Bridgerton Drabble - Harry Potter AU Edition
Sophie had thought the bars wholly unnecessary as the workmen had fixed them to the outside of her bedroom window. It was bad enough that the cat flap had been installed in the door to her bedroom as a means for her stepmother to shove a plate of dinner through (and the occasional bar of chocolate from Posy whenever she got the opportunity), and it made Sophie wonder if any of the workmen who had been called to install these fixtures had even stopped to question the reason for them or at least show concern for what Araminta was doing.
It wasn’t as if Sophie had meant to do what she did to Rosamund. In fact she didn’t understand how she had managed it herself.
Rosamund had been her unnecessarily mean and spiteful self as per usual, mocking her own sister when Posy had treated herself to a second biscuit from the plate by calling her a pig and oinking at her. Sophie’s heart immediately felt for Posy as the ten year old burnt pink with embarrassment and Sophie only grew angrier as Rosamund cackled heartlessly. She hated the way Posy was treated by her own flesh and blood and couldn’t understand why Rosamund could be so cruel to her little sister. Sophie had felt herself shaking with fury, savagely thinking to herself how Rosamund was the one who resembled a pig in that moment as her stepsister snorted - and then it had happened.
Without warning Rosamund had let out a sudden shriek and sprung to her feet. Sophie and Posy were mightily confused as they watched her clutching her bottom and it was only when she brought her hands away that they realised the source of Rosamund’s distress - protruding from a newly-made hole in her trousers was a small and curly pink tail, resembling that of a pig’s.
Both Sophie and Posy had gawped at the sight in shock, neither knowing how to react until Rosamund screamed for her mother. Araminta entered the room with a precursory peeved scowl on her face for being disturbed but all it took was one look at her daughter for the woman to begin squawking incredulously. Sophie wasn’t sure what her stepmother was even reacting to, considering Rosamund’s newly sprouted tail was not within her train of sight, but then Rosamund turned back round to Sophie and Posy and the two younger girls gasped - Rosamund’s snub nose had transformed into a pig’s snout.
Rosamund had continued to squeal, sounding more and more like a pig as she did, and her typically icy white complexion had turned pink. Sophie had been too stunned by her stepsister’s steady transformation to escape the slap she received from the back of her stepmother’s hand before she was hauled upstairs and flung into her room with the door locked after her.
That had all happened ten days ago and still Sophie remained a prisoner in her own room. Posy had managed to speak through the door to her a few days after the incident to tell her that whatever magic Sophie had inadvertently used on Rosamund had now worn off, much to Sophie’s relief. She had never intended to partially turn Rosamund into a farm animal and she had been guilt-ridden to think that it might be permanent or irreversible. She didn’t even understand how she had done it - after all, she hadn’t even had her wand on her when it happened and it wasn’t as though she had cast a spell on Rosamund. It’s as if the unbridled grievance with her stepsister had manifested into magic within Sophie and had reverberated from her without her even realising.
She wondered if Araminta would ever let her out, let alone return to Hogwarts in a fortnight’s time, and the thought of never being able to return to the one place where Sophie finally felt at home pained her terribly. To think she had ruined it all because she had no control over her emotions and how they ended up charged into magic had left her in a state of despair - and then there was a knock at her window.
Sophie had sat up straight in bed, bewildered by the sound. She thought perhaps a messenger owl was trying to alert her to a letter but when she got out of her bed and looked to the window she nearly stumbled from the shock of seeing her best friend, Colin Bridgerton, peering in.
She ran to the window, pushing it up and gaped at him.
“Colin? What on earth -”
“Why does it look like you’re in jail?” Colin asked from outside the bars.
She opened her mouth to explain but stopped short once she took in the whole sight before her. Colin was talking to her from the backseat of a turquoise car that was parked up in midair directly outside of her bedroom window.
“Why do you have a flying car?” she spluttered.
“Dad enchanted it.” Anthony Bridgerton, Colin’s older brother, answered from the driver’s seat.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Colin noted.
“I... I accidentally used magic.” she admitted.
“Sophie!” Colin gasped. “You know you’re not supposed to -”
“I know, I know! But I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even have my wand on me; it just happened and now Araminta’s locked me away so I don’t do it again.” she explained. “Now she hates me even more than ever and... and I don’t think she’ll ever let me out again.” she confessed tearfully.
“Sophie, it’s okay.”
Her watery eyes darted towards the passenger’s seat and landed on the kind and handsome face of Benedict Bridgerton, and just like every time she had ever encountered Colin’s second oldest brother, her heart skipped a beat.
“It’s perfectly natural to perform magic without even meaning to. It happens to all of us.” Benedict said to her and Sophie’s oncoming tears quickly dried up from his soft reassurance as her heart warmed from the way his eyes gazed at her fondly.
“And it doesn’t matter if your stepmother doesn’t let you out because we’re breaking you out of here!” Colin grinned at her cheerfully.
“You’re what?” Sophie’s eyes widened.
“Well we’re not gonna leave you here to be a virtual prisoner now! What sort of best friend would I be if I did that?”
Before Sophie could respond, Anthony had passed his younger brother a rope and Colin began tying it to the bars of her window.
“Stand back, Soph!”
Sophie wordlessly obeyed and stood by the wall opposite her window, watching as the car revved up before Anthony drove it skyward. The bars came flying off and though they had caused some noise it didn’t appear as if Araminta or anyone in the neighbourhood had been awakened by it. The car then pulled back up and Colin hopped in through her window.
“Well, come on then! Grab your stuff and let’s go!”
“But my trunk, my school supplies, my wand; she’s locked them all under the stairs.” Sophie informed him.
