I've been thinking of a Michonne/Rick version of Bridgerton for a while now, but I haven't fleshed it all out. Here's a little blurb of what I was thinking. Will probably follow this with a wedding night hehehe.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Her father needed an ally in the House of Commons, and his father was more than happy to oblige. Joseph Makolo-Hawthorne had saved Lord Richard Grimes II's life once, now it was the Englishman's turn to save the his.

Michonne wasn't happy about the arrangement and Richard Grimes III, or Rick as he was known, was pissed. He wasn't a racist, in fact he thought slavery was despicable, but his family had profited from the trade and were now in a position to use their power as abolitionists. He just wasn't interested in her; Michonne wasn't even in his top five choices of eligible women. She was moody, she never smiled and she always had to have the last word. Things Rick was not used to with women. He was used to girls stumbling over him and asking why he was still single at eight-and-twenty.

He remembered the day their fathers sat them down and told them of their great plan. He had just come back from an underground boxing match and plopped down on the seat next to her. She wore a purple dress that made her skin glow, and wore her dark brown hair in a low bun. Butterfly pins adorned her locs, matching the gold butterfly necklace she always wore.

"God, you stink!" She said, covering her nose.

"Get used to it!" He said, shaking his wet mop in her direction while she squealed.

"Children!" Lady Grimes had scolded. "Enough!"

"We're adults, mother."

"Then act like it." She said, cutting him off. Michonne snickered, her hand still covering her nose.

"What's so funny?" He asked her, getting in her face.

"Stop!" She begged, "I just got this dress, I don't want your stench on it!"

He picked up a piece of it like it was dirt. "You're a season behind, sweetheart." He lay back, satisfied with his quick dig. He expected a snarky retort, but Michonne had said nothing. She focused straight ahead, refusing to look at him for the remainder of the afternoon.

Her lack of response unnerved Rick. He could feel his mother's glare and knew he was in for an earful once the Makolo-Hawthornes duo left.

"I didn't know men knew what was and wasn't in fashion." Joseph Makolo-Hawthorne stated upon entering the room. Michonne, Rick, and Lady Grimes abruptly stood up to greet the two gentlemen. "Unless that man spent a lot of time... at the modiste." He finished, staring the younger Grimes down.

Michonne looked down, they both knew what her father meant.

"The cook made blueberry biscuits dear, please sit so we can enjoy them while they're warm." Lady Grimes quickly changed the subject.

"Delightful!" Lord Richard Grimes II said, winking. "Our cook makes the best biscuits in all of England." He turned to his old friend, playing along with his wife.

"Oh?" Joseph responded. "I'll be the judge of that!" He joked.

Rick swallowed, thankful for his mother's quick actions. He stared at Michonne, who was still looking down at her gloved fingers, and opened his mouth to speak.

"I think we all know why we're here." His father interrupted, taking a bite of the warm biscuit. "Michonne has agreed to marry you Rick, to honour her father and secure her future. England is not an easy place for women like Michonne."

"And what if I refuse?" Rick retorted.

"Then the title gets passed onto your brother and you become an embarrassment to the Grimes name." He father responded.

"I can marry another—"

"No respectable family will accept the engagement. Your reputation precedes you."

Michonne coughed.

"What Miss Michonne want?"

"What my daughter wants is of no importance." Joseph replied. Lady Grimes shifted uncomfortably. "I am doing what's best for her, as her father."

Rick's jaw clenched. He knew all about Michonne's childhood from Abraham and Sasha. This man was pawning her off to his family to secure his own legacy. "Then we have our have your banns read within the week." Rick said and walked out of the room. Michonne looked up at his retreating form. Her fate had been sealed.

. . .

Two Days Later

Rick watched his old flame and his best friend make pleasantries with their guests. He chuckled. Once upon a time he had considered asking for her hand in marriage. Now, he couldn't even picture flirting with her. She looked better on Shane's arm.

"Life is short, you know?" Lori Walsh had said at a ball last year. "Might not make it past the season." She winked.

