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eleanor-bradstreet · 5 months

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 16: Teatime

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 4.4k

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The next day Aubrey Hall continued to teem with activity under the watchful eyes of the Duke and Duchess. Benedict notified Mr. Dewitt that Sophie would be retained as a member of the housekeeping staff during the country visit. If the steward had any thoughts about the whiplash instructions he was receiving in regards to the newly arrived maid, he was wise enough not to betray them.

Benedict’s mind hadn’t stopped whirring since his encounter with Sophie in the drawing room the previous day. After returning from the lake, his sister gave no indication that she suspected anything untoward. It seemed their secret was safe. But how much longer could they carry on like this, sneaking through hallways in the dead of night, scurrying into unoccupied rooms? The risk of their discovery would increase tenfold when the family and guests started to arrive. Sophie was correct that they would need to actively avoid one another. He hadn’t even contemplated what would happen at the conclusion of his family’s hosting duties when he would be expected to return to London.

In the midst of his colliding thoughts, all he could think of was his need for Sophie; his yearning to watch her lips part as he made her gasp, his hunger to make her come apart, his ache to hold her in his arms. He set up an easel in his bedchamber and tried to unleash his feelings on a canvas, but found himself lost in daydreams of her. Rash as it may have been, he sent word to the kitchen specifically requesting that Sophie bring him his tea.

His heart bounded when she opened the door, tray balanced on her hip as he had seen her so many times before while convalescing. Her smile was brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows.

She set the tea tray on a table and curtsied. “Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Sophie.” Her name left his lips with a sigh of relief. “Are we not done with formalities when we are alone together?”

She returned a coy smile. “Very well, Ben. I assume you summoned me for a reason. Would you like me to sit for my portrait?”

He stepped toward her, feeling a stab of guilt that he could never seem to concentrate long enough in her presence to complete his work. “I certainly intend to finish your portrait. That is a gift I promised you. But I’m afraid my thoughts are too preoccupied to give it the attention it deserves at the moment.

“Preoccupied?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as he closed the distance between them and ran his knuckles across her cheek.

“Anticipation of my family’s arrival. And thoughts of you. Knowing we must keep our distance once they arrive.”

“Yes, we must.” Sophie swallowed, feeling the familiar bloom of heat just from his proximity.

“But we have today.” Benedict nuzzled against her cheek, delighting in her scent, the faintest hint of amber and vanilla.

Sophie’s eyes rolled closed and she grew pliant in his arms, but her mind still registered the risk of their encounters. “The Duke and Duchess…”

“Are calling at Romney Hall nearby,” he explained. “My sister is a friend of Lady Crane. She is ill and won’t be able to attend the visit.”

“The children?”

Benedict snickered. “Are with their army of nurses. The time is ours.” He pressed his lips to hers, soft and plush, and she was bereft of any further protest. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to…join me in calming my thoughts?”

“How do you mean?” Sophie asked, noting the mischievous flicker across his features, his crooked grin triggering a spark of excitement.

“An elixir procured by my younger brother in his travels. Whatever it may be, I find it both soothes the nerves and opens my mind to artistic inspiration. When paired with a canvas it helps me produce some of my most…experimental work.” He ran a hand gently through her hair, gazing at her as if she were his greatest muse. “It’s an experience unlike any other, and one that I’d like to share with you, if you are willing.”

Sophie was surprised by his offer, that he was inviting her to join him in more than just carnal pleasures. She had never tried any such substances, but assumed the effects must be different than strong drink. On a few occasions she had indulged enough to experience drunkenness with her fellow servants, usually on holidays. She found the sensation not unpleasant, a numbing carefree haze, but it did have a way of stealing joy from the following day when she would wake with a headache and bitter mouth. But she trusted Benedict implicitly. He would ensure her enjoyment as he introduced her to something new.

“How does one take this elixir?” She asked.

“A powder added to tea.” He wiggled his eyebrows and moved about the room, producing a small pouch from a drawer in his writing desk and shaking it playfully before resting it beside the teapot. “Medicinal in a way not unlike your tinctures, but entirely unique.”

Nodding her consent, Sophie sat across from Benedict at the small table and watched as he poured them each a cup of tea and added small spoonfuls of the pouch’s vibrant purple powder. He stirred and handed her the mixture, insisting she take the first sip. Tentatively, she brought it to her lips.

“You may wish to hold your nose,” Benedict coached. “The smell and taste can be a bit foul.”

Sophie did detect a whiff of something pungent, vegetal but charred somehow. Holding her breath, she took a full sip and scrunched up her face as the aftertaste withered her tongue.

“Ugh,” she grimaced as Benedict giggled. “You claim this makes you feel better?”

“Give it a moment,” he grinned. “You will see.”

___

In what felt like no time at all, Sophie became aware of her altered state. A single cup of Benedict’s mystery tea and she found herself able to count the motes of dust that floated in the shafts of sunlight. As opposed to the numbing effect of alcohol, she found her mind and body heightened in awareness. She was fascinated by the friction of her dress against her skin, the tactile surface of the table and the fine china, and the colors of the fabrics throughout the room. Having drunk his own cup, Benedict seemed to be fixated on color too. After ensuring she was feeling well, he had gone to his easel and was blending oil paints directly with his fingers on both palette and canvas, making sweeping motions with his arms, entirely lost to inspiration.

Sophie didn’t know how long she lazed in her chair watching him. The tea made time seem untrackable and irrelevant. She certainly did feel her nerves calmed and mind opened. She was content to simply gaze at Benedict, the man she secretly loved, drinking in the sight of him and every feature she adored. His tousled dark hair, his animated brow, pale blue eyes locked on his work, lopsided smirk appraising what he was crafting. Her focus narrowed to the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, the tendons flexing in his muscular neck, and the veins surging in his paint-streaked forearms. He had rolled his sleeves to the elbows but was otherwise fully dressed in a floral patterned waistcoat and pinned cravat, and for some reason this struck her as aggravating. With every inch of her skin sensitized in a way she had never known before, she wanted to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, to learn what it felt like to ascend to the plane of bliss when she already felt herself high above any clouds.

With a boldness that surprised even herself she rose, marched to Benedict’s side, took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Light danced behind her eyelids as the sweet flavor of his lips cascaded over her own. Benedict froze, holding his hands to either side so as not to cover her in paint.

Sophie pulled back and they both chuckled, heady with the closeness of each other as much as with the tea. Kissing him again, she found herself entirely absent of inhibition. With his hands unavailable she was in control and the realization was undeniably thrilling. There was something she had been longing to try and now was the perfect moment.

Continuing to savor him, her hands went to work unwinding his cravat. Benedict stood still, humming in amusement as they kissed. Once the fabric was in her hands, cool and slippery, she moved to stand behind him. On tiptoe she wrapped the dark blue silk around his eyes and knotted it in the back.

“Blind man’s bluff?” Benedict quipped, sounding befuddled.

“Shh.” Sophie giggled as she moved back to face him and contemplated her next move. The buttons on his waistcoat were slowly unfastened and the garment slipped carefully over his technicolor arms and onto the floor. Biting her lip, she snapped his braces against his chest causing him to gasp before she pulled them down from his shoulders. Next was his shirt. Sophie could hear him breathing harder as she pulled the hem from his waistband. She leaned to his ear and whispered, “Raise your arms.”

Giving himself over to her direction, Benedict grinned uncontrollably as she undressed him. He did as he was told, lifting his arms in front of himself to accommodate her height and she pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room. He stood before her blindfolded and shirtless, chest heaving, trousers jutting out unnaturally with his stiffness. Feeling more seductive than ever before, she traced a finger from his jaw down his neck, chest and abdomen, admiring. He was muscled, athletic, and his pale skin was so soft, smelling of soap and his oil paints. Sophie knelt down to pull off his boots, running her hand lightly down the front of his trousers on her way, causing him to hiss from the sensation.

“Lift your feet.” He obeyed and she pulled off his boots and stockings. Sophie remembered the night at the inn where she had awkwardly relieved him of his clothing out of necessity. This was a decidedly more pleasurable echo of that encounter. They were both breathing quite hard now, knowing there was only one more garment left to remove. Sophie remained on her knees and reached up, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. His hands clenched into fists and she could see him gritting his jaw. She smiled as she slid the last of his clothes down and bid him to step out of them. Now he was nude and erect with anticipation. She delayed a moment, waiting to strike. She would surprise him. She knew he was expecting her hands; how she usually touched him. She would skip that step.