“No worries.” Benedict chirped as he and Anthony clambered into her room too.
Sophie tried to ignore the rosiness blushing her cheeks at the fact that Benedict Bridgerton was standing in her bedroom. She had spent the best part of her summer dreaming of him in her room; keeping the loneliness away with his company, flashing his crooked grin at her, amusing her with his wit, holding her hand to comfort her...
She snapped out of her thoughts, paranoid that there could be a slim chance that Benedict - who had only just celebrated his 14th birthday in the last month - had somehow been expertly trained in the power of Legilimency and could read her very thoughts and laugh in her face for having a crush on him.
“We’ll go fetch your stuff from downstairs.” Benedict said as Anthony used a simple hairpin to unlock Sophie’s bedroom door. “Just gather your things in here and pack them in the car and we’ll be right back.”
Anthony and Benedict then ventured out of Sophie’s room (after she quickly warned them that the bottom step of the staircase creaked), leaving her and Colin to hurry around packing her clothes and few belongings up. By the time Sophie had passed Colin a pillowcase filled with the last of her stuff into the car, the elder Bridgerton brothers had reappeared with her trunk. Anthony joined Colin in the floating car before Sophie helped Benedict pass the trunk into the backseat.
Benedict then turned to Sophie, offering his hand to assist her climbing into the car. She tried to settle the butterflies giddily fluttering around in her stomach at the prospect of Benedict holding her hand in his.
“Oh!” she gasped as her hand hovered over his as she suddenly remembered something. “I almost forgot.”
She scrambled towards her bed, dropping to the floor and from underneath her mattress retrieved her already well-worn copy of A History of Magic. It had been the one school book that she managed to keep from Araminta and she had cherished it dearly for the last ten days as she remained under bedroom-arrest. She had turned back to Benedict, elated to finally be escaping this awful house, when suddenly a shriek sounded from behind her.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Araminta trilled and when Sophie looked over her shoulder at her she saw just how red and apoplectic with rage her stepmother was.
She supposed the sight of a teenage boy in Sophie’s now unlocked bedroom, plus the two teenagers peering in through the window from a flying car was a lot for anyone to take in. Sophie would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if she wasn’t so scared of her stepmother and what she about to do.
Araminta stormed towards her, her hand already drawn back to strike Sophie with, and just like the many times she had experienced it before, Sophie froze up and mentally braced herself for the smack that she was about to be on the receiving end of.
“No!” Benedict suddenly cried out - and then something rather peculiar happened.
Following his exclamation, Sophie felt a strange shift in the air. She barely had a second to register it before all of a sudden Araminta was lifted off her feet and hurled through the air back out into the hallway with the door slammed firmly shut after her. Sophie stared in astonishment at the now shut door where Araminta’s screams were coming from. It was almost as if a gust of wind had blown her clear out of the room but that was surely impossible. It was a still, warm August night without so much as a summer breeze in the air.
Sophie looked to Benedict for explanation but he seemed just as stunned as she was. His eyes met hers, puzzlement passing between them as they both wondered what on earth had just happened.
“Merlin’s beard; hurry up!” Anthony barked at them.
A second later Sophie found herself in Benedict’s hold and then in the next second she was in the backseat of the Bridgertons’ floating car. Benedict just about climbed in after her when the door to her room burst back open and Araminta came screeching to the window, hurling abuse at Sophie and the brothers as Anthony kicked the car into gear and flew off, leaving Araminta wailing far behind them.
As soon as they had all caught their breath and exhaled a collective sigh of relief, Sophie thanked them all profusely for freeing her before questioning what had happened to cause Araminta to be sent flying through the air.
“That was Ben.” Colin said from the passenger’s seat, twisted firmly around without a seatbelt so he could face Sophie in the back. “We saw the shift in the air coming from him when he saw your stepmum going to hit you.”
Sophie looked to Benedict curiously. When they had looked to each other initially after Araminta had been blown out of the room he had appeared just as flabbergasted as she was by what had occurred. He still seemed perturbed now as he processed what his brother was telling him.
“But how did you do that?” Sophie asked, her eyes filled with wonder as she gazed at him.
Benedict gave a small shrug. “I guess I proved my earlier point that sometimes we perform magic without even meaning to.”
Before Sophie could extend her gratitude for him for saving her from her stepmother’s hand, Colin jumped on the subject of unintentional magic by asking Sophie what she had done to cause Araminta to lock her up in the first place. She explained to them how she had nearly turned Rosamund into a pig and the Bridgerton brothers roared with laughter, championing her for serving her stepsister her just desserts, and for the rest of the journey back to the Bridgerton home they all kept making jokes about it.
Anthony apologised for the slight bumpy landing upon arrival and then Sophie followed the brothers as they snuck back into their humble abode in the middle of the Kent countryside. The sun was only just taking to the sky and they were hopeful that they could get a few hours shut-eye before introducing Sophie to the family and pretending like she had just shown up in the middle of the night of her own accord - but just as they crept into the kitchen, they were met by a very irate woman.
“Beds empty! No note! Car gone! Do you have any idea how out of my mind with worry I’ve been?!” Violet Bridgerton shouted at her sons.
Colin and Anthony had both tried to interject but to no avail. The lambasting continued for several more minutes and Sophie nervously stood by the door, preparing to be told by Colin’s mother that she wasn’t welcome regardless of what her sons may think.
“Oh, Sophie, dear.” Violet then turned to the young girl, her voice and demeanour softening instantly and her eyes shining with compassion. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Colin’s told me so much about you. I’m more than happy to host you here ahead of your return to Hogwarts.”
