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i-hate-accidents · 5 months

Text

i hate accidents: the beginning

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count: 13.9k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake. i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right.

or perhaps this is a dream? yes! that has to be it! a dream! i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason. once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even. surely!

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone. they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head. in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!” their voice was pretty. sweet and lovely. you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with. they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent? their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—” and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait! you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze. they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?” their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile. the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag. they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste. well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read. they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand. “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them. they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation: you are not dreaming. here you are—you—at grosvenor square.

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it: she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown. penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it. when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives! by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run. i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend. you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming. despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze. perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice. you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place. “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?”

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias. “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house? not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream. this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n. i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here. but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here. the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’ their name for their world, it seems. “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together. and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose. you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it. she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes. it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t. you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand. “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house. she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly. she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning. “my name is eloise. eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent. now! with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber. we have much to discuss. please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls. all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope. her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes. she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.

a lady. a lady of older age. two gentlemen with a difference in age. a boy. a girl, the youngest amongst them.

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room? well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family. surely. there are so many of them. this has to be the entire family. yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—”

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states. “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n. do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear. receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes. likewise.”

another cough.

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features. he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal. his expression should be infuriating. and it is. but, it is... charming, too. and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie. you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you. much to your surprise, she smiles. to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere. “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance. “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton. and you may call me ‘y/n.’ you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows. she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’ it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england. when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess. she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes. yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house. he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’ you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton. she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile. you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark. so, you refrain.

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands. she must be her mother. she sounds like a mother. it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what! what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice. just genuine curiosity. so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things. i wear these when i work or go about my day. though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe! gregory, do you hear that! miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe! we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room. “come along, gregory! wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair! you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth! y/n is not your playmate! she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts. eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter. the entire exchange warms your heart. in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family. they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur. turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani. the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride.

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains. you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this? i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here. i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression. she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts. you follow her line of sight. eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother. benedict. he is looking at you. why is that? you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat. his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side. y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees. eventually, they arrive in the gardens. y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking: though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join. hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching. colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains. hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters. y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons. y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be.

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured. benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family. sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment. benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile. gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman.

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly. eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug. pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house. you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults. you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls. you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods. you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do. do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods. satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.”

“what did i do?”

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling. understood?”

“i— yes. of course. understood.”

you smile again.

“wonderful. i am glad we three are in agreement. it was good speaking with you, gentlemen. good day.”

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,” and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice. “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house. though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response. you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince. you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict. you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems. you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.

“what? what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation. turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward. at least she is trying. wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict. and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds. “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room. kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner. though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window: the sun is halfway set. she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day. her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does. not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to. penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week. y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance. y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway. y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers. with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave. he gives a small wave back. she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room. he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you. “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room. he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend. “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs. whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one. you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes. you are curious but you choose not to press.

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn. but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing. he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh. benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about. when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him. benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you. but you’ve always had an active imagination. when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict. for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries. you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression. she seems... delighted? benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump. but that’s not what she seems delighted by. she just looks at you. with a soft smile. why? what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth. you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.

ocean. charcoal. smile. flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading. you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table. you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock. most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you. you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct.

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare. vol. 2: a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado! this is the one i’ve read!”

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories. she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press. but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script. you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting.

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends. “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland. a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers! embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here! hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand. when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is! oh, this is extraordinary!” you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,

prologue. two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani. her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet. “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together. if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops. you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth. hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like! i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins. you feel how your expression matches theirs. it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart. and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere. “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question. kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope. the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use. this perplexes y/n. she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books. before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room. reading of romeo and juliet commences.