Benedict gasped as her hot, wet mouth encircled him. It was a shock to his system, standing naked and blind in excruciating silence, broken suddenly by his cock being devoured. He reached out to hold her head but she swatted his hand away, reminding him of how soiled they were. Groaning through clenched teeth he fought to stand still and just let her have her way with him. It was agony and paradise combined, a flood of feelings as his swirling senses honed in on her attentions. The minx inside sweet Sophie had been unleashed by the tea and he was both proud and humbled that she was offering her own form of experimentation to match his.

At long last Sophie was fulfilling her wish to take Benedict in her mouth, to show him just how fervently she longed to please him, to worship his body as he had worshipped hers. She found the act surprisingly enjoyable, knowing the power she wielded from her knees. Hearing the needy sounds he made and looking up to see his mouth hung open with awe gave her her own satisfaction in turn. After a few pulls along his manhood she leaned back. “How is this, Ben? Inspirational?” She flicked her tongue across his tip.

He groaned, legs buckling. “Yes, Sophie. It’s…you’re wonderful. Just…just like this. Your lips are like the kiss of heaven.” She chuckled, knowing he would likely spout something poetic even if they were not under the influence. Motivated to push him even higher into the firmament, she leaned forward to consume him again. She tried different motions, licking and sucking, back and forth, her tongue dancing around his veins, her hand rising to join her mouth in stroking. Whenever Benedict moaned above her, she persisted with that action.

Then she tested herself, seeing how deeply she could take him. Slowly, she pushed further and further toward his body, pulling him into her mouth, relaxing every muscle she knew how. She knew he was in her throat once she could no longer breathe. An odd, somewhat alarming sensation but she felt in control. Staying relaxed she began to move gently, sucking him as before, letting him penetrate an entirely new area of her body. Having the most intimate part of him warm and heavy in her mouth was a comfort and sin she could never have imagined.

Benedict positively shouted with surprise as he breached Sophie’s throat. He instinctively tore the cravat from his eyes, looked down and saw her face practically flush with his pelvis, eyes closed in concentration as she rocked back and forth. He was buried so deep that when she finally gagged, he felt as if he were swallowed, squeezed with a pressure and heat that threatened to topple him. He shuddered, mind gone completely blank. Sophie pulled back and came up for air, gasping after his entire length slid out of her beautiful mouth. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and smiled up at him, looking proud of herself.

“Sophie Beckett, you marvelous creature,” he beamed down at her. With a smug gleam in her eyes she set herself on him again and Benedict rocketed skyward. He murmured praise and suggestions, hips beginning to thrust as she sucked him eagerly. She had a natural talent with her tongue that he knew was liable to destroy him. The warmth of her mouth, the suction of her lips, the challenge in her dewy eyes gazing up at him, it grew too much to bear. As he felt himself nearing the peak he pulled back.

“Sophie, I’m…I am nearly there.”

“Good,” she smiled, tearing away the collar of her uniform and beginning to loosen her frock. Benedict watched, agog as she undressed, stripping down to the waist. Then she wrapped a warm hand around his length and began to pump, her breasts bare and bobbing hypnotically as she stroked him. Whatever fire had been lit within her, he vowed to keep it tended. Gazing at each other open mouthed, she commanded him softly but intently. “Come on me.”

Seeing and hearing how hungry she was for his release brought it to fruition in a moment. Knowing nothing but the wave of ecstasy beginning to spasm through his body, Benedict needed to stabilize himself before he jettisoned off of the earth. His hands fell to Sophie’s shoulders and gripped tight, smearing her in a rainbow of fingerprints as he dropped his head with a cry. Painting her in two ways at once, his breath escaped in halting gasps as she milked him onto her chest.

Sophie never stopped her movements, coaxing him through the aftershocks. When Benedict fell to his knees before her panting, she grinned with devilish victory. She was just as capable of reducing him to a breathless mess as he could her. It made her feel closer to him, more trusted, and more desirable.

“Sophie,” Benedict marveled at her, barely able to muster words. “I’m sorry. Your shoulders…”

He pointed at the streaks that ran across her skin. She looked down and saw the epaulets she had earned. Bright ornaments of sinful endeavors. The fingerprints of her lover seared into her for all to see. The whole room was twinkling in a dazzling spectrum before her eyes and she felt honored to be made a part of it. With a twist of her lips she collected the palette he had dropped nearby and dipped her fingers into a sky blue shade, then swiped it gently across his abdomen, coloring him as well.

Benedict looked at her quizzically, then she ran a purple thumb across his jaw. Catching on, he wet his fingers in forest green and brushed them across her cheeks. Giggling, Sophie next took a daub of orange and swirled it in circles across her chest, blending it with his seed, painting herself with his essence. Benedict swallowed hard, dumbfounded, and then found himself moving like a man possessed, stripping her of her remaining clothing, hauling her up onto the settee and burying his face between her legs.

The day progressed as a gauzy fantasy, the two of them wrapped in intoxicated wonder and all the sensations they could gift each other. They lost count of their climaxes, Sophie returning time and time again to swallow Benedict and bob her head until he gasped her name, and Benedict on his knees in equal measure, sucking her furiously as she bounced against his tongue. After the poetry they penned with their moans, they broke to make art with their flesh, painting arcs, swirls and handprints across skin, gradients of desire and whimsy, blending with their own juices, traces of themselves ending up on the canvas which had clattered to the floor.

Hours later as the sun began to set, they found themselves looking like madmen, wrapped in sheets, disheveled and covered in streaks of paint from head to toe. Benedict had the presence of mind to wrap Sophie in one of his shirts and hide her in the bedroom next door while he donned a robe and called for a bath. He didn’t much care what the maids thought of seeing him smeared with paint with his hair standing on end. It wouldn’t be the first time he had ended up like this after a dose of the powder.

Working together and casting him sideways glances, Finian and Lizzie brought a large copper tub to his room and filled it with steaming water. Lizzie scented it with oil and a sudsy soap that left bubbles floating on the surface. When they finally exited, Benedict collected Sophie again and locked the door behind them. She giggled helplessly while he stripped her of what little she was wearing and helped her step into the steaming water. She shivered and sank down, allowing the water to rise above her shoulders and neck, even right up to her nose, and then closed her eyes. It felt like heaven.

“Lean forward,” Benedict murmured, kneeling on the floor beside her. She did, and sighed with pleasure as he began to wash her back, making clouds of red and yellow paint swirl into the water.

“We’ll make you all shiny and new again,” he grinned, kissing her shoulder as he scrubbed her arms. Sophie leaned forward and rested her forehead on her bent knees, blushing.

“Dunk your head so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.

She slid under the water, a magical, enveloping sensation while she still felt the fuzzy influence of the tea, and then quickly came back up.

The green streaks of paint on her cheeks started to run down the length of her face. But rather than make her look wretched, Benedict thought it gave her a phantasmal beauty. It made her eyes glow as he had never seen them - glittering emeralds refracting all the light in the room. He rubbed the paint from her face with his thumb as she held his gaze. He suddenly found that it was hard to breathe. Probably a side effect of the tea.

He busied himself by rubbing the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “Do you prefer your hair short?” he asked.

“I had to cut it,” she said. “I sold it to a wigmaker.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have heard him growl.

“It used to be much shorter,” she added.

“Back under.”

She dunked back in the tub, swirling her head this way and that under the water before coming back up for air.

Benedict cupped his hands and filled them with water. “You’ve still got some in the back,” he said, letting the water pour over her hair.

Sophie let him repeat the process a few times, until all the paint was removed as far as she could tell and the water had turned a milky purple. “Aren’t you coming in?” She raised an eyebrow and was met with that cheeky lopsided grin.

Benedict let his robe fall to the floor and stepped in across from her. He groaned with pleasure as he lowered himself, immediately dunking under the water and smoothing back his hair. Sophie took the cloth and went to work scrubbing his fingers, his arms, every inch of him. Their incessant giggling was fading into pleasurable hums and sighs as they caressed each other in the water, gently, curiously. They kissed each other’s necks, arms, foreheads. There was a chastity to it despite that they were fully nude together after an outrageously lascivious afternoon.