Sophie was then engulfed in a loving motherly hug, one of which she had never been lucky enough to experience before. As Violet drew back she beckoned her daughter Daphne into the room, who was a couple of years younger than Sophie and Colin, and asked her to show Sophie to Colin’s room so she could get some rest. When Colin went to follow right behind his best friend, his mother hauled him back by the collar, telling him she wasn’t quite done with chastising him and his brothers just yet.
Violet continued to admonish her three eldest children for their secrecy and their stupidity for flying a car all the way to London where any Muggle could spot them, despite Anthony’s protestations that it had been cloudy and in the middle of the night. Just as Sophie was about to follow Daphne up the stairs, she looked back to the kitchen and caught Benedict’s eye. A small grin pricked on his lips and he gave her a wink in spite of the scolding he was enduring for helping rescue her.
As Sophie climbed up the stairs, she felt all warm and fuzzy inside as she looked ahead to the next two weeks residing with the Bridgertons. She would get to hang out with her best friend all day long, she would never feel lonely as she became one of the family, and (most importantly in her affection-filled heart) she would get to see Benedict Bridgerton and (hopefully) spend time with him every single day.
The worst summer of her life had just become the best summer of her life and in that moment Sophie Beckett held absolutely no regrets for nearly turning her stepsister into a pig - the only regret she had was that she hadn’t accidentally done it sooner.
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Going to the Chapel | Chapter 2
read here on ao3 (previous chapter)
Summary:
“Three days?” she yelped. “I thought you said next week.”
“Three days is next week.”
Sophie frowned. “Oh. You’re right. Monday, then?”
(An Offer from a Gentleman by Julia Quinn, Chapter 23)
What happened in the days leading up to Benedict and Sophie’s wedding.
Word Count: 6.8k
--
Saturday
After many repeated assurances and the promise of a visit to Aubrey Hall after their honeymoon was over, Edmund was finally convinced – at least, placated enough – that Benedict and Sophie moving to Wiltshire was not the end of the world. No matter how much he felt it was.
With the crisis averted, the rest of the afternoon had gone quite smoothly. Benedict had remained at Number 5 till dinner, keeping Sophie company as Hyacinth regaled them about how she and their sisters (plus Posy) had all seen Araminta and Rosamund while in the market.
While Benedict’s sisters had no issue with giving the countess and her daughter the cut direct, snubbing them in front of the entire ton, Hyacinth had gone a step further. Using candies she’d purchased off a market stall, Hyacinth had discreetly lobbed a few she’d been sucking on in the direction of the pair.
One of which landed directly in Rosamund’s hair and stayed there, much to the elder Reiling sister’s distress once she realized what she’d been hit with.
Benedict had subsequently made a note to buy his youngest sister whatever she wanted for Christmas.
But, while his goal had been to remain with Sophie as long as he could, once dinner was over, Benedict found himself being forced out the door and back to his lodgings, by both his mother and sisters’ insistences. He was practically shoved out the door as they shooed him out, all under the pretense of Sophie being allowed to get some sleep after such a busy day.
It didn’t deter him though. Benedict was a stubborn mule, and his mother was where he’d inherited it from, making her attempt to control him useless.
So, he returned to Number 5 early the next morning to join them for breakfast, arriving just as Sophie was making her way down the grand staircase, heading towards the dining room.
She was dressed in soft blush colored silk, that had been cut in a manner that made the skirt look like the petals of a flower and the puff sleeves like the buds of a bluebell. All tied together with simple black ribbons, around the waist and sleeves. He was sweeping her into his arms, lifting her off the step as he spun her around before placing her down next to him. Sophie giggled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Good morning,” he told her.
“Morning,” she returned sweetly.
“So, does my mother have any plans for you today?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her towards the dining room.
She shook her head, cheeks as pink as her dress. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Good,” he told her, kissing her cheek this time as they entered the room. “Then I get you all to myself today.”
It was a pretty calm and peaceful morning. Benedict was able to spend time with Sophie, the only thing he really wanted to do while he impatiently waited for Monday morning to arrive, but he also was able to get the final item he needed before the wedding. The ring.
It had belonged to his paternal grandmother. A handful of Alessandra Bridgerton’s rings had been left to Benedict and his younger brothers for when they found wives of their own, since her own wedding ring had been given to his mother Violet and then to Kate. For most of his life, he’d never thought about the rings, but Benedict knew the emerald one would be the one he took the moment he realized he wanted to marry Sophie.
A beautiful ornate gold band with two small diamonds and an emerald no bigger than a pinky nail between them. The gem was the same color as Sophie’s eyes.
So, while his mother was distracting Sophie, he slipped upstairs to her room where she’d told him she’d left the ring in its small case on her dresser, which is where he found it. Giving the ring a quick look over, scanning for any tiny imperfections he knew the ring did not have, before sliding it into his pocket with the full intention of getting Sophie alone so that he could present her with it.
He’d even prepared a speech. Planned to propose marriage to Sophie, even though they were already engaged, even though he knew she would say yes without question. He still wanted to ask, to tell her why she was his everything. Why he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
(And to make up for the fact he’d declared them engaged to a government official without her input. Even if it was for the purposes of securing her release before she was unjustly sent to a penal colony.)
He planned to present her with the ring the moment he was back downstairs. After he’d snuck her out to the small gazebo in the backyard.
But upon his return downstairs, as he quickly made his way down the stairs and into the front foyer, he found his brother and mother chatting quietly near the door. A man Benedict did not recognize was with them. And Sophie as well, who stood next to Violet with a worried expression on her face.
The unknown man was well dressed, with dark hair that was graying at the temples and small, circular spectacles covering his pale gray eyes. Held in his hands was a well-used, leather gladstone bag. And he had a stern look on his face, one that told Benedict he was a man of strict business.