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four. kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?” you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani. anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes. he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable! and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight. “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict. you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes. you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing. after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear. benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure. (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights. you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons. anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms. noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike. you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife. he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre. loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin. it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours. you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does. and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder. perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart. you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy. that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head. bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position. you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them. anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious. colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute. and benedict—

benedict moves like water. free. fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate. you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours. you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you. “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking. “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd. instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face. despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too. you place your gloved hand in his.

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes. likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand. it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless. before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand. with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama? papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night. the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama. “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different. that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually. it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand. it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other. it makes you believe in love each time.

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another. as if it is just the two of them in their own world. mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear? has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily. "no, of course not. it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them. they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?”

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true. you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own. your reaction, however? could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love? because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed. you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling. you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head. “good! night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm. you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n. whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells. you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”

“so i am correct!” they smile with a shrug. “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably. without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths. i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams. you grin back. with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse. but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful. i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns. you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill! with what?”

“i know not. i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago. but worry not too much, y/n! from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery. and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body. giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe. and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no. i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood! then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’? are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see. well, i shall be in the drawing room then. thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself. this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home. and it is hardly even noon! you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment. he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man. a gentleman. a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me. there is no need to bow. and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right. y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach. “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips. he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression. it infuriates you, really. how charming he is. how endearing. how sincere.

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing. his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice. he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips. he tilts his head.

“why? should i?” he inquires. nonchalantly. delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing. as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper. hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap. have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course. it is just paper, after all.”

“right. yes— of course. thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand. that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts. you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly. understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud. “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room.

“y/n. y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you. you hasten your steps towards the entrance.

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it. how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to. but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes. “what did i do wrong? what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously. then it dawns on you.

“please. tell me,” benedict practically begs. with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen. but it is for the rest of us. for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered. that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself. and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses. the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home. and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing. he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all. gentle. attentive. like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body. you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave. please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope. goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running. to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be. to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this? why am i crying? why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him. he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants. not someone who he would love. not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far. but these feelings, they will pass. somehow. you will forget them. you will forget him. this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write. daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you. you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to. she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written. she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day. she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak. y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing. she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.

< their conversation continues. penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict. y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five. a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n! i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you. you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste.

“blimey, please don’t. i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns. “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter. i am here now. that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm. “and what of you? how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well. and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected. though—”

concern starts to swell in your heart. what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say. giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london. he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs. “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see. well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile. “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery. do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope. upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise. everyone else turns to stare at her. “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress! and— and, into my... drawing room! sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse. that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her. as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies. mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple. on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother. it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark. “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer. or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it. you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands. resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman. with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops. he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots. a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar. he looks familiar. a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to. they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion. an eagerness to learn about you. pools of welcoming. cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots. you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft. it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones. welcoming and warm. honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended. you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts. something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior. no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is. you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his. instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it. i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still. and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly. you emit an exhale from your nostrils. the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation. you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips. at the pleasantness and home you feel in them. you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs. he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort. grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct. you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way. that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind. you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love. excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount. he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine. you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit. despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips. turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building. benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons. you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home. you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time. benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event. while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict. he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event. after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year. you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen. as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens. you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes. i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language. you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then! show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away. he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting. he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n! they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work. you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas. there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good! and! improvement is everything, benedict! it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice. you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother! i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head. anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone? together? in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are. you are in benedict’s bedchamber. alone. together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically. “i—— we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother. in private. please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes. despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously. he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful. you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile. well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns. you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game. “i have no idea what you are referring to. pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds. eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly. “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks. your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them. (good. you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’? by whom? for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps. you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded. the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience. please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety. it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed. i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.”

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops. benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face. penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you. and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother! a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves. i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance. an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?”

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason. removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor. kathani’s confusion does not lighten. she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie. you are utterly mortified. so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman. he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which! which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!— he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother? no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani! together! alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!”