Sophie was drained. It had been without a doubt the wildest and most exploratory day of her life thus far. She knew she was still under the giddy haze of the tea but her senses were growing sharper. Time slowly seemed to be returning to its normal rate and her mind was quieting. The last of its effects, the joy of being with Benedict, and the warmth of the lapping water made her euphoric. Benedict had leaned back against his end of the tub, eyes closed. Sophie couldn't stretch out her legs underwater without awkwardly laying on top of him, so she planted her feet to frame his head which made him look up and chuckle. She grinned and bent an elbow over the side, resting her head on her arms. Benedict ran his hands lazily over her knees and the two of them sat in contented silence, descending from their high and soaking up all the heat the water could offer.

Benedict stared at Sophie, resting serenely as glinting water droplets ran across her collarbone. She was dazzling. Never a word that he had thought to associate with a housemaid but it was truly how he felt. Where in the world had she come from? This beautiful, daring and exciting woman whose wit, moods, pleasures and interests so perfectly aligned with his own? He genuinely wondered if she had worked in the Cavender house at all and wasn’t some faerie that had wandered out of the woods to enchant him. These days alone with her in the country had been some of the happiest he had experienced with a woman. He was ready to find her an apartment in London, to send her there with an allowance to buy anything she fancied, and to have all of her servant’s clothes burned. He could do it tomorrow. She shouldn’t spend another day working for his family.

“Why do you want to keep working at this ball?” He asked her.

Sophie lifted her head, brow furrowed. “So I can earn some money.”

Benedict sat up and leaned toward her. “You don’t need to earn money. I’ll take care of you.” He pressed his torso against hers and murmured, “I can give you whatever you want.”

Whether it was her pride or some courage gifted to her by the tea, Sophie felt no fear in being honest with him. “I don’t want you to.” Her voice was more stern than she had intended and he scowled.

“Why can’t we just stay like this? Have this time together?” She nuzzled against his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. This was everything she wanted, or at least everything that she could reasonably have with Benedict. She would never experience her dreams of marrying him, or walking on his arm in public, or being with him forever. But she could have these days, weeks or even months if she were lucky, where they enjoyed each other’s company and bodies, and she was grateful for it. Incredibly grateful. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer to her dreams than she could have ever imagined over the past two years. She would cherish these days forever, but she refused to hinge her hopes or her future on them, when they would never lead to anything.

“I don’t want to be kept somewhere,” she confessed. “Locked in a pretty box for you to play with.”

Benedict pulled back, looking insulted. “Why?”

Sophie sighed, overcome with the weight of her emotions and a wave of approaching sleep. “Because it can’t last forever and I will need work to fall back on.” She rested her head back on her arms and closed her eyes. “You must tell me once you find her,” she sighed.

Benedict looked at her, startled. Find who? Surely she didn’t know about…

As if reading his mind Sophie continued, mumbling. “The woman you will marry. So that I will know to leave. Promise me, Ben.” Her head lolled as she drifted off, her last words barely above a whisper. “I cannot share you.”

Something in Benedict’s chest clenched and again he found himself struggling to breathe. Suddenly the thought of not having Sophie around was unsettling. More unsettling than it should have been for having known her such a short time. She didn’t want to share him with his wife. Did she mean to reveal that to him or did it slip out? He couldn’t tell how it made him feel. Once again he knew she was right. He doubted he could sustain a life as a bachelor chasing after a maid who refused to be kept as a mistress. He would need to marry. Hell, a part of him wanted to marry. It was who that was the problem. He couldn’t find the lady in silver but knew that if he ever did and if she would have him, he would marry her and then there would be no room for Sophie. It made him sad and it made him confused and he was so damned tired. So he resigned himself to following Sophie’s lead and just enjoying the time they had together, for however long it lasted.

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 months

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 17: The Country Visit

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 9.5k

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Author's note: Thank you for your incredible patience, dear readers. I am still alive. Life has been life-ing me pretty hard but I think about finishing this fic every damn day. This chapter and the next one are the two big exposition bois that I hadn't written, hence the long wait for them but after that, several chapters are fully completed. I hope you enjoy the family shenanigans in this one. Also, I fully recognize that every time I mention Kate I simp for her ethereal beauty, for which I shall not apologize because she is a goddess and should be described as such. 😜 Enjoy! 💙

The endless procession of carriages marking the arrival of the Bridgerton family at Aubrey Hall brought with it an array of feelings for Benedict. An anxiety and sadness that his family would serve as a wedge between him and Sophie, and an undeniable eagerness to embrace them all, having been apart for so long. A familiar warmth flooded his heart as their voices began echoing in the entry hall and he dashed to meet them.

Anthony was the first to reach him, smirking. “Ah! Our invalid.” He hugged his brother tightly, leaving a possessive hand cupped behind his ear as he looked him over. “Are you alright?” The concern in his eyes betrayed how deeply the steely-faced Viscount truly cared.

“Never better,” Benedict grinned.

“Good,” Anthony clapped him on the shoulder and began to drift toward his study. “I’m pleased to see you haven’t burned the place down. I’m off to meet with Dewitt.”

His sister-in-law Kate glided along behind her husband, resplendent even in traveling clothes. Flashing Benedict a warm smile, she squeezed his arm as she passed.

Daphne and Simon had joined the throng and Benedict paused a moment to observe everyone. There was comfort in the chaos of the reunion. Seeing them felt like snapping back into reality, as if he had been living in a fantasy world tucked away with Sophie and her faerie-like enchantment over him. He wondered if anyone would be able to detect something amiss. Though he had managed to be discreet about all manner of outrageous activity in the past, he had never attempted to hide something so close to home.

“Benedict, dear.” His mother extricated herself and approached him with open arms.

“Mother,” He folded into her embrace.

“I have missed you.” She rested a hand on his cheek. “You are feeling quite well again?”

“Perfectly,” he smiled. “I’m the picture of health.”

She pulled back and appraised him, her eyes brightening. “I should say so. You wrote that you had hired a nurse to help you? We owe her our thanks, no doubt.”

Benedict felt the color rise in his cheeks. “Yes, well, not a nurse exactly. She is a very skilled maid and…”

“Well how serendipitous!” His mother exclaimed. “I must ask you, do you know if she has experience as a lady’s maid?” His stomach clenched, already apprehensive of where this may lead. “I don’t know. Possibly?”

“Oh, I do hope she does.” Taking him by the elbow, Violet moved to a corner of the hall and dropped her voice to the exasperated tone Benedict knew was reserved for bemoaning his siblings’ misdeeds. “Just before we left, Eloise’s lady’s maid took ill and stayed behind. Though in truth I wonder if she did not bow out so as to avoid your sister’s moods.”

Benedict couldn’t help but snicker, unabashedly proud of his sister’s obstinance.

“What is her name again?” Violet asked.

“Sophie,” Benedict tried to keep his voice from wavering. “Sophie Beckett.”

His mother’s face lit with a smile. “Excellent. I shall call for her during tea.”

“Oh…um…perhaps…” A dozen half baked protests swirled in his mind and he stuttered as he tried to land on one.

Her plan already happily cemented, his mother began to shoo him down the hall. “You should go and help Anthony, dearest. Oh, and make sure Colin stays away from the kitchen as best you can. We’ll need to have some biscuits saved for our guests. Plenty to do, dear. Off you go.”

Anxiety spiking through his every nerve, Benedict stumbled away blindly. He fought to find composure, reminding himself that if he and Sophie were to remain undiscovered, he must not get flustered over the details of her employment. He must act as if she were any other maid, though of course she was anything but.

___

The Bridgertons had only just arrived and Sophie was already second-guessing her decision to remain at Aubrey Hall. She had been so wholly focused on Benedict that she had failed to consider what risks there were in being seen by his family. When all of the servants had formed their customary lineup at the front doors to welcome them home, she had tucked herself behind Lizzie and admired each well appointed carriage and each handsome brunette Bridgerton that stepped out of it. Then he appeared and her blood ran cold.

