talk of the ton
bridgerton one-shots
a tragic hero , anthony bridgerton

APPLAUSE ROARED throughout the theatre, filling Y/N's ears from where she stood in the wings, watching with a gleeful smile as Sienna took her bow.

The opening night of The Lady of Trouville had been an undeniable success. The play that Y/N had been crafting for the last year had finally debuted before London's social elite. After weeks of preparation, late night rehearsals and quite literally blood, sweat and tears it had finally come together.

         She waited in the stage left wing exchanging polite thanks with members of the company that passed her as she waited for Sienna, who came running off the stage with an eager smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around her friend.

         "Oh Sienna, you were magnificent!" Y/N gushed, squeezing her tightly as the two of them laughed gleefully together. "The audience were on their feet!"

       "Oh please!" The opera singer shushed her, withdrawing from the hug as the two of them began bustling through the busy wing in the direction of Sienna's dressing room. "My performance was average at best, it was your material they were applauding."

        "You are too kind, my friend." Y/N shook her head with a light chuckle, as they exchanged few more polite smiles and congratulatory exclamations with fellow company members before entering the dressing room.

        "I only give credit where credit is due." Sienna scoffed in response as she sat down at her vanity and began taking her hair out of the right up-do it had been crafted into. "I dare say you're a modern Shakespeare; the name Y/N L/N will live on for generations!"

       Y/N only spared her friend a small smile before sinking into the chaise longue on the other side of the room, breathing in the sweet smell of lavender before letting out a soft sigh.

        "Maybe the name Thomas H. Fairclough will, but not Y/N L/N."

        Thomas H Fairclough was a pseudonym that Y/N had coined through her many years of working in theatre and was the pen name under which she chose to write. She knew her plays had potential but they would never thrive under the name of a woman writer — she cared far more about her material's exposure than her own. She couldn't afford to think of her own, after all in the world they lived in women knew nothing of acclaim, and woman of Y/N's standing especially.

        Sienna spared her friend a glance over her shoulder, her hair now falling in dark ringlets around her face as she shot her a sympathetic smile.

        "Sure as the day follow the night, sure as the sky turns to blue." The opera singer recited gently, her eyes now bearing a slight glint of mischief as she arose from her chair. "This much I know, this much is true. Above all else and whatever you do."

        Y/N looked up to see her friend now sat beside her with a knowing look in her eye which caused the girl to let out a small chuckle before replying the last words of the verse;

        "To thine own self be true." The playwright surmised with a smile back at her friend who gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaping back onto her feet.

        "Now, stop being so forlorn." The opera singer instructed, pulling w shawl over her shoulder. "Unless you're thinking of writing a tragedy. Oh, how I'd long to perform in one—"

        "And just where are you off to?" Y/N quipped, cutting her friend off, noting her gradually stepping towards the door.

       "Well, we can't all live solely off the riches of a playwright." Sienna chuckled, shooting her friend a wink.

      While the theatre did take in the majority of ticket commission, Y/N knew Sienna was right in saying that the playwright brought in far more than a mere opera singer did.

        "Oh Sienna, you know I can—"

        "No." The brunette shushed, her playful smirk never fading. "We all have to make our own way in this wretched world, and this is part of how I make mine."

       "And what of that Bridgerton of yours?" Y/N mused, raising her eyebrows. "Surely he would not approval of his dearest selling herself on the streets."

        "I am no longer his dearest. His approval is negligible, my sweet Y/N." Sienna responded with a small smile on her lips and reaching for the door handle.

      Y/N could still see a trace of hurt in lingering in her friend's eyes — she knew the girl was still wounded by the actions of the famous viscount.

        "Now, Mr Fairclough." Sienna responded, leaning against the door frame with a resolute smirk. "Write me my tragedy!"

       "Whatever the Lady of Trouville desires shall be his greatest priority." Y/N retorted, with a humoured smirk as she seized her notebook from where it perched on the window sill and shook it in Sienna's direction.

       And with that, she was left alone in the dressing room as Sienna departed closing the door behind her with a light thud.

        Inhaling the scent of lavender once more, Y/N turned her attention to the creased pages of the small notebook before her.

        Tragedy. She pondered, her lips pursed as she twiddled a small pencil in hand.

       "Star-crossed lovers?" She voiced aloud in the empty dressing room. "No, I think that's been done."

       "Sienna!"

       Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in contempt as her creative flow was broken by a loud shout of her friend's name. She sat up straight on the chaise longue as the door to the dressing room swung open in haste and in stormed a man.

        His eyes were burning as he scanned the room, only softening into confusion when they landed on the playwright.

       Y/N looked him up and down, taking in his appearance; well-polished shoes and one of the finest evening suits she had ever seen. There was no denying he had a handsome face and the pair of piercing blue eyes that remained on her were most striking. She wondered if he was analysing her as much as she was him.

        "I would have thought for such a nobleman, you would have learned how to knock, Lord Bridgerton." Y/N quipped as she rose from her seat, an eyebrow raised challengingly as she addressed the viscount.

       "I apologise, I assumed—" He began before quickly faltering and raising a brow of his own. "How is it you know who I am?"

       "Don't be ignorant." The playwright chuckled, collecting her notebook from the chaise longue and folding her arms. "Any idiot in these parts would know from a mile away."

       He pressed his lips together in acknowledging his insolent query, as his eyes flitted back over the empty dressing room.

       "Where is she?"

       "That's not my place to say." Y/N assured him, her standoffish manner slowly dissipating as his manner calmed. "Nor do I think it is your place to know."

        "Would you tell her I was here?" The man asked her, a slight vulnerability lacing his words that didn't go unnoticed by the playwright.

       "I'm sure I can." She replied, giving him a small smile before moving past him towards the door, having elected to continue writing her tragedy elsewhere. "Good night, Lord Bridgerton."

       "What is your name?"

        His question caught her off guard, causing her to whip around where she stood, her eyes wide in surprise.

        "Y/N, Y/N L/N" She said simply, her eyes narrowing in slight suspicion, her mind wondering why he would desire to know such a thing.

       He nodded in acknowledgement, his gentlemanly manner seemingly returning as their exchange persisted.

        "Y/N." He repeated with a small smile, "Miss L/N, please be sure to extend my compliments to the playwright for this evening's entertainment."

       Y/N faltered for a second, attempting to suppress the smile creeping onto her features as she cleared her throat.

       "You liked it?" She asked, dumbly, instantly cursing herself as the words left her mouth.

       "Yes, I did." The Bridgerton responded with a light chuckle, seemingly bemused by her stunned remark. "His way with words is quite refreshing, don't you agree?"

        "Mr Fairclough had to been known to try and push the boundaries of traditional plays, my Lord." Y/N replied, suddenly surprised by how effortlessly that conversation now flowed between them — a viscount and a common playwright.

        "Well, it's quite to my taste." He responded, his smile widening. "I should love to see any other works he has up his sleeve."

       "I'm sure they'll be many more to come." Y/N confirmed, clutching her notebook even tighter in her hand, as she smiled upon the man.

       "Then, I'll be sure to buy a ticket." The man told her as their conversation slowly sank into a comfortable silence.

         Y/N couldn't help but be transfixed by the storm in his eyes. A small smirk settled on her lips as she surveyed him — she sensed a troubled soul beneath a luxurious façade. Her lips pursed, her mind racing with ideas to scribble down onto paper.

        "Good night, Lord Bridgerton." She told him, as she gave him a small nod, her eyes slightly narrowed in curiosity.

        "Good night, Miss L/N."

        Y/N turned on her heel, leaving behind the viscount in her wake — who she now thought of as every part a tragic hero.