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both. “how delightful it is to see you! you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular. it has been a moment, y/n.”

it melts your heart, really. the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton. you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband. it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them. hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight. kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words. colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation. and benedict. who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you. softly. with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes. a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes. “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

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the-other-art-blog · 3 months

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No, Benedict, love IS finite and it begins and ends with Sophie Beckett

It's a matter of time before we get s4 Benophie announcement. I have so many posts planned, but I need to be 100% sure that Sophie will be Sophie before posting them.

Meanwhile, I want to discuss Benedict's line "love is NOT finite."

This is an example of how advice may only apply to certain people in specific circumstances. Luke Thompson explained it perfectly:

Eloise needed to hear this to understand that marriage wouldn't take Colin and Pen away from her.

However, the way he understands it has a totally different meaning. He takes his advice for himself to go and have a threesome with Tilley and Paul. Luke Thompson talked about it and said:

Good for him! But the thing is that the love Ben offers is still quite superficial. Like, yes, let him experiment and be free, but what Tilley tells him is that eventually, it gets tiring. And this is not even about monogamy. If both Paul and Tilley had asked him for exclusivity, he would have still rejected them. Benedict has deep commitment issues because he has never needed to commit to anything or anyone.

For him, the "love is not finite" will bring more problems than solutions.

The way I think it's going to go is:

Ben will meet the LIS, remember what Tilley taught him, and want to commit. But she will disappear.

Then he meets Sophie as a maid and he thinks he can marry the LIS AND keep Sophie as a mistress.

He will think that he has room enough for both of them, that he can love them both and won't have to choose and lose his freedom.

Sophie doesn't think the same. For her, love begins and ends with Benedict. That's it, there's no one else. So, if she can't have him fully, she would rather let him go (I have a post planned about this because Sophie is a queen of self-respect and self-love).

Moreover, he is the one getting multiple partners. I may be wrong, but book!Benedict never thinks of the possibility that the LIS found love elsewhere. And he never talks about letting Sophie be the mistress of other men. Mistresses could leave if they got a better offer, so how is Benedict so sure that it won't happen with Sophie.

Not to mention that his arrangement with Sophie and his wife will not be in equal positions. One is a wife, the other a mistress, a dirty secret kept hidden.

In AOFAG, Ben says this:

Remember what Tilley told him?

It's all fun until you develop feelings and suddenly, you want that person just for yourself.

I know I KNOW we're tired of love triangles, but frankly, Shonda loves them and Benophie might be the season where a bit of competition can do good.

Of course, there may be the LIS-Ben-Sophie triangle. But I want to give a mini heart attack to Ben when someone else shows interest in Sophie.

I don't want Sophie to have feelings for anyone else, THAT will upset me. But think of a moment when a vendor or a solicitor goes to No. 5 and sees Sophie, maybe even one of the footmen. He's taken by her beauty and Hyacinth notices. And since Hyacinth can't keep anything to herself, she brings it up during dinner or tea time and Ben goes pale.

And that's where he's going to understand what Tilley felt when she saw him with Paul.

I would even include a scene where LW or the family discusses Benedict dancing with some lady during a ball, Sophie hears and Ben teases her. Sophie's jealousy elevates his ego, but once he learns other men are looking at her, that will make him empathize with her.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #benophie s4

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eleanor-bradstreet · 5 months

Text

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.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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silverhallow · 3 months

Text

Unexpected

Benophie Week day 4: Cottage / One bed / “Are you trying to flirt with me?” “yes is it working?”

Summary: When teachers Sophie and Benedict are forced to share a single room with one bed on a school trip, their professional and personal boundaries are put to the test. Misunderstandings and missed signals have kept them apart for years, but a night of unexpected closeness reveals hidden feelings and long-awaited confessions. Amidst the chaos of chaperoning students, Sophie and Benedict must navigate their new-found connection, discovering that sometimes, the most unplanned situations can lead to the most rewarding outcomes.

This was not what was supposed to happen. “What do you mean you only booked one room?” Sophie squeaked at the desk of the Cottage style hotel they had brought their students to.