If Benedict had to guess. He looked like a solicitor.
“Brother,” Benedict greeted Anthony as he approached the group. “Is everything alright?”
“Benedict,” his brother greeted him back with a quick nod. “May I introduce Mr. Matthew Selwin. The Earl of Penwood’s solicitor.”
“Mr. Bridgerton,” the solicitor nodded politely towards him.
Benedict tensed briefly, a flash of worry washing over him before he forced himself to relax. After his conversation with his brother the day before, he’d expected they’d receive a response from the earl but not this quickly. He quickly forced his charming, Bridgerton smile as shook hands with Mr. Selwin, before drifting over to Sophie’s side.
She was nervous. Posture alone gave away her concern, the tense shoulders with her worried, anxious expression. Her fingers picking at the skin around her nails. Benedict only wrapped an arm around her waist, protectively, drawing her closer to him.
“I ran into his lordship this morning while at the House of Lords. We spoke briefly. I thought it best to introduce myself, what with our mutual connection,” Anthony said with a nod towards Sophie. “He was rather surprised when he heard the late earl’s ward was getting married. He’d been under the assumption she already had.”
“Araminta told him I’d married two years ago,” Sophie added softly. “After the earl handed control of my dowry.”
Benedict swallowed the anger boiling within him. Of course, Araminta would try to cover her tracks and guarantee there were no questions raised about her sudden disappearance from Penwood House.
“Lord Penwood thought it best to send his solicitor to help us resolve this…mistake,” Anthony told them. “Especially with the upcoming wedding. I would have called you to the Bridgerton House, brother. For a private meeting, but his lordship he requested Miss Beckett present for these discussions.”
“And he apologies for his absence,” Mr. Selwin added. “He’s only in the city for a short time and there were matters at his properties he needed to see to.”
“Of course,” Benedict returned, trying to ignore the fact that Penwood House was a few doors down from Number 5.
“Shall we then?” Mr. Selwin asked.
Straight to business then.
While the rest of them made their way into the smaller side room that acted as an office space (when needed), Benedict gently pulled Sophie back, waiting for the others to enter the room first so he spoke with her privately.
“Are you alright?” he asked her, brushing a hand over her shoulder.
She nodded, letting go of a sigh. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m just a little surprised. I haven’t seen Mr. Selwin since my father’s funeral.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “Anthony let me know yesterday that the earl was in town. He and I agreed to handle it quietly before Monday, so you wouldn’t have to. But I should have told you.”
She shook her head. “It’s alright.”
“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he added. “To be honest, I didn’t think my brother would be able to secure a meeting with his solicitor. And this quickly.”
“I doubt there is much to discuss,” Sophie replied. “My dowry is probably pittances now. Probably nonexistent if I’m honest. And I know my father didn’t leave me anything else.”
Gently, Benedict took her hand, bringing it up so he could press a soft kiss to the knuckles.
“Whatever happens, know that nothing is going to stop me from marrying you Monday,” he told her, and she smiled softly back up at him.
Sophie looked up at him, eyes shining with adoration, as she gave him a soft smile. He kissed her knuckles again.
“Come on,” he said, offering his elbow out for her to take. “Let’s get this over with.”
—
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Benedict, please,” Anthony admonished with a sigh.
But the information Mr. Selwin had just provided them was still being processed in Benedict’s head.
The new Earl of Penwood was now a married man. In the years since Sophie had last seen him he’d sobered up and decided to marry a young woman from his hometown up north, a vicar’s daughter and old friend, who seemed to be, from what the solicitor implied, having a good effect on him.
And a result of his recent nuptials was that he would no longer be sharing Penwood House. From what they could gather, through the solicitor’s formal explanation, was that the earl’s new wife was not interested in sharing a property. At the end of the season, Araminta would be required to move out of Penwood House, and would further be known as the dowager countess Gunningworth.
Araminta’s current choices were to either take the dowager residence in the countryside or find a new residence in London. Something that would no doubt be difficult for her since the earl had also reduced her allowance down to two thousand pounds. An allowance he had also threatened to halve since it appeared Anthony had informed him of the fraud that had been occurring while he was in the country.
Two thousand pounds a year. Not a measly amount by any means, but not enough to live as lavishly as Araminta Gunningworth was known to enjoy.
And Benedict had only laughed at the news. The result of his hysterical outburst causing Anthony to glare at him for being a tad bit too happy about it.
Only because he’d done so in front of the solicitor.
But even Sophie was giving him a harsh look.
Mr. Selwin cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the earl apologizes for this error and wishes to compensate Miss Beckett for the mishandling of her dowry by the dowager countess.”
“Becoming Lady Araminta’s unpaid servant? Her dowry being stolen? The abuse Sophie suffered? The earl considers this to be nothing but an error?” Anthony questioned him with an unimpressed glare, brow raised.
“Yes, well, that was quite regrettable,” Mr. Selwin replied, awkwardly, shuffling some of the papers before pulling one out and handing it to Benedict. “To make up for this, the earl wishes to pay the full amount of Miss Beckett’s dowry with an additional amount added onto it as repayment for the harm caused to her while living under Lady Penwood’s guardianship.”
As Benedict took the document, he froze as he read the total amount.
A ten-thousand-pound dowry, which had been the amount Sophie’s father had initially left her, with an additional nine thousand added to it for the years Sophie spent under Araminta’s care. One thousand for each year. A ten-thousand-pound dowry was already quite the sum for a ward to be left as a dowry or income, but to add an additional nine, even Sophie seemed surprised as she read it.