He had smiled at her then. Lori had accepted Shane's hand in marriage and he was left alone... Once again. He sighed, walking towards the punch table. If he couldn't have fun with a woman, he was going to have fun another way.

Rick hated balls. He hated being forced to attend them and he hated the fact that his circle of friends was shrinking. Although he was not technically single, he and Michonne had an agreement, he could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted until they were officially married in exactly... Four and a half days.

Rick was known for flirting with young ladies and elderly widows to the point of scandal, and he loved every minute of it. Lori wasn't his latest victim, it was the Dowager Countess Jessi Andersson. Her position had allowed their ongoing romantic affair to remain secret, but those who knew knew that he was only out to get his dick wet. Besides, the countess was too young and immature to be taken seriously.

He took a sip of his drink and nearly choked when a small voice behind him spoke.

"Richard Grimes the third." He quickly turned around, startled at the woman standing before him. She was radiant in her blush dress and curly up-do.

"Mrs. Ford." He smirked. She extended her hand and he placed a gentle kiss on it. "Your American name suits you."

"Hmph! Avoiding me again, Grimes?" He mocked. "I shall tell my husband then." She lightly threatened.

"I'm not avoiding anyone, I'm—"

"Beautiful ball, isn't it?" She looked around, ignoring him. "Lori did a fantastic job, Shane must really be enjoying married life to allow her to spend this much on lilies. They're out of season, you know?"

"I didn't know you liked flowers..." He mumbled into his drink.

"I appreciate them." She cocked her head to the side, hoping he caught her drift. "I can respect the fact that she put this ball together for us and enjoy my time."

He squinted. "What are you getting at?"

"Your little fling with the Dowager Countess. End it."

"How did you—"

"We all know. Besides, you've been staring at her all night." She fanned herself. "One would think you were interested in being husband number two."

"I'm not." He said, louder than he intended. "I'm not." He whispered.

"Are you sure? She doesn't seem to know that." The pair looked in the direction of the Countess who quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "Hmm." Sasha said, fanning herself.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stop embarrassing my cousin."

He groaned, putting his cup down and walking out of the main ballroom. Sasha quickly followed suite.

"She's not happy either, but she thought you'd have some respect and empathy for her, given her circumstances." Sasha had a soft spot for her cousin. She was the illegitimate daughter of a respected Negro businessman. Her father had fought tooth and nail to distance himself from her, only accepting her in early adulthood when he could pawn her off on another man. A beautiful woman was a beautiful woman, regardless of race.

Sasha and Michonne had grown up together. Their fathers were brothers. Both men had married affluent white women, but only one of them had a child. The other, a scandal. Joseph was lucky his wife hadn't divorced him but told him that the child couldn't live with them. So, she went to live with Sasha and her parents who treated the young girl like their own.

"She thought at least she would be married to someone she could call a friend." Rick stopped walking and turned to look at Sasha. After a pregnant pause he answered.

"Why would she think that?" Sasha took a sip from her drink and stared at Rick. He pulled a flask from his breast pocket and took a swig. "Is she here?"

"Of course she is, we made sure." She paused. "She's... Out on the balcony."

"I should—"

"Yes, Richard." Sasha said forcefully. "You absolutely should." The man nodded and quickly made his way out of the main hall in search of his bride.

Sasha watched him leave before turning to the Countess. The younger woman blushed. Sasha was not going to let him ruin Michonne's life if it was the last thing she ever did.

. . .

Rick walked out of the main hall and onto the balcony of the estate. "Miss Michonne?" He called out. He took a few more steps before calling to her again.

"Good evening, my Lord." She said. There was no emotion in her voice. Sasha was going to kill him.

"My Lord? That's new. Is that what we'll be calling ourselves next week?" His feeble attempt at humour was met with silence. He couldn't really see in the dark, but he walked over to the shadow leaning against the balcony ledge.

"Isn't that what dutiful wives call their husbands?"

He swallowed. "That's not what Sasha calls her husband." He knew it was a lame reply.

She snorted, but there was no humour in her voice. "Sasha and Abraham are a love match."