Colin Bridgerton. The only other person with whom she had interacted at the masquerade ball. Living on gauzy dreams of Benedict for years, she had forgotten about it entirely. What if he had a keener eye than his brother? What if he remembered her voice? Would he be able to recognize her from that brief, masked encounter in a shadowed garden so long ago? Reason told her it was highly unlikely but she resolved to avoid him nonetheless. She turned her face as he jogged up the steps and he took no notice of her. Once everyone had gathered inside Sophie was introduced to the housekeeper Mrs. Wilson, an older woman of stern stature but kind eyes. Accepting Mr. Dewitt’s explanation of her employment, Mrs. Wilson’s first task for Sophie was to iron more linens for the guest bedrooms.

Hard at work in the belly of the house, Sophie’s mind raced. While in proximity to the Bridgertons she was at twofold risk of discovery. Discovery not only of her scandalous relationship with Benedict, but of her trespassing into their London home years ago. How would Benedict react if either came to light? Surely it would be the end of their trysts, the end of her employment, perhaps the end of her freedom if they chose to prosecute her. Perhaps she should remain in the servant’s level for the entirety of the country visit which effectively ended their dalliance anyway. She began to wonder if she had already shared her last encounter with Benedict. Had already felt his caress for the final time, had already tasted their last kiss…

“Staying on then, are you?”

Anne suddenly appeared in the doorway and startled Sophie out of her thoughts. Even after weeks of working alongside one another while Sophie extended every kindness, the fellow maid had never warmed to her. She wore a perpetual grimace and seemed immune to any kind of cheer.

“Yes,” Sophie swallowed and turned back to her ironing. “The family has permitted me to stay and assist with the visit.”

Anne smirked. “You mean Mr. Benedict has permitted you to stay.”

Sophie ignored the flutter in her stomach and answered matter-of-factly. “Yes, it was his decision initially.”

Blocking the exit, Anne crossed her arms, leering. “He seems quite taken with you. I’ve never seen any member of the family so invested in a maid before. Kindnesses exceeding what is customary.”

Sophie knew the steam from the iron was not the reason she felt flushed. But she had a lifetime of experience dealing with manipulation. She wouldn’t be shaken so easily. The trick was to answer with ruthless exactitude; never lying, but never giving her tormentor what she knew they wanted. “Well, my hiring was anything but customary. He was in need and I was available to assist. I believe he is only trying to express gratitude.”

“Gratitude, yes.” Anne arched a brow. “You spend a lot of time upstairs…accepting his gratitude.”

Stiffening, Sophie forced a breezy tone. “I am on hand if he should require anything. He often requests that I read to him.”

“I know how to read and in all these years he’s never once asked me.” Anne’s pout and petulant tone assured Sophie that she was none the wiser to the actual truth. She may have been ready to brandish threats but had no proof. This line of accusation was fueled purely by jealousy which she had been riddled with from the day they met.

Sophie pursed her lips. “Well, it does require a degree of wit and character to truly make the passages come to life.”

Before Anne could respond, Mrs. Wilson appeared at her side.

“Miss Beckett, if you would follow me.”

With a nod of assent Sophie brushed passed Anne, flashing her a warning look that dared another challenge.

Sophie’s nerves rose steadily as she walked silently behind Mrs. Wilson, the both of them winding their way through staircases and halls until they reached the closed doors of the drawing room. Sophie swallowed hard, wondering what awaited her inside. An array of accusatory scowls and a note of dismissal? A fuming Viscount shaking a piece of her waylaid clothing at a shame-faced Benedict? The sins they had committed in that room…

But when Mrs. Wilson pushed open the door she was met with the lovely tableau of ladies at tea. The Viscountess and Lady Bridgerton sat in all their finery on opposite sofas, sipping lightly from china cups. Miss Francesca played a flowery tune on the piano in a far corner. The youngest Bridgerton, Miss Hyacinth, was practicing her penmanship with a governess at a table. The room was sunlit and nothing but welcoming.

Mrs. Wilson ushered Sophie to stand before the sofas and she curtsied deeply.

The elder Lady Bridgerton rested her saucer and looked up.

“Ah, you must be Miss Bennett.”

“Beckett, ma’am.” Sophie dropped her eyes respectfully. “Sophie Beckett.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” Lady Bridgerton chuckled and Sophie could not help but notice how the blue shade of her eyes matched Benedict’s exactly. “Miss Beckett. I must thank you for caring for my son during his illness. How fortunate that you were at hand in his time of need. Our family is indebted to you.”

Once again, Sophie was struck by the kindness that seemed inherent to the Bridgertons. She had never been treated so well by any employer. “No, I am indebted to him, ma’am. Your son…saved me from a most unpleasant fate, then gave me employment here while I am between positions. He has been more than generous and I have very much enjoyed the hospitality of your home.”

There was a world of story hidden behind her words, but she was confident it would remain there. Discretion was one of the many skills she had learned through the hardships of her life.

Then the Viscountess addressed her. “It sounds as if your debts have been mutually paid then.” She was so impossibly beautiful, Sophie found it difficult to hold her gaze despite her warm smile. “Miss Beckett, have you secured a new position yet?”

“Not yet, my lady.”

“Would it be your wish to remain in our employment?”

Benedict’s mother jumped in to explain. “My second daughter Eloise is without a lady’s maid at the moment. I’m afraid we are short-staffed to prepare her for the ball we are hosting. Have you any experience upstairs?”

Sophie’s thoughts began to race. She had intended to remain for the country visit, but as a housemaid relegated to the servant’s level. To work upstairs would complicate her plans to stay out of sight. And yet when she tried to dredge up the white lies she used to deceive the Cowpers, she found that she could not. The gentleness in both women’s eyes compelled her to tell the truth. “Yes, ma’am. It has been some years but I have dressed young ladies for the season.”

Lady Bridgerton beamed. “Excellent. I thought you might. You speak very well. You seem to be precisely what our family needs at every turn, don’t you? A blessing indeed.”

“If you should like to remain as a lady’s maid for Miss Eloise, we will increase your wages and keep you on during our visit,” said the Viscountess.

Lady Bridgerton nodded. “Yes, and we will provide a letter of the highest recommendation for your next position.”

Sophie paused a moment, considering their offer. Clearly Benedict had not told them of his own offer to refer her and pay her handsomely once she found a new position. An offer of employment had never materialized from the Stirling household in Scotland, something she had been quietly celebrating since mending things with Benedict. A recommendation from a Viscountess would carry more weight than that of a second son, and raised wages from a higher position could set her up nicely for the future when and if she ever needed to leave the family’s employ. Weighing the benefits against the risks, she reasoned that Colin Bridgerton and any other member of the ton were unlikely to recognize her for the same reason Benedict could not. Their own bias against her lowly position. If anyone questioned her, she had only to point at her servant’s uniform to undermine their suspicions. Who would truly believe the trajectory of her life? From faux debutante at a Bridgerton ball long ago, to a servant in the very same household. It beggared belief, sometimes even from herself.

Working upstairs also afforded her more opportunity to see Benedict, if not speak with him directly. She knew they were enforcing distance but her heart already ached to at least see him from afar. To see how he interacted with his family and how he navigated society. At Eloise’s side she could safely observe him without seeming out of place. She was resolved.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.” She curtsied to the Viscountess and then her mother-in-law. “Lady Bridgerton…both of you. I should very much like to stay.”

Next she knew, she had been outfitted with a smarter uniform and marched back upstairs to the family wing by Mrs. Wilson.

The housekeeper bustled along in front of her, all business. “Mrs. Wiggin tells me that you have been of great help around the house. There will be no more cleaning and tea service duties for you now that you are to attend Miss Eloise. You will be responsible for waking her, dressing her, chaperoning her on outings and tending to her needs.”

“Yes, I understand.”

They moved past Benedict’s bedroom and rounded down another hall before stopping in front of a door. Mrs. Wilson turned to her with a serious look.

“I should warn you. Miss Eloise is…spirited. She has had four lady’s maids since her debut, if you take my meaning.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are only standing in for the visit.”

Sophie felt a pang of apprehension. Benedict had not spoken much about his siblings during their time together, and certainly not in any way that would indicate they were anything but kind and playful. She had noted Eloise’s curious absence from teatime and had also begun to recall hearing her name in the Cowper household years ago. Cressida held a very poor opinion of her but then, that did not make Eloise more notable than any other young lady of the ton. There was certainly no way Eloise could be worse than Cressida.