“We didn’t realise the two teachers wouldn’t be of the same sex… usually when we get school trips it’s two teachers of the same sex and they just share…” the receptionist said.

“Seriously? Schools are mixed genders…” Sophie said

“Well Ms Beckett, normally we get either the all girls or all boys school, and St James’ High used to be an all boys…”

“Yes, 15 years ago!” Sophie practically squeaked.

“Is everything okay?” Benedict Bridgerton asked as he sauntered over without a clue of what news he was about to be hit with.

“No! They’ve not booked two rooms for us and they’re fully booked” Sophie explained, her voice now almost hysterical.

“Oh… but… we told them…” Benedict said, the colour draining from his face.

“I know!” Sophie shrilled.

“We are very sorry” the receptionist said.

Benedict looked at Sophie, “I think we’re just… we’re just gonna have to try and make the most of it. All the kids are paired up and off to their rooms… we’ll… work something out” he said thought he felt his heart sinking.

It had been bad enough that the Headmistress of the School Charlotte Mecklenburg had suggested that Benedict and Sophie take the students on a joint art and english trip… but that Agatha, the head of year for the year 10 students that they had brought had said that the two of them would be enough and she didn’t need to accompany them…

But added on the ridiculous crush that he had on his fellow teacher…this was just… asking for trouble but they had no choice.

Sophie felt her own cheeks turning red as she knew there was no other choice, they had to stop here, they had to stop with their students… and so with a sigh she turned to the receptionist “Fine. but I expect some discount on rooms,” she said glaring at the girl behind the desk who sagged in relief.

It would have been a nightmare to lose that much business so she quickly handed over the key and disappeared from the desk before they could complain any more.

Sophie and Benedict just looked at one another awkwardly and picked up their bags and headed up to the room, thinking at least, most of the rooms were twins so they’d have their own space.

But as Benedict opened the door and Sophie walked in and as her eyes scanned the room she gasped, dropping her bag out of complete shock.

“There… there… it’s…” she stammered

Benedict, who was closing the door to the room and hadn’t seen what Sophie was now panicking over “what’s wrong?”

“There is only one bed” Sophie squeaked as Benedict turned around and saw the double bed in the room and dropped his bag in shock.

“Fuck” he said as he felt his cheeks heating up and parts of his body stirring at the thought of sharing a bed with Sophie.

“We… we…” Sophie stammered as she tried not to look at Benedict’s face as she knew she’d end up bright red with embarrassment. The thought of sharing a bed with the man she’d had a crush on for the last four years was almost too much to comprehend.

“I’ll… i’ll sleep on the floor” Benedict said automatically.

“No… you’ll break your back. And don’t even think about offering to sleep in that chair. I couldn't even curl up in that… We’re adults… I am sure we can manage, it’s for one night Ben… we’re adults… i’m sure… we… can’t we?” she asked.

They’d always had this easy flowing friendship, it was quite flirty at times but never really materialised into something more no matter how often she’d tried to show that she was interested in him.

Benedict swallowed a couple of times to try and compose himself “I… guess so” he finally said, because what else could he say without hurting her feelings.

They both glanced at one another and then looked away knowing this was going to be the most uncomfortable evening of their lives.

For Benedict he’d always had a crush on Sophie but he’d seen her a couple of times getting dropped off by another man at the school gates and assumed that she was in a relationship, or he had until he’d overheard her complaining to Genevieve, one of the fellow teachers that she was having no luck getting the bloke she was interested in to notice her.

Benedict had been disappointed but figured if the person Sophie was into couldn’t see that she was into him, then he was a blind moron and didn’t deserve her.

They both put their things away and made their way down for dinner with the students. Once they were done the students had free time to use the facilities at the Cottage Hotel and most of them headed off to the pool and because the grounds were so isolated Benedict and Sophie were technically off duty for the evening.

