Benedict raised his eyebrows. “Phillip, the one with the twins…?”
“Yes, Amanda and Oliver,” you agreed.
It was a sad story; Phillip’s brother George and his wife, Marina, were killed in a car accident the year prior. To Phillip’s surprise – and that of Marina’s parents – the couple had named him as guardian of their four year old twins. It had been a rocky start for the new small family unit, and a legal battle with Marina’s parents that was only settled when Phillip agreed to a generous visitation agreement. Thankfully, things had settled, but you couldn’t fathom him spending the holiday on his own.
“It’ll be good for him to be out, meet some new people,” you went on. A quiet man who spent more time speaking with his plants than his peers, you worried about him in the aftermath of the accident and his new life as a surrogate father.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason you had invited him, and there was no fooling your husband.
Benedict grinned. “Anyone in particular that you’d like him to meet, Mrs. Bridgerton?” he teased, still naked as the day he was born as he padded over and swept you into his arms, slowly waltzing you across the chilly hardwood floor of your bedroom.
“I may have thought that Eloise might take a liking to him,” you offered innocently, still struggling not to step on Benedict’s toes as he danced you around the room.
Benedict shook his head fondly, pausing the dance to kiss you, a deep sigh passing his lips as you deepened the kiss, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.
“She might do,” he agreed. “It would make a lovely addition to our lucky streak.”
“Christmas magic?” you asked.
He smiled and kissed you again, soft and gentle. “Christmas magic,” he agreed.