“This is far too much,” she told Mr. Selwin, at a loss for words.
“Based on what I read, the correct amount owed is at least forty thousand,” Anthony informed her. “When the dowager countess took you into her care, her allowance was increased from two thousand to six thousand a year. Not to mention, she only requested your dowry after you fled from Penwood House.”
Benedict was beginning to regret not killing Araminta. Mr. Selwin shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not interested in negotiating a new amount.
“Nineteen is already far too much for me to take,” Sophie said.
“You can put it aside,” Anthony advised her simply. Before adding more softly. “If you chose to take it, that is. I can help you and Benedict put it into a trust. If you have a daughter, or daughters, it can become their dowry instead.”
“Still…” Sophie trailed off, looking conflicted.
And Benedict recalled what she’d said in the jail, how excited she’d been when she discovered her father had left her money. She’d been surprised, before becoming excited. Happy. Happy that she had a dowry but not for herself. For him. Like that was something he had expected – needed – before he’d agree to marry her.
After he’d declared them engaged without even asking her thoughts on that. Announced to the magistrate (and multiple other prisoners) his intentions to make her his wife. That should have been enough for her to realize he didn’t care about her class anymore. About money. He’d been a fool in the first for allowing it to blind him from being happy.
All he wanted was a quiet life at My Cottage. With Sophie. Something he was only days away from having.
And nineteen thousand pounds wasn’t going to change that.
So, Benedict reached over to where she sat next to him, their chairs practically connected with how close he’d move his towards her, and took her small, soft hand in his.
“Whatever you choose, I’ll support it,” he told her. “And trust me, when I say we don’t need it. I don’t need a dowry to marry you.”
Sophie gave him a soft smile in return, before looking towards Mr. Selwin.
“I respectfully decline his lordship’s offer,” she told him, giving Benedict’s hand a squeeze as she spoke.
“His lordship was quite insistent about this–” Mr. Selwin started.
“As my fiancée said, we do not need it,” Sophie cut him off. “And I’m certain our daughter will be quite fine without it as well.”
Now that statement perked his interests.
“You want daughters?” Benedict inquired, intrigued.
“How about we get married first?” Sophie returned with a smile. “Then we can discuss how many daughters we want.”
Benedict wasn’t certain he could. The idea of a mini Sophie, a daughter with Sophie, had captured his thoughts.
“And what about Posy?” Sophie asked, turning his attention back to the solicitor.
“What about her?” Mr. Selwin returned.
“Lady Bridgerton has taken her in,” Sophie told him. “And she lived in the same home I did these past nine years. Even longer frankly. Now that she isn’t, shouldn’t her dowry be handed over for Lord Bridgerton and his mother to watch?”
“I’m welcome to discuss the transferring of entails with his lordship before approaching the dowager countess with this matter. If Miss Reiling truly plans to remain under Lady Bridgertons care,” Mr. Selwin said back.
“That seems to be the plan,” Anthony inputed with ease. He was still seated behind his desk, his chin resting atop his knuckles as he gave the solicitor a hard look. And it was evident from the periodical shifting from Mr. Selwin whenever he made eye contact, that Anthony’s air of intimidation was beginning to get to him.
“How much should Lord Bridgerton be expecting with regards to Posy’s dowry?” Sophie asked.
“Lord Gunningworth was kind enough to leave a dowry of four thousand pounds to Miss Reiling and her sister,” Mr. Selwin informed her.
“Each?”
Mr. Selwin shook his head. “No. The amount was to be shared. Those shares then added to the dowries their father had left them. I believe the total amount is six thousand each.”
Sophie frowned. “Well, that’s not fair.”
Benedict couldn’t help the laugh that burst out past his lips. Of course. Of course, Sophie would think that. She’d decline the ten thousand her father had left for her, ten thousand pounds that had been stolen from her by Araminta, and she considered the additional nine thousand added to it making far too much for her to take, but only six thousand pounds for her stepsister? Unacceptable.
“What?” Sophie asked him, confused, her brows adorably furrowed as she frowned at him.
Benedict shook his head. “Nothing, nothing.”
“Posy was his stepdaughter,” she told him defensively, having figured out why he’d laughed at her. “Should he not have made it an even amount between the three of us?”
“Sophie, I don’t think Posy will mind having only six thousand pounds as a dowry,” Benedict said as his chuckles subsided, recalling how it was also Posy who revealed the fraud in the first place.
“Well, that depends on if her dowry was left untouched,” Sophie reminded.
“I think we should allow Lord Penwood to figure out how much the dowager countess has taken from him, and after that, we can figure out Posy’s dowry,” Anthony suggested.
“I’ll bring this all back to his lordship so we can begin the process,” Mr. Sewlin informed them, packing away the papers he’d brought. “I will inform him of Miss Beckett’s decision to decline the offer.”
“If I may,” Anthony interjected. “I hope that his lordship will also make clear, to any who ask, that this agreement is merely nothing but the handing off of a dowry Lord Gunningworth left his ward before he passed.”
Mr. Selwin, who Benedict had come to realize had also served Sophie’s father, barely reacted.
“But of course. His lordship intends to do just that. It would be what his late relatives would have wanted,” was Mr. Selwin’s reply. “The late Charles Beckett was a dear friend of his lordship when they were children. He would never do anything to disparage his name and character. Let alone insult his only daughter.”
So, they were in agreement. Both Benedict’s family and the Penwoods would stay tight lipped about Sophie’s heritage. And the confirmation came as a relief, Sophie’s shoulders relaxed, as did her posture. Benedict gave her hand another squeeze.