Sophie had headed back to the room and Benedict had gone to the bar, had a beer and rung his brother and when he explained his predicament, Anthony laughed for 20 minutes straight,

“Maybe it will force you to finally act on these feelings you’ve got for her” he said when he finally stopped laughing

“Ant, really?! We’re chaperoning 10 school kids!” Benedict groaned

“True but let’s be honest, the moment you get into bed with her, Little Benedict will mostly likely wake up and I’m sure it would be less embarrassing if she knew you wanted her as much as Little Benedict” Anthony teased

“Can you please not call my dick little Benedict?” Benedict groaned

“Well what do you call it…”

“My dick. But can we get back to my predicament please?!” Benedict asked his voice almost shrill and panicking

“Honestly. Just flirt with her a bit… see if she’s into it and casually mention you want to get married have four kids and a couple of dogs with her” Anthony teased

“How… out of all our siblings are you married?!”

“Sheer dumb luck” came Kate’s reply and Benedict realised he must be on loud speaker “but he had a point. She’s into you Ben! Just be honest!”

Benedict groaned “you two are the worst people at giving advice” he replied and hung up the phone.

But after he had a second beer he realised that maybe they did have a point, if she was single then maybe flirting with her wasn’t a bad idea.

So with a deep breath he made his way back to their room and for some reason he felt nervous, he’d always been good with women, and men for that matter. He had a charm that lent itself to any situation and he’d never failed to pick up a person when he decided that he was interested in them.

It was that confidence that steadied his nerves and as he pushed the door to the room open, it was like that confidence ran away from him quicker than Anthony when confronted by a bee and he felt like a green lad of 16 all over again.

It was ridiculous, he felt his stomach flipping with butterflies and his palms were sweaty just from looking at her, resting on the, to be shared, bed, her dark blonde curls loose around her face, glasses perched on her nose as she read her book.

She heard the door shut as Benedict just looked at her, mouth open like a teenager confronted by a pretty girl for the first time and she placed her book on her knees and just stared at him in return “Benedict? Is everything okay?” she asked after a few minutes of silence as she started to feel a little uncomfortable at his gaze.

Benedict jerked back to attention and blushed “right, yes, no everything’s fine” he stammered as he shuffled his feet, honestly, the way he felt right now was ridiculous. “I was just… woolgathering…”

“Oh right…” Sophie replied with a frown, looking like he had lost his mind.

“What are you reading?” he asked her as he made his way further into the room, fidgeting with his jacket not really listening to her.

“Jane Eyre” she replied, looking at him like he was seriously ill or had banged his head or something.

Benedict, not hearing her properly, decided to try and show off, thinking she’d said Jane Austen and remembering she loved Pride and Prejudice, turned around and using a famous quote decided to try and declare himself with it ““In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and fancy you.”

“Have you banged your head… i’m reading Jane Eyre… not Jane Austen… and besides… it’s how ardently I admire and love you… lord, if you’re going to quote the book i’m reading… at least get the right book” Sophie admonished, shaking her head wondering if he really had lost his mind.

“Oh” Benedict said blushing furiously, realising he’d cocked up and stammered “I… miss… misheard…” he cleared his throat and fumbled with his bag for a moment as he searched his brain for a quote. He knew she loved Jane Eyre, it was one of Eloise’s favourites as well and so he’d read it a few weeks back.

“Are you okay?” Sophie asked after a few more moments of silence between them and Benedict nodded

“I’m fine… i’m more than fine…” he said coughing a couple of times before saying, “All my heart is yours, ma’am: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

“Wait…” Sophie said, closing her book, recognising the passage “are you trying to flirt with me?” she asked, her heart beating wildly as she looked at him.

Benedict sagged slightly at being caught out but figuring there was nothing for it just replied “yes, is it working?”

“God no, if you’re going to quote my favourite books to me at least get them right… but… why… why are you trying?” she asked.

