Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader
Warnings: female reader, injuries, minor injuries, nothing overly serious, worried Anthony.
Word count: 1.9k
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For all of the education allowed to women of your station, even your governess would be shocked at the litany of swear words leaving your lips as you do your best to limp across the stretching, green lawn of Aubrey Hall.
A morning walk. A lovely, morning walk where you could observe the grounds of your marital home – that was all you wanted, all you had really planned of your day. You weren't to know of the tree root sticking up from the ground; its limbs gnarled and mangled as it stretches out across the forest floor.
You felt something rip as you fell to the ground; your left ankle trapped within the tree root, a pained yelp leaving your lips as you scraped the palms of your hands on the rocks littering the floor. Wounded pride, wounded hands, wounded ankle – you took a quick inventory of your injuries as you let the tears fall in privacy before dragging yourself to your feet, briefly wondering how much more damage you would do to your ankle before making it home.
The closer you get to the grand seat of power of the Bridgerton family, the straighter you force your posture, determined to hide the worst of the pain until safely hidden away in your bedchamber where you could release the waiting sobs and cries of agony. The main door is too far away, and the thought of limping to the heavy wooden doors almost sends you to the floor once again. Instead, you hobble to the side entrance to the kitchen where not even the delicious aroma of shortbread could keep the tears at bay.
"Lady Bridgerton!" The cook, Mrs. Black gasps as she catches sight of your muddied gown and the pained expression on your face. "Are you okay? Should you be walking?"
"I'm alright, Mrs. Black," You smile painfully, attempting to ignore the piercing pain spreading through your foot and ankle.
"You'll tell me anything!" She cries, flapping her teatowel at you. "I'm going to get Jenkins. Do not move," She warns, fixing you with an unimpressed but concerned look.
"I don't think I could if I tried," You admit, leaning against the wooden frame of the doorway for support, relieving your injured ankle of your body weight.
You let your eyes slip closed, letting yourself fall into the pain for a single moment, slowing your breathing as you feel the first tears slip down your cheeks.
"Lady Bridgerton!" Jenkins' concerned shout has you opening your eyes, meeting the aged grey eyes of the butler that had looked after you since the first days of your marriage to Anthony. His eyes run over you quickly, assessing the situation with a speed decades in services has gifted him. "Do you think you can walk to my office?" He asks quietly; his voice almost a whisper.
Mrs. Black answers for you; her Yorkshire accent becoming thicker the more upset she becomes. "Walk! The poor girl can barely stand! Walk, my great aunt," She mutters, rolling her eyes as she settles her hands on her hips.
Jenkins closes his eyes for a count of three; letting Mrs. Black have her rant before shaking his head with exasperated fondness. "Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Black – would you please help Lady Bridgerton to my office."
The order is given, and the respected butler turns away, heading to his office to grab a chair and something for you to rest your ankle on.
Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Black each take an arm, holding you steady as you hobble your way to the butler's office.
The room smells like old paper and tobacco; it puts you at ease as you settle into the chair already set up for you in the middle of the room. Jenkins remains close to his desk; his eyes fixed on your ever swelling ankle.
"There you are," Mrs. Black whispers softly.
"Thank you," You whisper to the beloved cook.
"It's no issue, my lady. I'll bake you something special and sweet for dessert tonight for managing to walk back to the house in your state."
You smile at the cook; your bottom lip beginning to wobble as she squeezes your arm once before taking her leave. Sighing painfully, you wince as you adjust the ankle resting on the small, green ottoman.
"What happened, my lady?" Jenkins asks, remaining close to his desk.
"It's all so silly," You begin, "I was on my morning walk as I told you about this morning over breakfast with Anthony. Anyway, I was just beyond the tree line when I must not have looked, and I tripped over a tree root. I couldn't simply stay there, lying on the floor so I made my way back to the house, but the main door is so far away. The kitchen was closer and I'm so glad because you got to me quicker."
Jenkins nods once; accepting your story for what it was: the truth. He kneels down beside your injured ankle, meeting your gaze. "May I?"
You nod once, biting your lip to keep from whimpering pain as Jenkins makes quick work of examining your injury. "I'm going to have to get the Viscount, my lady," Jenkins sighs, his gaze meeting that of the Head Housekeeper, Mrs. Russell.
"Are you sure?" You question, not wanting to pull Anthony away from his work. You try not to wince as you move your ankle to the left and the right. "See!" You gesture, "I'm moving it just fine."
Jenkins shakes his head, doing his best to hide a smile at your stubbornness. "With all due respect, my lady, I can see the bruise beginning to bloom. I don't think you'll be walking for a few days."
You sink further into the chair, groaning. "I had so many plans for this week," You whine, covering your face with your hands as you fight off the first wave of tears. "That damned tree root!"