“There was one other matter his lordship wished for me to address with you,” Mr. Sewlin said as he searched around in his bag. “There were items the late earl left he thought Miss Beckett would wish to have.”
Sophie frowned. “Items?”
Finding what he was searching for, Mr. Selwin pulled it out and handed it over to her. Sophie took the item, turning it over her hand to look at it.
“What is it?” Benedict asked her.
“A watch,” Sophie responded, quietly, having apparently recognized it. “Lord Gunningworth used to carry it around with him.”
At least it looked like one. The same size and shape as one too. Small and made entirely of gold. The carving of cranes flying around in a circle on the cover.
Only when Sophie clicked it open there was no watch face inside. Instead, there was a portrait of a woman, with dark curls and sharp eyes. A sly smile on her lips. It was a miniature painting, concealed as a simple pocket watch.
“He also left some letters,” Mr. Selwin added, placing a stack of folded pieces of paper tied with a string. “He felt they would be best left in the care of Miss Beckett.”
But Sophie wasn’t listening. She was focused on studying the portrait, her finger grazing over the inside of the golden cover.
“I believe that is all, so I will take my leave,” Mr. Selwin told them, rising from his chair.
As Anthony handled the goodbyes exiting with Mr. Selwin to see him out and leaving the two alone, Benedict turned his attention to Sophie. She’d gone white, blinking away tears as her eyes watered.
“What is it?” Benedict asked her, concerned.
“Um…” Sophie took a deep breath, brushing away unfallen tears. “I think it’s my mother.”
She handed the miniature over to him. Benedict found that on the inside of the cover was an engraving.
Yours eternally. – M. B.
“I um…” Sophie sniffled. “I never knew what she looked like.”
Benedict’s felt his heart shattered from where it sat in his chest. Placing the portrait on the desk, he quickly took Sophie into his arms and enveloped her in a hug, knowing damn well he’d make it his life mission to guarantee Sophie never experienced pain again.
He’d make sure of it.
—
“Two thousand pounds,” Violet repeated with a small chuckle. “Well, she certainly deserved less.”
“Do you think she’ll stay in London?” Francesca asked. “Even with the reduction, she should still be able to afford something nice?”
They’d returned to the parlor upon the departure of Mr. Selwin, where his mother and sisters had all been waiting. Mr. Selwin would have a new contract written up and sent to their solicitor by Monday at the earliest, but Anthony had promised to guarantee everything would be settled by him if there was a delay, so that Benedict and Sophie could depart for their honeymoon without delay.
“We’ll be back for Francesca's wedding anyway,” Benedict had assured him. “If anything, else needs to be completed, we can do so then.”
Kate had also arrived with his nephews while they were in their meeting, arriving early for the family dinner his mother was planning to hold that night. To celebrate the two engagements.
Edmund was still a little stung by yesterday’s events and the news he’d gotten, evident from the curt glare he gave Benedict when he saw him. The young boy turned his head the moment he made eye contact with him as he walked by with his mother, giving him the cut direct, and had been disappointed to find Sophie absent from the room.
After receiving the portrait and letters from Mr. Selwin, Sophie had excused herself upstairs. She’d gotten abnormally quiet after receiving them, worrying Benedict greatly, but he knew she needed time to process, privacy so she could read the letters in peace.
But, the longer she stayed upstairs, the more the rope wrapped tightly around Benedict’s heart tugged.
“Something modest, yes, but nothing in Mayfair, that’s for certain,” Violet replied, cheerfully. “But more importantly, we will never have to see that vile woman again.”
“Mama, what does ‘vile’ mean?” Edmund asked his mother, where they sated on the other side of the room with Anthony and Eloise. Miles sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms.
“It means something that is very unpleasant,” Kate told him.
“Like Uncle Benedict?” the young boy asked, with his dark eyes big and round, filled with youthful innocence.
Innocence Benedict saw straight through.
“Do not call your uncle vile, Edmund. That isn’t very nice,” Kate gently admonished her son, who only pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, letting out an annoyed huff.
And Benedict could only snort at it. “Someone has a vile little disposition today, don’t they?” he joked.
“And you–” Kate pointed a finger at Benedict, who quickly raised his hands in surrender back at her. “Do not encourage him.”
“I was merely providing my dear sweet nephew with an example of how to use the word,” Benedict assured her with a sly smirk.
“You’re also competing with a toddler for Sophie’s affection,” Eloise pointed out from where she was lounging lazily. “It’s frankly embarrassing to watch.”
Benedict made a face at her, which Eloise just ignored as she went back to her reading.
“She’s been in her room for quite some time,” Violet remarked, staring towards the door as if hoping Sophie would appear at that very moment.
“The earl gave her a stack of letters from her parents,” Anthony replied. “She just needs time.”
But Benedict was already on his feet. The rope pulled until it had gone taught. “I’ll go check on her,” he told them.
His mother said nothing, only gave him a small approving nod and a smile as he departed the room, turning the conversation onto tonight's events.
—
All her life, Sophie had known nothing about her mother. Didn’t know what she looked like or sounded like. What her interests and dislikes were. Her father would never tell her, dismissing her the first time she tried and curtly telling her there was nothing to talk about the second time she attempted to broach the subject of her dead mother.
The third time saw her sent to her room without supper and that had been the last attempt.
But these letters, the ones Mr. Selwin had handed her, were from her. The majority of the stack was from her mother, with a small bundle she recognized were written in her father’s hand. It had taken her some time to organize them, and as she read them realized some of the letters were missing. Most likely lost to time, displaced, or burned. But the letters she had gotten had given her greater insight into the two absent figures in her life that were her parents.