Benedict deflated as she said it wasn’t working but as she asked he had to just tell her the truth “because I like you, i’ve liked you since we met but i figured you were in some sort of relationship as I saw you getting dropped off at the school a few times by a bloke so i just… didn’t say anything but it’s killing me. I really like you Sophie, i want to take you out on a date, I want… I don’t know… i’ve never really had a proper relationship before but that’s what I want… I… ooopffff”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as Sophie’s mouth had dropped open at his confession and she’d gotten up and thrown herself at him, from the bed she was at the same height as him and they’d hit the sideboard as she planted her lips on his and kissed him passionately.

He responded in earnest and wrapped his arms around her as he returned her passions before realising that was going and pulled back “what… what…?”

“You are a blind idiot as well as an illiterate one…” she teased “the person dropping me off was Hugh, my step-sister’s husband, my car had broken down and was knackered and he was giving me a lift for all of a week…” she admonished “and i’ve been trying to flirt with you for bloody months! I don’t normally wear a top with half my buttons unfastened to show off my boobs when I lean over your desk… or you know… put mistletoe over my office door in an attempt to kiss you…” she teased.

Benedict’s mouth dropped open as he remembered each of those occasions and groaned, he’d avoided looking, and side stepped her at the office, not realising that they were aimed at him.

“So when you were talking to Gen?” he asked

“I was talking about you!”

“Oh…” Benedict blushed “sorry” he said sheepishly.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now you’ve actually told me…” Sophie grinned

Benedict just looked at her, his arms still around her waist, her legs wrapped around his “now… now what?”

“Well… we’re responsible adults for the kids, we can’t really… you know… in case we are needed but, when we get home… you’re taking me to dinner and then back to yours” Sophie said brazenly “as i can feel you and i’d like to see if you’re as good as Gen said you are”

Benedict blushed “I think… I think that can be arranged… and what about now? Tonight?”

“Well, i think we can keep our hands to ourselves… and maybe just a bit of frustrated teenage making out til tomorrow?” Sophie suggested.

Benedict laughed and nodded before kissing her again and walking them over to the bed.

Benedict gently laid Sophie down on the bed, their lips still locked in a fervent kiss. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, both clearly a bit overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.

"Frustrated teenage making out, huh?" Benedict murmured, his forehead resting against hers. "I think I can manage that."

Sophie smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Good, because I don’t think I can handle more than that right now. We do have to be somewhat responsible for the students, after all."

"Right, the students," Benedict said, a bit reluctantly. He pulled back slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Sophie into his lap. "But still, I’m glad we got this out in the open."

"Me too," Sophie agreed, snuggling into his chest. "I was starting to think you'd never notice."

"I’m a bit thick, I guess," Benedict admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I notice now. And I promise, I won’t be so oblivious anymore."

Sophie chuckled, her breath warm against his neck. "Good. Because we have a lot of making up for lost time in mind."

Benedict grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. This time, it was slower, more tender, a promise of things to come. They lost themselves in each other for a while, the worries of their students and the mix-up with the room fading into the background.

Eventually, they pulled apart, breathless and laughing. "Okay, we really should get some sleep," Sophie said, though her eyes were still sparkling with excitement.

Benedict nodded, reluctantly agreeing. "Yeah, you’re right. Tomorrow is a big day."

They settled under the covers, a bit awkwardly at first, but soon found a comfortable position. Sophie nestled into Benedict’s side, her head on his chest, while his arm wrapped around her protectively.

"Goodnight, Ben," Sophie whispered, her eyes already drifting closed.

"Goodnight, Sophie," Benedict replied, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

As they drifted off to sleep, they both felt a sense of peace and contentment, knowing that this unexpected twist in their trip had brought them closer together. And tomorrow, they would face whatever challenges came their way, together.

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #Benophie week #benophie week 2024

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sophiebaek · 26 days

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Meet Sophie Beckett, Bridgerton’s most elusive leading lady

It also hasn't escaped fans’ notice that, by the end of Season 3, all of the endgame love interests for the adult Bridgerton siblings – Daphne (Simon Basset), Anthony (Kate Sharma), Colin (Penelope Featherington), Eloise (Phillip Crane), and Francesca (Michaela Stirling) – have officially been cast and made an appearance on the show in some capacity…except for Benedict.

thanks to a number of factors, Sophie has become the single most elusive character in the entire show.