After a quick rap on the door, Mrs. Wilson pushed it open and they stepped inside. Seated at a large and cluttered writing desk in the middle of her well-appointed bedroom, Eloise startled at their appearance and quickly shuffled papers over whatever it was that held her focus. She stood, trying to obscure the desk behind herself. Instantly Sophie understood why Eloise may be regarded as ‘difficult’. Prim and proper young debutante she was not. She had the stance and smirk of one who did not much care for etiquette and tradition. Her hair was unfashionably short and fringed and the jacket she wore over her pale sage dress had a rather masculine crop. The room was untidy and filled with the kind of ornaments one would expect in a man’s study - piles of books, ink stains on parchment, busts of authors, and a large telescope facing a window.

Mrs. Wilson regarded her with exasperation. “Miss Eloise, this is Sophie Beckett. She will be serving as your lady’s maid while we are in the country.”

Sophie curtsied and smiled.

“Excellent. Pleasure to meet you.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice. She forced a grin as Mrs. Wilson bowed out of the room. Her affectation continued as she rolled her eyes. “I am so delighted that a stand-in was found to assist me with the crucial undertaking of buttoning my frocks.”

Sophie quirked her lips, entertained rather than daunted by Benedict’s rebellious sister. “I am certain you would be capable of managing such a task yourself, Miss. But is there not some pleasure to be found in conversation with a confidante throughout your day?”

The young woman cocked her head, assessing Sophie carefully. “Confidante? I’ve never had a lady’s maid describe herself as such before.”

“What are we for but safeguarding the secrets of our ladies?” From the smell of tobacco in the air, she deduced what Eloise had been doing at her desk. She jutted her chin knowingly at the mess of papers.

A wry smile began to spread across Eloise’s face as she sat and uncovered the tobacco pouch and collection of rolling papers. Sophie felt a surge of victory at already winning a degree of trust.

Eloise toyed with the half-rolled cigarette she had been making. “I know ladies should not smoke, but if I will not be allowed more privacy while we are in the country, at least you could spare me a little indulgence.”

Sophie moved to her side and delicately plucked the cigarette from her grasp. “I believe you should roll them more tightly. Like this.” Carefully, she worked at the paper until it was shaped securely.

Eloise’s eyes boggled. “Do you enjoy them yourself?”

Sophie shook her head. “Not me, no. But I have worked with many people who do.” She handed the token back.

“Thank you.” Eloise could not seem to look away from her remarkable new lady’s maid who not only failed to chastise her for unladylike behavior, but even assisted her with it. She tucked the cigarette safely into a case on her desk. Her posture eased and she leaned back to get a better look at this rare woman. “Where do you come from?”

“North of London originally, but I have lived many places and worked in many houses.”

Eloise’s eyes lit with recognition. “Are you the one my brother hired recently?”

Sophie tried not to blush at the mere mention of Benedict. “Yes. Mr. Bridgerton assisted me in a difficult situation then fell ill. I was able to return the favor by ensuring he recovered here.” Considering what a rulebreaker Eloise appeared to be, Sophie wondered what such a woman would think of her brother’s salacious dalliance with a maid. She would never reveal it of course, but she got the impression that Eloise may not be scandalized by the concept.

“And now I am your problem in place of him.” Eloise smirked.

Sophie chuckled. “I would not use that word, Miss. I have enjoyed his company and look forward to getting to know you and your family better.”

To demonstrate her readiness she began tidying, brushing loose tobacco dust from the desk and dropping it into the fireplace. She moved to the vanity and began straightening the hairbrushes and tincture bottles which were woefully disarrayed.

“Well I doubt there will be much time for chatter with the guests inbound in two days. This Hearts and Flowers ball always brings chaos to the house.” Eloise groaned from her seat.

Sophie already anticipated her answer but asked. “It sounds as if you are not looking forward to it?”

Eloise shrugged. “There are some acquaintances I am eager to see, but plenty that I would rather avoid. I’m not even sure I know who is on the guest list this year.”

“Could you ask the Viscountess?”

“I fear she would misinterpret my intentions and believe I was searching for an eligible suitor, which is a conversation I’d like to avoid entirely, thank you very much.”

Sophie had to keep from laughing at how utterly dejected Eloise looked, arms crossed and posture slumped. Then she had an idea, a way of both solving the conundrum and earning more trust.

“Copies of the list are provided to the staff so that we might prepare rooms and meals. Would you like me to secure one for you?”

Eloise brightened, once again agog at her new companion. “That would be helpful, thank you Sophie.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss.”

The smile they shared was filled with affinity. Here was another woman who kept secrets, who broke rules. A woman not unlike herself, Sophie thought, yet also similar to Benedict in her ease and good humor. Working for Eloise was a world away from working for Cressida. Sophie could not imagine two young ladies at further ends of the spectrum regarding propriety and appearances. Like her brother, Eloise’s disposition was rare within society and Sophie began to wonder if every last Bridgerton was so uniquely charming.

Sophie spent the evening acquainting herself with Eloise’s wardrobe and toilette, straightening her room as she went. She had half a mind to call Anne upstairs for the task so that she might acknowledge Sophie’s promotion, but it seemed too spiteful. She still aimed to keep a low profile among the staff and family both. She was able to procure a copy of the ball guest list from Mrs. Wiggin and on her way to deliver it to Eloise, she made sure to scan the names herself.

The Cavenders had not been invited, which she suspected Benedict had a hand in. The Cowpers were also noted as sending their regrets. Just seeing their name in print made Sophie break into a cold sweat, but she remembered that they often visited Penwood at this time of year which likely explained their absence. Fortune seemed to be on her side for avoiding any risky encounters, and there was a spring in her step as she returned to Eloise’s room to prepare her for bed.

The next day was for the Bridgertons to enjoy the estate before guests arrived. Eloise proved difficult to rouse but quick to dress in the morning. Caring very little for ostentation, she was satisfied by the simple frock and hairband which Sophie supplied. After breakfast Eloise requested her company for a walk through the grounds. Sophie took the gesture as one of generosity and trust. As they walked through the gardens where she and Benedict had shared so many passionate moments, she fought to concentrate on what was being said. Eloise was an effortless companion in that she never left a lull in the conversation. Indeed, Sophie spoke very little except to express her general support of Eloise’s many plans for reforming society and her own path in life. She longed for an education, for adventure, for advocacy. She fretted for the plight of women, though Sophie suspected she had little understanding of the tribulations faced by the working class. Nonetheless, she was impressed with the young woman’s drive and eager to have further conversations on all Eloise had read and experienced. The spirited nature she had been warned of was proving to be nothing but charming.

The highlight of the day was the family’s annual pall mall game, which Eloise explained the rules of as Sophie accompanied her to the back lawn. They arrived at the site of the game before anyone else and Eloise unabashedly outlined her devious plans. Grabbing the fifth wicket from a stack, she hitched her dress and began marching across the grass to place it in the most inconvenient location possible, somewhere between a dense thicket of bushes and the infamous ball-pit of the lake. She assigned Sophie to stand guard several paces away and then disappeared into the brambles, wicket in hand.

Sophie kept her back to Aubrey Hall, snickering to herself as she enjoyed the cool breeze. She remembered Benedict’s retelling of last year’s game and now had a clearer picture of Eloise’s ruthless, even deceptive competitiveness. She also wondered when the last time was that she assisted in any task purely for the sake of fun. It was a light, sunny feeling. Which all came crashing down when a man’s voice rang out behind her.

“You there!”

She spun and saw Colin Bridgerton striding toward her, eyes stern. Oh god, he had recognized her. She could already hear the anger in his voice, could already feel his grip on her arm as he dragged her to the Viscount to expose her. She had been a fool to think she could stay hidden. She felt as paralyzed as a deer in the sights of a stalker.

All she could do was blanch, voice wavering. “Sir?”

He stopped short in front of her, eyes scrutinizing her face. “You…”

This was it. The end of her silly dreams…

“You’re not the lady’s maid from London,” he said at last.

Sophie nearly swayed on her feet as the wave of nausea halted. He didn’t recognize her. She was nothing but another nameless maid to him, just one he hadn’t seen before. Her assumptions had been correct. He was as blinded by her class as his brother.

“No, sir,” she affirmed, finding her voice again. “I am newly retained to see to your sister while you are in residence.”