They’d been in love. That had surprised her. She’d hoped there had been love, bastards were usually the result of unrestrained passion, but the confirmation had still come at a surprise. Because her father had never once shown joy or affection, towards anyone, and certainly not her.
But the letters in front of her, written in her father’s recognizable penmanship and the ones with her mother’s elegant cursive, far too good for a lowborn woman to have, told her there may have only been one person he’d ever shown happiness to.
She’d discovered how they met, through an opera. Her mother had been a singer and her father, newly arrived in London after his first year at Cambridge, had fallen for her the moment he saw her. His first letter to her, the beginning of their correspondence, reflected such.
You are a goddess. When I saw you step onto that stage it was as if I were watching Aphrodite herself walk ashore from the seafoam waves of the Mediterranean. Your beauty has captured my mind and bewitched my heart. I find I cannot think of anyone–anything else but you. I beg you to grant me a moment of your time. A conversation. So that I may be put out of my misery.
There had been more. A solid page’s worth of words, describing her beauty and singing capabilities, praising her performance.
And her mother’s response had been nothing but a short and quick thank you.
You honor me with your words, Lord Gunningworth. Unfortunately, my schedule is booked for the season. But I wish you all the best and do hope you will attend future performances at the Theatre Royal.
Sincerely,
Maria Beckett
She’d dismissed him, Sophie’s mother, the young and talented soprano Maria Beckett. She’d seen her father, an earl’s son, as nothing but a boy who’d been a bit too overeager in his compliments. And as Sophie read on, she’d discovered the possible reason given her mother was the elder of the two. Her father was nineteen when he'd first written to her, but Maria had been twenty-three at the time.
The dates on the first two letters had been from the early summer of 1789, five years before Sophie was born, and the next ones had been written at the end of the following year, when her parents had finally met in person at a ball. Her mother was only in attendance to perform, when Sophie’s father had approached her and struck up a conversation.
I must say, I did not know if I should have been insulted or flattered that an earl’s son would deem me fit for conversing the night’s affairs. You certainly put me at the ire of all those pretty young ladies seeking your attention while we spoke.
There was no response from her father for the one. It was one of the lost ones, but the ones that followed, the building of a routine correspondence between the two, showed a flirtatious friendship that had soon turned into a love affair.
They spoke about everything with one another. Sophie had learned more about them with a few letters then she had the ten years her father had been a part of her life. She learned he’d had an unhappy upbringing, raised by a man who expected far too much and far too soon, while her mother had grown up destitute, her father lost at sea when she was young and her mother a scullery maid to a family that barely paid her an honest wage.
Her parents would debate and argue over little matters, passing teasing remarks in their exchanges as they argued their point. And as the friendship blossomed into a full-blown love affair, Sophie found there were letters she could not read. The words–descriptions her parents had written in their love letters to one another, about their trysts and nights together, was not something she felt she needed to be privy to.
And had also left her face burning after the first one she read, when she realized what her mother had been describing about her father.
You own my heart and soul, Richard. I cannot breathe without you here.
The sight of you alone makes being in this city, being near him all the more worth it. I love no one else but you, Maria.
And then, it changed.
She wasn’t entirely sure, but from what she gathered her grandfather had finally discovered the affair. Sophie’s grandfather had not been one to view a lowborn opera singer, the daughter of a dead sailor and a scullery maid, as anything more than an upstarter. Someone who was trying to marry up into and into society. Into a title he deemed she did not deserve. And the fact that the affair had occurred under his nose for years, left him furious with his son.
Richard had been threatened with disinheritance into calling off the relationship, but not with his inheritance but that of his elder sister Elizabeth. She was about to marry a baron’s second son and if she were disinherited, she’d have no dowry, and the wedding would never happen. Elizabeth had been in love and Sophie’s father would not allow her to be punished for his actions.
This was all a folly. A passing fancy. It was foolish of me to think it could have gone anywhere, that we could have made something of this, but I know now it was only a fool’s errand. It is best we end this now before others discover it.
The last few letters had been from her mother, her reaction to his letter followed by confused letters pleading for him to explain and respond to her. It was apparent there had been no response from her father, but the fact he had kept them, stored them away instead of burning them, told Sophie he’d still loved her.
And by the final letter, it was apparent her mother had come to terms with what was happening.
I beg of you Richard. No matter what. Do not allow your father to rule your heart along with your mind. You’re a good man. You’re not like him. I’ve seen it. I know you can do better, be better, then him.
The postmark on the letter was six months before Sophie was born. Meaning Maria would have known she was pregnant, but she’d said nothing in her letter. It was likely her mother expected to raise Sophie herself. Without her father ever knowing.
Something that never happened.
And in the end, it had been for nothing. Sophie knew her Aunt Elizabeth never married, that she died a spinster. Her intended was killed before they could marry while fighting in France, and a few months after that Sophie’s grandfather died in his sleep, leaving Richard the new earl.
And by the time he was the new earl, Sophie’s mother was dead. He would neither hear from nor see her again. The news of her death would only reach him, finally, when Sophie would show up on his doorstep three years later, the final chapter of that relationship.
All those years and he never said anything. Never mentioned her. Never even told Sophie her mother’s name and now she had all this. She’d learned more about her parents from this stack of letters then she had the years her father had been alive. She even had a picture, a painting that gave her a small idea of what Maria Beckett had looked like.
And it had left her in tears. It couldn’t be helped. The tears were already dripping off her chin by the time she’d gotten halfway through the stack. Wiping the watery tracks from her face, Sophie tried to compose herself, prepare herself to rejoin the others, and she couldn’t do that in the state she was in.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
“Sophie?” It was Benedict. Come to check on her.