Rick nodded, understanding their positions. To anyone passing by they looked like two lovers sharing an intimate moment, but to those in the know it was the complete opposite. The last time he had been this close to her, she had refused to look at him. Now he could see every detail of her person. She was wearing a yellow and gold dress, similar to the one she had worn a few days ago. Her hair was pulled up, except for a few loose strands that curled around her temples.

"You look beautiful."

"It's one of Sasha's." She said, deflecting the compliment.

He nodded.

"Sasha's not really happy with me right now."

"Hmm... Sasha begged for me to come tonight, said the flowers were free to take."

"So I heard." There was a pregnant pause. "I wanted to apologize for my remarks earlier this week."

"What for, my Lord?" She interrupted.

"Please don't call me that. I'm not my father."

"No... You're not. In any case, there is no need to apologize, it is a marriage of convenience, after all."

"I would like for us to at least be friends."

Michonne stared at him. "That's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because you have no respect for me."

"I have the utmost—"

"I saw you staring at her: the Dowager Countess." She looked at him. Rick's face flushed. "I wore a new, fashionable dress only to be embarrassed by you, as if my life isn't humiliating enough. So no, my Lord, you do not respect me, but I accepted this deranged arrangement so it doesn't matter."

"It does matter. What you want does matter, Michonne."

"I'm a burden to my father and my fiancé fucks disgraced widows." She added.

"I deserved that."

"And much more, but it's getting late and I've been without my chaperone for a while. Goodnight, my Lord." She curtsied and all but ran back into the estate. Rick watched Michonne's retreating figure until she was out of sight, then pulled out his flask and took a big swig.

"Fuck."

. . .

The Wedding Day

Michonne stood in front of her mirror, preparing for an important day - her wedding day. She glanced around her bedroom, realising that she would no longer be sleeping in this room, a space she had claimed as her own for thirteen years. As she surveyed the familiar surroundings, she reflected on the new chapter of her life that awaited her; soon she would become a viscountess. She sighed.

"Stop sighing!" Sasha admonished her. "It's not as if we'll never see each other again. In fact, we'll be able to do whatever we like: married women only have to tell their husbands... If they want to." She winked.

"Easy to say when you marry someone like Abraham." Michonne countered. She smoothed the front of her white silk wedding gown. It was her most expensive dress to date.

Sasha put her arms around her cousin, who had been like a sister to her. Michonne fought back tears. "I can't believe it's come to this."

"Rick will treat you well. I know he will."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then you can occupy yourself with balls and game nights and-"

"And be alone, even in my own marriage." Michonne wiped away her tears. "I'm ready to get this over with."

"Michonne, Rick is a good man." She pleaded.

Michonne sat down and allowed the servants to prep her nails and hair for her wedding. She didn't care that Rick was a good man. As far as everyone was concerned, this was a marriage made to secure her father's legacy and nothing more. She was simply a pawn to be moved around as many times as necessary. She only hoped that this would be permanent.

"You'll see." Sasha added.

. . .

Michonne decided to ride to the church alone. "Nerves." She lied to her father and the Fords. Neither had given her much of a fight, one didn't care and the other cared too much. Neither would appreciate her energy.

She took a few deep breaths as she settled into the carriage. In approximately two hours, she would be a married woman. She wondered how long it would take for the Ton to forget the fact that she had been pawned by her father or that she was a bastard. She briefly smiled at her future, but her smile turned to real nervousness when she saw the church and members of society making their way in.

"What a spectacle." She heard her chauffeur say. "Don't worry, miss. We can keep them waiting."

"Thank you." She said. She took a few deep breaths.

"Let me know when you're ready." He added.

Michonne closed her eyes. She was grateful for him, and everyone working for the Ford household. If she had anyone, she had them. All guests eventually made their way inside the church with the only people that remained were street children, young women and their mamas. Her father was also inside, he couldn't be bothered to walk her down the aisle and Michonne wouldn't have wanted him to anyway.

"I'm ready."

. . .