“Ah.” A smirk crossed his face and she could see he held his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He scanned the lawn around them, quipping. “Can you see her now?”

Sophie felt certain that this was all a ploy in the great pall mall rivalry. Well, her allegiance was set. Pursing her lips, she answered. “She is placing the fifth wicket, sir.”

“And she asked you to stand guard.”

“Yes.” Sophie sensed the budding good humor of their conversation. “Do you suspect me of underhanded behavior?”

Colin grinned. “I am accusing my sister of it. I’m sure you are innocent and have been lured into her deceitful enterprise unknowingly.” Once again he searched the horizon. “If you could just tell me where she is…”

“A lady is entitled to her privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Colin’s eyes snapped back to her, surprised at her direct tone.

“Do you believe I am so dimwitted as to allow myself to become embroiled in a scheme against my will?”

He bowed his head in apology. “I meant no offense. Most maids are unused to dealing with Eloise’s…spirited manner.”

There was that phrase again. Now it was Sophie’s turn to smirk.

“I have dealt with far worse than Miss Eloise, I assure you.”

Colin assessed her again carefully. “Well, you are clearly strong of spirit and quick of wit. What about sweet of tooth?”

Finally revealing what was behind his back, he held out a pastry. Something covered in chocolate and delectable looking. “Have you ever had an eclair?”

In truth, she had not, but her loyalty was not so easily bought.

She arched a brow at him. “A bribe? Is pall mall victory really so viciously contended for?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Their stalemate was broken by the reappearance of Eloise.

“What are you doing here?” Shaking leaves from the hem of her dress, she scowled at her brother. “Looking for the wicket? Well, you’ll have to find it during the game, along with everyone else.”

Nose in the air, she swiped the eclair from his outstretched palm, shoved it whole into her mouth and marched onward to the house. “Come on!” She ordered, her words muffled.

Barely containing her laughter, Sophie followed her mistress, leaving Colin gaping by the waterside.

Everyone had gathered in the sprawling back garden and were buzzing with the anticipation of play. Lady Bridgerton and a contingent of nursemaids were bouncing the grandchildren in their laps on a covered dais while the Viscount, his siblings and their spouses gathered to select their mallets. Eloise dashed into the crowd and secured the orange while Anthony and his wife seemed to bicker over the imposing black mallet. Sophie skirted the scene and started back up the large stone steps into the building but paused to find Benedict among the gathered chestnut heads. He stood slightly off to one side, hip cocked and hands rested on his lavender mallet as his eyes trailed up to hers.

It was the first time they had seen each other in two days and their shared gaze was heavy with yearning. In that moment, the noise and bustle of the Bridgertons fell away and they felt like the only two people on earth. As tenuous as their arrangement was, Sophie couldn’t help but feel magnetized to him; the only constant in her ever-changing circumstances.

Benedict stared at her as a man transfixed, his chest tightening in that indescribable way. She looked happy, light-hearted, and it made her glow from within. He wanted to capture that light, to infuse it into her portrait…

“Brother!” Anthony barked in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

“Are you playing or lollygagging?” Eyes burning with signature intensity, the Viscount bade him follow and Benedict forced himself to plod across the grass and away from the captivating woman on the stairs. No one seemed any the wiser as to what had caught his attention, but he wondered how long he could try to ignore Sophie when a single glimpse of her caused such turmoil within.

Darting into Aubrey Hall, Sophie stationed herself by a window to watch the game unfold. Though she could not hear any of the exclamations from the field, it was evident how much joy and fierce competition it stirred. Taunts, encouragement, cheers, laughter. The grounds were alive with the fun of it all. Every sibling and spouse demonstrated their skillset, some adept at the technical approach and others more determined to settle grudges by disrupting their opponents’ efforts. They moved numerically from wicket to wicket, varying in pace, sometimes disappearing from view to find the far-flung goals. Sophie could only imagine where Eloise had hidden hers. Colin was disqualified early but seemed entirely content to join his mother for cakes and tea while wiggling his fingers at his nephew Edmund.

After nearly two hours, the finalists lined up at a hoop approximately five feet off the ground, which Sophie understood from Eloise was the last goalpost. To be deemed the victor, one had to shoot their ball through the hoop by any means other than their hands. The Viscount’s shot went wide. The Duchess’ did not achieve sufficient height. The Viscountess was prowling with anticipation for her shot but Benedict was before her in turn order. Sophie watched in delight as he took the unconventional tack of balancing his ball between his feet then jumping like a frog to launch it through the hoop. To everyone’s amazement - including his - it worked and he crowed with victory, running about and whooping in the faces of his siblings.

Sophie clapped from her spot at the window, laughing with glee. Of course she had been rooting for him and fate once again proved to be on their side. In the midst of her laughter she found that tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. Her joy was echoed by longing. Longing for siblings, longing for a family, longing for the kind of happy life enjoyed by the Bridgertons. But she wiped them away, recognizing that though she was still in the uniform of a maid, she was the happiest she had ever been. She still got to enjoy the beauty and comfort of Aubrey Hall even if she was not an esteemed guest from the ton. She still got to laugh at the shenanigans of the Bridgerton siblings even if she could not join in. And she still got to lay claim to Benedict as a lover, a man who pleasured and protected her, even in their odd arrangement. It was a happier life than she could ever have imagined while wretchedly scrubbing floors for the Cowpers. Tomorrow didn’t bear worrying about, because today she was happy.

___

At last the day of the Hearts and Flowers ball arrived. Carriages loaded with the top tier of society descended upon the house in waves. Aubrey Hall erupted with noise and movement as the guest rooms filled and the common areas became dotted with simpering debutantes, weary bachelors, drunken fathers and scheming mamas. The flower arrangements chosen by the Bridgerton women were dazzling. Garlands and swags of roses, lilacs and lilies. As she made her way to Eloise’s room, Sophie felt as if she were walking through both a verdant garden and a fine parfumerie.

As she picked out a shawl to match Eloise’s dress, trying to skillfully combat the young lady’s protestations against joining in lawn games, there came a knock at the door. When she opened it to find Benedict, her breath caught in her throat. He too seemed taken aback, stumbling over his words about lending his sister a book which he held out in explanation. Eloise sat at her vanity, thanked him and blithely waved him away. Turning to Sophie, Benedict pressed the small volume into her hands, his touch lingering too long on her bare fingers, eyes burning. Then as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Examining the book, Sophie saw a sheet of parchment jutting from the back cover. Clearing her throat, she slipped it quickly into an apron pocket and carried the gift to Eloise. As she finished dressing her for the day, it was all she could do to keep her fingers from trembling with anticipation.

The day passed in a blur, with the Bridgertons and guests mingling in every corner of the house and grounds. Sophie joined the cadre of ladies maids who bustled between the bedrooms, stitching loose threads, buffing shoes, polishing jewelry and trading rose water as they coordinated for the evening ball. Stealing the occasional glance out the windows, Sophie eyed Eloise chatting in an animated fashion with a young lady in yellow. She also heard through the servants’ chatter that the men had returned from a hunt with a stag and two does felled. She wondered if Benedict had made any of the killing shots. If only she could catch a glimpse of him in his hunting ensemble, with a long coat and top hat astride Danae. The mental image gave her an undeniably carnal thrill.

In what seemed no time at all, she and Eloise were stationed back at the vanity, dusk falling purple and soft outside as Sophie lit candles and proceeded to pin the young lady’s hair into a stylish coiffure. In a cluttered drawer she had found a bejeweled hairpiece in the shape of a geranium and nestled it gently within her upswept tresses. For her gown, Eloise had chosen one in a modest style, mint-toned and glimmering with silver accents. Sophie thought it suited her perfectly - beautiful but understated. Style with wit rather than ostentation.

As she dotted rouge onto her cheeks, she asked an amiable question to which she already suspected the answer.

“Are you excited for the ball, Miss?”

“Not particularly.” Eloise’s voice was tight.

“You’re not one for dancing?” Sophie wondered if Eloise was also cursed with two left feet like her brother.

The young lady rolled her eyes. “I’m not one for listening to stodgy men prattle on about how many carriages they own as if that will enamor me enough to marry them.”