Jenkins blinks once, twice, three times at your use of such language before releasing an amused chuckle. Mrs. Russell shakes her head at the sight, stepping further into the room. The aged Housekeeper settles a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly before uttering, "I shall go alert the Viscount. You do not move from this chair."
"Yes, Mrs. Russell," You promise, flashing a watery smile at the woman as she leaves the room.
Jenkins' hand settles on your knee as more tears threaten to fall. "It's alright, my lady. We've all injured ourselves."
You sniff, drying your eyes with the caring butler's handkerchief. Jenkins' shifts back to his desk; resting on the edge of it as he awaits the arrival of the Viscount, knowing full well that Anthony would soon be flying through the door to his office.
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"(Y/N)!" The Viscount all but shouts as he rushes down the stairs of Aubrey Hall. Mrs. Russell had explained your injuries, but it had done very little to quash the unadulterated worry settling deep within Anthony's gut.
"(Y/N)!" Anthony bellows once more, rushing through the large kitchen to Jenkins' office where he finds you settled on a chair with your left ankle propped up on a small, dark green ottoman.
"Darling," He gasps; the breath rushing from him in one movement. He falls to his knees beside you; his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "What happened?"
"I feel so foolish," You whisper, voice breaking as fresh tears begin to line your eyes.
Anthony's thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "An impossibility. You could never be such a thing."
"I fell over a tree root, Anthony. Not exactly graceful."
He clamps his lips shut, determined not to let the relieved laughter fall from his lips. Anthony had only known such fear upon Mrs. Russell's announcement of your injury once before; the anguished cries of his younger sister Eloise, the one to find their father dead in the garden. To see you sitting in Jenkins' office, the only injuries being your ankle, scraped hands and your pride, Anthony could have wept in relief.
"You don't have to be graceful," Anthony whispers, "You just have to be okay."
"I'm okay now that you're here," You whisper, leaning in at the same time as your husband.
Anthony kisses you as if there wasn't an audience at the door. Unhurried, Anthony holds you close, his hands moving from your cheeks to your neck before settling on your shoulders.
He breaks the kiss; dropping one, two, three quick kisses to your mouth before pulling away completely. "We'll call the doctor tomorrow morning. For now, I want you to rest. Let's get you somewhere comfortable."
"You can't carry me all the way to our room!" You laugh, "I'll have to hop part of the way."
"Not a chance, darling."
"I can do it," You state, crossing your arms stubbornly.
"I'm not saying you can't, I'm just saying you won't get the chance because I'll be carrying you the whole way."
"Anthony, my love, that's too far."
"Watch me, darling."
With that, Anthony scoops you into his arms, your head resting comfortably against his strong shoulder as he begins the climb to your shared bedroom.
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The bed feels close to heaven as you settle on top of the covers; the lush fabric greeting you like an old friend as you sit back against the headboard. Anthony grabs the first pillow he can reach, gingerly lifting your ankle and apologising profusely when you wince in pain as he tucks the pillow underneath.
"Will you need help changing, my lady?" Your Ladies' Maid, Annie, asks, having followed Jenkins and Mrs. Russell through the house as Anthony carried you.
Your husband answers for you. "No, thank you, Annie. Take the rest of the day off, I'll look after Lady Bridgerton."
"As you wish, my lord," Annie answers, curtseying before leaving the room; Jenkins and Mrs. Russell following.
You fix your husband with an interested look. "What?" He asks, a smirk beginning to grace his lips.
"You're going to look after me, are you?"
"What kind of husband would be if I didn't?"
"Touché," You answer with a laugh, "So you're going to get me changed?"
"As if I haven't undressed you before," Anthony smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he begins to undo his cravat.
"Anthony!" You laugh, throwing one of the many pillows on your bed at your beloved husband. He catches it with ease, throwing it to one side before crawling up the length of the bed, taking care not to jostle your ankle.
Anthony props himself up by his elbow as he gazes up at you. Your tears have long since dried, but your eyes still show the pain you keenly feel. Anthony frowns; if he could take away your pain, he would – he's adamant that you should never feel an ounce of pain, but even he couldn't help the occasional sprained ankle.
"You scared me half to death this morning," He whispers, reaching for your hand.
"It's a sprained ankle, my love. We'll summon the doctor first thing tomorrow like you said and he'll confirm our suspicions."
"Still," Anthony breathes, bringing your joined hands up to his lips upon which he places a multitude of kisses.
"I have no plans on leaving you prematurely," You promise, reaching to stroke a hand down his cheek. At the last moment, Anthony turns his face, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. He closes his eyes at the feel of your hand on his cheek; he inhales the familiar, comforting scent of your floral perfume. Rose standing out amongst the rest; he lets the scent take him somewhere calmer as his heart finally begins to slow down.
"No more walking the grounds alone," He states, eyebrows furrowing with the severity of his words.
"I won't need to if you join me," You tease, "Think of all the trouble we could cause in the great outdoors."