bridgerton imagines & one-shots

1. anthony bridgerton

YOUR POV
"but mama i told you that i don't want to go to the ball tonight!" i exclaim.

"this is the last time y/n, i told you that you are going and that is final" my mother scolds me.

ugh, this whole courting this gets old. i swear we've had at least 3 balls each week and that takes atoll on you mentally and physically.

"humph" i storm into my room and close the door rather forcefully. i know that mama has good intentions, but this is getting out of hand. i cannot even recall the amount of times that she has pointed out 'suitable' men whom she wants me to marry. they're all either astoundingly atrocious or have a weird foot fetish, but of course mama tells me they're perfect. her spiel goes something like this:

'y/n ooh this man could be your potential husband! he has a good family name and no debts— ohh! he's looking for a child as well! i can finally have little granbabies! i mean he is just a little older than you, but no matter' she trails off, the last sentence significantly quieter than the rest.

• time skip to dinner •

"eat up darling, a suitor wouldn't want a girl that is famished,' my mother quips. frankly, i really don't have an appetite because these soirées suck the life out of me.

"mama, if i go to this ball tonight can you finally stop nagging at me to find a husband and have children?" i say a little harsher than intended. my papa glances up from the table and brings his attention up to me for the first time throughout the dinner, with a scowl on his face.

"listen here young lady—" my papa gets caught off guard,
"henry, dear, this is the first time she's even expressed excitement going to these balls, i normally have to drag her there," she whispers to him then casts her gaze up at me, "i suppose," she responds quickly and the whole family resumes eating.

honestly, i could care less about finding a suitor. if i ever do get married i'd like it to be for love, and not an arranged marriage with some old crackpot, no thank you.

• time skip •

after what seems ages of getting ready, my corset tied so i can barely breathe, it is finally time to leave for the ball.

the moon has just risen over the horizon, and we take a short coach ride to the palace, where the ball is held in the queen's honor, who of course is always right when it comes to the season's pairings.

"now darling," my mother sets her gaze on me, "tonight's goal is not for you to go and fool around, i want you scouting out the best candidates to be your husband okay?" she instructs me, "of course mama," a forced smile appearing on my face. "that's my girl" she says fondly as i exit our carriage.

the palace is much more exquisite than i expected, don't get me wrong, i've been to my fair shares of balls but this is something entirely different.

"mrs.hawkings, miss.hawkings, please follow me to the dance floor," a footman tells us. the grand doors open up infront of us, revealing a lively crowd and live music.

"mama, i'm a little parched, i'm going to get something to drink," i tell her, trying to escape her matchmaking escapades before they begin.

"okay..." she trails off as her eyes follow around all of the young people on the dance floor, as i excuse myself and head toward the punch.