Rick couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Congratulations, Grimes!" Shane clapped him on the back, almost spilling his drink. "Thank you, Walsh."

"She's the perfect woman to take on the role of Viscountess Grimes, no?" He added.

"We'll see." Rick tried to joke. The duo watched the new Viscountess as she made her way around the room, thanking their guests for coming and asking about their health. She was beaming.

"I think you already know." Shane clapped him on the shoulder again and walked away. He was quickly replaced by Abraham Ford.

"Ford." He acknowledged, growing impatient. Michonne had barely spoken a word to him in the carriage and he was desperate for her attention. It had nearly been a month since he had least spoken to her and he still couldn't get her attention.

"Grimes."

"Will I ever be able to talk to my wife today or is there some sort of conspiracy against me today?"

The American laughed, drawing the attention of both Sasha and Michonne. Abraham waved them both away. "Women." He paused. "If you want your wife's attention, you simply have to command it."

"Command it? Have you met Michonne?"

"Yes, actually, her bedroom was across the hall from my wife's." Abraham glared at the newlywed. "Do us all a favour and save your wife from these shrivelled up bastards. She's drowning." Abraham took another sip from his drink and walked over to his wife, who was already asking him what he were talking about.

Rick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Grimes!" A voice called out.

"For God's sake!" Rick yelled and stalked over to his new bride who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"My Lord?" Michonne asked, startled.

"Come with me." He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and quickly led her out of the ballroom. "Good day." He said to the random couple monopolizing his wife's attention.

"Are you all right?" She asked as they entered his office. She was not used to moving this quickly in heavy dresses.

He locked the door. "No." He rushed. "I mean yes. Everything is fine."

"Then why are we in the library and not the ballroom? She tread lightly.

"Because I haven't seen you all day!" He shouted and she took a step back. "Sorry, sorry." He said, calming himself. "I've been trying to get your attention all morning and it's been impossible. Every time I tried, some pompous Earl or Baron had your attention. Who are they? Who invited them?" He paced around the room.

She snorted. "Friends of our fathers, I'm sure."

"Well it's done, we're married and we make the rules."

"We?" She scoffed. "I have no say... In anything, my Lord."

"Yes you do! You are my wife!" She said, getting in her face.

"That means nothing!" She yelled. The two stared at each other, breathing heavily. Michonne turned to sit on one of the lounge chairs near the fireplace. "It means nothing." She whimpered.

"It means something, Michonne. Society hasn't been kind to you—I haven't been kind to you, and I for that I'm sorry."

She faltered, a crack in her facade, but quickly composed herself. "Well... I thank you, my Lord."

He stared at her. "You have a say" He started.

"We should get back. They'll probably be looking for us."

"No."

"No?"

"They're not looking for us."

"This is not a game, my Lord." She said as he walked towards her, forcing her to look up to him.

"It's Rick. Richard, if you're vexed with me. But not 'my Lord', never that." Michonne's eye twitched. "No one is looking for a newly married couple on their wedding day, Michonne. Surely even you know that." She looked towards the fireplace. "I want us to start over, and if I have to keep you in this room to do that, then so be it." He whispered.

"Why?"

"Because you're my wife." He knelt down, "And I intend to be loyal to you." Michonne closed her eyes.

"We should go back." She whispered, gripping his wrist. Rick had no intention of letting her, but if he was in this for the long haul, he needed to take it slow... Or as slow as anyone could in their situation. She gasped as he pressed his nose against her neck and placed his hand on her waist. "Richard!"

"Yes?" He said, smiling against her collarbone.

"Stop!"

"Are you sure?" He tightened his grip around her waist.

"It's too soon." She moaned.

Rick paused; he had neglected the fact that Michonne was not really like the other ladies of the ton. They were allowed to be courted and even experimented with when their chaperones looked away. Michonne had been sheltered and, when she came of age, sold to the highest bidder. He removed his hands and changed optics.

"May I join you for breakfast?" He held out his hand to her.

"It's your wedding, my Lord." She said sarcastically as she accepted his hand.

"Ours, Viscountess." He smiled.