Sophie grinned. Eloise’s frankness was unfailingly refreshing. But she knew better than most the discomfort of feeling out of place, and she disliked the thought of sending her off into an evening of drudgery. However, this was Eloise’s role; to attend balls and interview suitors, the same way her role was to primp her to do so, and they had to proceed no matter how much they both longed for something different. All she could offer was her own commiserating perspective.

“If I may be honest, in my experience it is rare to find gentlemen among the ton who are both kind and interesting.” Then she caught herself. “Of course, I am counting your brothers as the exceptions.”

Eloise scoffed. “Well, I’m not certain about that. You don’t really know them.”

Sophie felt the blush rise up her neck and turned to hide it, busying herself with the face powders. But it was too late, Eloise had noticed.

“Though I suppose you’ve come to know Benedict.” She smiled wryly, now even more curious about her new lady’s maid. “I will say, it’s not a secret that he is my favorite brother.”

Sophie continued to fiddle with the contents of the vanity. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I suppose of anyone in my family I can be my true self around him without fear of judgment or reprimand. He is supportive. Since our father died it’s as if he has been the eldest brother to us all, while Anthony became our father more or less.”

At last Sophie turned and met her gaze, impressed by the first genuine show of emotion she had seen. She moved to affix Eloise’s earrings, smiling wistfully. “It is wonderful that they have been there for you.”

Eloise nodded. “Mmm. And we are quite similar. Benedict also disdains balls and playing the marriage mart.”

As she worked at the small fasteners, Sophie pondered for the first time how odd it was that Benedict remained unmarried. Considering he had been deemed the most eligible bachelor in London years ago when they first met, he must have gone to great pains to avoid the throng of ladies throwing themselves at his feet. But why?

“So the two of you do not wish to marry?”

“Well, I don’t think Benedict is opposed to marriage. But he’s a romantic.” Eloise explained. “The only thing that motivates him are his passions. So he is waiting for a love match, I’m sure. Which is even harder to find than a good dance partner.”

She snorted in laughter which Sophie half-heartedly imitated. It was no revelation to her that Benedict had a romantic soul. He was an artist after all. But the thought of him marrying for love rather than duty, of being blissfully happy with a woman of society who would carry his children and walk on his arm, it made her stomach turn. It was everything she wanted and precisely what she could not have. It was why she would eventually have to leave.

Eloise carried on, completely oblivious. “I certainly do not want to get married or bear children. Though I am struggling to determine what kind of life is available to a woman otherwise.”

With this comment compounding the sting, Sophie could not help but make a sour face and look away.

That was enough to draw Eloise’s attention. “I’m sorry Sophie, that was insensitive of me. Of course there are plenty of unmarried women who work, and working for a livelihood is…”

“It’s just that you are not of the class that is required or even allowed to do so.” After a steadying breath, Sophie turned back. Her woes were not of Eloise’s making. If anything, they made her see how they were similarly caged at either end of the social spectrum. Perhaps in the world the young woman envisioned, they would both have been able to break free.

“You have not offended me. I understand. I understand very well how the circumstances of our birth can restrict our path in life and I do not think that applies only to the lower classes.” Bending over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the looking glass, Sophie gave her a reassuring smile. “There are a great many injustices in our society, Miss Eloise. It seems like you may be of a mind to help resolve some of them.”

Tears sparkling in her eyes, Eloise’s voice was raspy but sincere. “Thank you, Sophie.”

With continued words of encouragement Sophie gave her a handkerchief, helped her to pull on her gloves and sent her down to the ballroom looking as polished as an emerald. She would wait eagerly to hear how the evening progressed, wondering if she would return as dejected as she set out. As she straightened the bedroom, the murmurs of the gathered guests grew louder downstairs, followed by the first strings of music. It was joyful, romantic, and she was instantly transported back to the night of the masquerade ball. The first and only time she had been able to experience such magic firsthand. A night where she held Benedict’s undivided attention, twirling in his arms despite not knowing how to dance. With a moment of privacy at last, she fished the parchment out of her pocket and unfolded it. It was a painting, a simple watercolor of delicate blue flowers with their name written neatly in a corner - Forget Me Not.

Clasping the paper to her chest, she fell back onto Eloise’s bed, beaming. Her mind flooded with images of Benedict and the hope that his love match would continue to elude him that night. He was only downstairs and yet he felt worlds away. But no matter the distance, she was incapable of forgetting him.

____

In the rose colored ballroom below, everything was progressing with the signature elegance of a Bridgerton event. Candles twinkled from every sconce and surface, reflecting the crystal of the champagne flutes and the embellishments of the ladies’ attire. Flowers trailed along every railing and entryway, lending a sweet fragrance to the air. Dancers twirled expertly in the center of the room while guests in all their finery moved between clusters of conversation and towers of brightly colored confections. The Viscountess, dowager Lady Bridgerton and Duchess of Hastings stood regally near the double staircase, surveying the scene with pride.

The Viscount found himself among a group of gentlemen listening to the details of a business proposition laid out by Lord Fife. It was unlike Fife to have anything worthwhile to say, but his latest venture sounded promising. Even Simon was showing interest, as he elbowed his way in and they sipped their brandies together.

“Where is my brother?” Anthony muttered, scanning the faces of the men gathered. “God knows what he’s been up to these days. He should hear this.”

Simon sighed. “You should know by now that you need to be more specific than that. Which brother?”

“Benedict.”

The Duke’s brows shot up. “Ah. I haven’t seen him tonight. Though I have some idea where he might be.”

Anthony knew to be wary of that smug tone. Tapping his eldest friend on the arm, they steered away from the crowd. “What do you mean?”

Simon kept his voice low, turning his back to the room. “It’s none of my business but…in his convalescence he seems to have taken up with one of your maids.”

“Oh god,” Anthony groaned, eyes rolling. “How do you know this?”

“We have seen it, Daphne and I. I’ve seen his eyes follow her out of a room and Daphne said she has seen…”

The Duke paused, trying to tread lightly. He knew how easy his friend was to anger.

“What has she seen?” Anthony pressed him, teeth clenched.

Simon took a deep breath. “She has seen them touching. More than would be appropriate. On more than one occasion.”

Anthony’s eyes went wide, his nostrils flared. “Unbelievable.”

Hoping to avoid a public outburst, Simon tried to calm him. “Come now, Bridgerton. He’s a man. Let him have his fun.”

Anthony’s jaw locked, telegraphing his aggravation. “True, we all have our fun wherever we find it. But it remains unbecoming of a gentleman to flaunt it in one’s own house.” His eyes darted to ensure no one could overhear them. He leaned closer, hissing. “I knew he was…eccentric, but I didn’t think his tastes would extend to the help.”

Simon rolled his eyes, knowing this was a far lesser scandal than many they had faced together. Such as the one where they found themselves on opposite ends of dueling pistols. “I didn’t mean to sour your mood, I only wanted to keep you informed.”

Hands on his hips, Anthony steamed for a moment before acknowledging that it was neither the time nor place to address the matter. In their new chapter as relations, Simon had developed a knack for dissipating the Viscount’s untimely frustrations.

Anthony clapped him on the shoulder. “And I’m grateful that you did. You are a true friend. Although, should I call you brother now?” He smirked.

The Duke pointed a wry but warning finger. “Don’t push your luck, Bridgerton.”

___ After three glasses of champagne, two hours of inane conversation, and one good-natured turn with his mother across the dance floor, Benedict had endured about all he could take of the ball. While he has happy for his family that everyone was enjoying themselves, his heart was not in the event. Indeed, it felt somewhere else entirely. As he mumbled pleasantries with the same tired acquaintances and ducked around corners to avoid the fawning advances of Miss Dolores Stowell, he began to wonder what exactly the point of his attendance at such events was anymore. His peers were all there to ostensibly find their spouses and their elders were there to supervise the chase. But he would not find his wife in that ballroom or any other.

The lady in silver was long vanished and even the memory of her was starting to feel as insubstantial as gossamer. For how long could he keep searching in vain? For how long could he pin all hope on an imagined future with her? One full of the passion, happiness and companionship he longed for? Then Sophie flashed in his mind and he wondered if he was truly longing anymore. Thoughts swimming, he snuck unnoticed out of the ballroom and made his way to a secluded spot where he could think undisturbed. The portico roof over the front doors of Aubrey Hall rested just beneath an array of windows that one could easily climb through and drop out of sight as they sat with a panoramic view of the grounds. It had become a secret, almost sacred place for both heartfelt conversation and mischief which he had only shared with Colin and Eloise, the latter of whom he was surprised to see had beat him to the punch and was sat on a corner of the roof, smoking.