“Yes?” Sophie cringed at the sound of her voice, choked and croaky. Her throat had become tight as she’d struggled to keep back her tears. Her jaw clenched.
“Can I come in?” she heard him gently asked from the other side of the door.
She cleared her throat before spoke again, trying to rid herself of any evidence her emotions had gotten the best of her. “One moment.”
Wiping her cheeks again, she went and unlocked the door, opening it slowly, revealing Benedict standing on the other side. And the moment he saw her face, she was in his arms. Which only brought her to tears again.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Benedict gently told her as he slipped into the room, cupping the back of her head with one hand, and rubbing her back with the other as she cried.
He slowly and gently led her to the bed, shutting the door behind him as he moved them, where he sat her down and held her against his chest, letting her cry into his shoulder. Sophie cried until she could no longer, leaving a wet stain on the shoulder of Benedict’s jacket. A stain that mortified her when she pulled away and saw it.
“Sorry,” she told him, sniffling.
Benedict chuckled softly, pushing a loose curl behind her ear. “It’s just a jacket.”
But Sophie didn’t say anything back. Didn’t know what else to say. She was exhausted and angry and relieved and upset. Far too many emotions running through her, overwhelming her thoughts, making it difficult for her to focus on anything.
“I take it you’ve read through them all?” Benedict asked, knowingly, as he lifted a letter off the pile.
She nodded. “Yes, they were quite…well, they were something.”
“Not what you expected?”
“Yes and no,” she said and took a deep breath. “In a way I suppose I just…” she stopped, taking another breath. “All this time, I never knew anything about her. He never said anything. And he never wanted to talk about her or himself.”
“You think it was because it was hard for him to?” Benedict asked.
“Maybe, but I’ll never truly know,” Sophie replied with a sad shrug. “From the way they wrote to one another. The way he wrote to her. It sounded like he cared about her deeply.”
Benedict hummed as he scanned one of the letters. From what he read as he skimmed over the lines, he found himself in agreement with her. The prose and lines he read, the poetry, he could still feel the affection that lingered on the papers.
“It seems like they were quite in love,” he commented, reading the next one he’d picked up.
Only this time he froze momentarily, eyes widened as he read the words on the paper in front of him, cheeks turning pink, before he hastily shoved the letter aside. Practically throwing it back onto the pile. From his reaction alone, Sophie figured out he’d gotten one of the more detailed letters.
“Well, that one certainly showed it,” he told her.
“Sorry,” Sophie quickly apologized, reaching over, and organizing the letters. “Some of them are rather…risqué.”
“Your mother was quite the writer,” Benedict commented, clearing his throat.
Sophie couldn’t help the small huff of a laugh that escaped her, a small smile tugging at her lips. And Benedict only gave her one back, preferring to see her happy.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be,” she replied, wiping away the remaining wetness on her cheeks.
“If you want to just relax this afternoon, I’m certain my mother won’t mind you missing dinner,” he assured her.
Sophie shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Sophie, you really don’t need to–” Benedict started.
“It’s fine, really,” she told him, taking his hand. Then leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips.
Benedict had no problem accepting the kiss, gently pushing against her as to deepen it, and it was exactly what Sophie needed. The feel of Benedict, his fingers grazing over her bare arm, fueled a burning fire within her. Warming her again.
“It will be nice,” she added as she pulled back. “Celebrating with everyone.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely. I’ll be fine, Benedict.”
“Alright,” he said, acquiescing.
Sophie gave him a small, weak smile. She really didn’t want him worrying about her. “Let me just clean myself up and I’ll be back down. I promised Hyacinth I’d help her with her verbs before we had to get ready for dinner.”
“I don’t mind sticking around and waiting for you in here. I’m welcomed to keep you company,” Benedict replied, giving her a sly smirk that had her rolling her eyes.
“And risk your mother catching us, again? No thank you,” she told him.
But Sophie still gave him another kiss before rising to her feet. Benedict followed her actions, pushing up to stand, his hand coming to rest on her lower back as he pressed his lips to her forehead.
“If you're not out in ten minutes, I’m coming back,” he informed her gently and she nodded.
Then he was gone, slipping quietly back out the room, and leaving her to prepare herself to rejoin the others.
But her mind was still processing the letters, all the information she’d learned from them about her parents, about their relationship. And she was struggling to comprehend it all. What it meant. The realization that her parents had been in a similar situation to her and Benedict, yet while she and Benedict had been able to overcome the barriers placed before them, her parents’ had not.
She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her parents, for what they could have had, while also struggling to separate herself from the apparent parallels to her romance with Benedict. Two people from different classes, different backgrounds, who’d fallen in love with one another after the briefest of interactions. Her parents had even had a gap between their first meet and the moment their relationship began.
And it was evident that her mother had started out as a mistress for her father. It was the only way the pair could be together. Something that Benedict had asked of her.
But Benedict had seen the errors of his ways, of his request, and her parents had separated not because of the mistress status her mother had agreed to take, but because of outside forces, because the ton would never accept their marriage.
Something likely to happen with Sophie and Benedict’s.
She knew no matter what her in-laws said or did, she would never be fully accepted by the ton. Some may overlook it, either because they did not wish to displease her in-laws or because they just did not care about where she came from, there would be those who disapprove. And it didn’t matter that they’d silenced Araminta, there would still be those who looked down they nose at Sophie, based on her class alone.
But the opinions of the ton didn’t matter. Not to her, and not to Benedict either. She had a happy and peaceful life in Wiltshire ahead of her, with the man of her dreams, a man who loved her, and Sophie would not allow her anxieties to make her second guess that.
Now, all she had to do was keep reminding herself about that. At least until Monday.
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