She looked up in alarm as he clambered out of the window and dropped beside her, but on recognition she smiled and wordlessly offered him her cigarette. He took a drag, settling beside her, the two of them staring out at the parade of carriages in the drive and the shadowed hills of the lawn beyond. The stars were bright and the air was peaceful, a stillness in sharp contrast to what Benedict felt within.

Eloise smirked at him. “No one catching your eye, brother?”

He handed back the cigarette and took note of her appearance. It was still odd for him to see his little sister grown and out in society. In his mind she would always be stubborn little El, smudged in dirt and tromping around with a slingshot in hand and one of Colin’s hand-me-down caps. But here in her gown and jewels with her hair pinned beautifully, she rivaled the elegance of every young lady within.

“I should ask you the same. I’m surprised the men aren’t falling all over themselves to dance with you. You look very lovely tonight.”

She smiled, straightening a bit. “It’s all thanks to the new maid, Miss Beckett. I like her very much.”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and the grin that broke across his face was entirely too large and entirely uncontrollable. Perhaps his sister wouldn’t see it in the low light, but his hopes were dashed.

“Benedict?” She studied him, cajoling. “You apparently like her too.”

He swallowed, speaking the truth aloud for the first time. “I do.”

He was surprised to find that he was not nervous about dropping his ruse. Not around Eloise. If there was anyone in the family he could be honest with, it was her. While they had always been close throughout their childhoods, it was when they confessed their shared disdain for the confines of society that the bedrock of their adult relationship had been formed. Whether on the swings in the garden of Bridgerton House or here on the portico roof of Aubrey Hall, they confided in one another about their desires and their struggles. Sometimes explicitly but more often simply through a silent, innate sense for when the other needed support and they never failed to provide it, in blanket sentiments or merely in physical presence. Benedict had escorted Eloise to many a ball she did not wish to attend and had pulled her briskly from the orbit of unsavory suitors. He had sat outside her bedroom door to stave off reprimands after Lady Whistledown had exposed her unsanctioned visits to political rallies and brought scandal down upon her head. After he had left the Royal Academy in shame, fresh sketchbooks, charcoals and paints continued to appear on the desk of his bedroom though he had not purchased them. And when he sulked in heartbreak and frustration for months after losing the lady in silver, Eloise would prod him for walks in the sunshine or games of chess, anything to keep his mind off of his pain without ever ridiculing his behavior, while the rest of his family were convinced he had gone mad. If anyone would champion his pursuit of happiness despite the risks it incurred, it would be Eloise.

True to her character, she did not blink at his confessing attraction to a servant, but she did keep his feet rooted on the ground. “Be careful there. I can only imagine what the family would say about a dalliance with a maid.”

She was right, of course. If his family were to find out and reproach him, it would be easy enough to terminate a frolic that was just for the fun of it all. And yet, as he quested through his feelings, the odd sensation in his chest affirmed that he could not walk away from Sophie so easily. He was approaching something. Something he knew the name of but could not yet admit, not even to himself. But he knew it would rise to the surface soon enough.

“I don’t know if it’s a dalliance, El.”

“What?”

He twisted his fingers as he sought for the words. “A part of me feels…I don’t know. Happier than I have felt in years.”

Eloise was quiet for a moment and then bluntly asked him the question he could not pose to himself. “You’re finally ready to give up on your lady in silver, then? For a servant?”

Her shimmering image rose in his mind, smiling coyly. He’d spent the last two years with one eye on every door, always waiting for her to enter the room. He felt silly sometimes, even stupid, but he’d never been able to erase her from his thoughts. Or purge the dream - the one in which he pledged his troth to her, and they lived happily ever after. It was a silly fantasy for a man of his reputation, sickly sweet and sentimental, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. That’s what came from growing up in a large and loving family - one tended to want the same for oneself. But the woman from the masquerade had become barely more than a mirage. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

“Maybe,” he exhaled, feeling a barrier begin to crumble. “She is at least here. I can see her and talk to her and I know who she is. But I also know what a scandal it would all cause.”

Then he tried to envision a future with Sophie. A life with her would be different from the picture of familial bliss he had imagined, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t forge their own kind of happiness. He couldn’t marry her, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be together. It would mean compromise, but they could do it. And they’d certainly be happier than if they remained apart.

“So what are you going to do?” Eloise asked.

Benedict’s eyes darted over the horizon, dozens of possibilities tumbling through his mind. Anxious, joyful, heartbreaking, ecstatic.

“I don’t know yet.”

His sister rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze before she stood, dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with her toe. She brushed off her dress and smoothed her hair, then looked down at him.

“A word of advice. Don’t fear what others may think. When you find someone, whoever that person is and wherever they come from, if you feel drawn to them, hold onto that feeling. Nurture it. You are a man, and I dare say it would be easier for you to get away with than me. So do it. Live your life and don’t give a damn about society.”

Then the fire drained from her voice as it became shaky with emotion. “It’s something I wish I had done long ago.”

Turning on her heel, she pulled herself back into the house through the open window and left Benedict alone in the night air, contending with his thoughts.

Marching back through the halls, Eloise wiped a tear from her cheek as her mind replayed her own flirtation with a different life. One that would have been harder, but also simpler than the one she was born into. A life of action and activism. A life of work but fulfillment. A life as the wife of a printer, filled with literature and love.

Any chance at that life had been dashed not only by her own fear of pursuing it, but by the acid pen of Lady Whistledown who had exposed her unchaperoned excursions and scandalized her family. That had been the hammerblow of certainty that if a young lady were to step one toe out of line from society’s expectations, woe would befall her. So ever since, Eloise had done her best to content herself within her gilded cage, waiting for the day when she would either be old enough to break free without censure or meet the man who miraculously defied her abysmal appraisal of his sex.

This was her destiny, one that must find her. But with Benedict able to navigate society more freely due both to his charismatic nature and his gender, surely he had a much greater chance of defining destiny on his terms. She would never forget how dejected he had been after the masquerade ball where he alleged to have met the love of his life. As he quested for her in the months that followed, Eloise watched the light of humor and charm that she so loved in him grow dimmer and dimmer until it almost seemed extinguished. But in recent days it had undeniably returned and she felt as if she had the old Benedict back. If Sophie was the cause of this change, then she would do everything in her power to support their secret romance.

Stopping in front of a mirror she dabbed her eyes, set her resolve, and returned to the ballroom.

“Kate!”

The Viscountess stood near a throng of mamas, graciously accepting their compliments for the hostess. Wrapped in a shimmering sari of ombre blue and purple, she matched both the colors and grandeur of the decor perfectly.

“Are you enjoying the evening, Eloise?” She smiled as she turned to her sister-in-law.

Adopting a cheery tone, the younger exaggerated a smile. “Oh yes, my dance card is full.” She shook the card on her wrist rapidly, trying to obscure the fact that she herself had penciled in all the names, including Robert Burns and George Washington. Clasping her hands behind her back, she continued.

“I’ve met so, so many wonderful bachelors tonight, thank you. I am here to ask you a favor.”

“Yes?”

“My temporary lady’s maid, Miss Sophie Beckett. I have grown quite fond of her and she is very skilled, as you can see.” She pointed proudly to her bejeweled coiffure. “Can I ask that she accompany us back to London? I know that the other maid will return, but she can take care of Francesca and Hyacinth.”

The Viscountess balked, stunned to hear Eloise express any praise for a lady’s maid, let alone the request to retain one permanently. Her sister-in-law was single-handedly the cause of the majority of staff turnover for the Bridgerton household. Whatever magic Sophie Beckett possessed, she was now determined to secure it for as long as possible.

“If you both desire it, yes, we can take her on in London.”

Eloise beamed with excitement. “Thank you!”

Returning her smile, Kate wondered how far she could push her luck. “Now, would you like to meet Lord Gloucester? He is…”

“No!” Eloise nearly leapt away from her like a cornered animal. “Sorry, I’m incredibly parched. I must get a glass of lemonade.” Waving her off, she nodded her thanks once again and then disappeared into the crowd.

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