The secrecy surrounding Sophie became so blatant that a running joke developed amongst Benophie fans during the press tour for Season 3. Sophie was deemed the “Voldemort” of Bridgerton…given that Sophie was apparently also “[she] who must not be named”

So yes, while it was certainly exciting to read "Lady in Silver" in an official Shondaland article, it was simply not sufficient in light of the show's longstanding history of denying Sophie her rightful place in this universe.

Bridgerton has continued its habit of inexplicably keeping Sophie hidden from the world.

There is perhaps a greater discussion to be had about this long-term pattern of omitting Sophie (and now also Ha, who will be Bridgerton's third POC in a leading role, and the second WOC) from conversations surrounding this show

#I’m just gonna leave this here…#literally what is their deal with Sophie #let my girl just exist #the treatment of Sophie/Yerin will solidify how the show treat their POC leads #THERE IS A COMMON DENOMINATOR IN ALL OF THIS AND IF YOU CANT EVEN SPECULATE ON THE REASON WHY CHECK YOURSELF #if it sounds like a duck and looks like a duck it’s a duck #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #yerin ha #bridgerton season 4

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newtonsheffield · 1 year

Note

Could we see some jealous Kate in Mile High?

Maybe Siena ends up in their flight once Kate and Anthony are officially together???

Ohhh For a relationship that started off on the grounds of no jealousy: They’re both pretty jealous people.

And Kate really thought she got over it after she and Anthony actually put their cards on the table and said they didn’t want to see other people.

“Okay!”

Kate turned at the sound of her sister bursting through the cockpit door. “Edwina, we’re a little busy.” She gestured to the controls, “You know, preparing to fly the plane.”

Edwina rolled her eyes, “I just… I don’t want you to overreact to this but Siena Rosso is on this flight.”

Kate’s stomach dropped, something prickling down her spine at the thought of Anthony’s ex girlfriend, the only other person he’d been in a committed relationship with. Even if it hadn’t worked out, they’d loved one another once. Were still friends, really. She couldn’t say she wasn’t at least curious about her, what she looked like, how she was, how she and Anthony had been together.

“Right well…” Kate trailed off, “Get out of the way!” Kate hissed, peering round the cockpit door, “Which one is she?”

“Is anyone going to tell me who Siena Rosso is?” Sophie said curiously, joining her and Edwina at peering round the door.

“She’s Anthony’s ex.” Edwina supplied, “They used to hook up until Kate and Anthony got together.”

“Which one is she?” Kate hummed, her stomach churning, but she didn’t need to ask. Not really.

Anthony was stood a few rows down, at the back of first class, laughing at something a woman had said. She was beautiful, her dark hair tossed up effortlessly as she leaned in and said something conspiratorially to Anthony who turned pointing towards the cockpit.

“Fuck.”

Kate slammed the door shut before anyone could notice them peering out the door, trying to quiet the doubtful voice in her head.

You’re such opposites, he’ll never stay with you.

“Well, I wish she wasn’t so pretty.”

“Oh come on,” Sophie tutted, “Anthony loves you.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about.” Edwina agreed.

Kate shook her head, taking a shuddering breath, “It doesn’t matter. It literally doesn’t, we have to work.”

She sat back down and tried to focus on what she had to do. Even so she cleared her throat when she flicked on the intercom. “Good morning Everyone! Captain Kate Sharma from the flight deck, First Officer Sophie Beckett here with me and Welcome Aboard your British Airways flight to Singapore. We’ve an excellent crew on board with you today, at your beck and call for anything you might need. Some of you, not all of you. Anyway, they’re headed up by my loving boyfriend Anthony. It’s true, we’re in a very committed relationship, I’m actually thinking of suggesting that we move in together. Well, I’ve said that now. I’ll be back later to give you another update. Not on whether or not he said yes, just… on the… flight.”

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose as she turned off the intercom, She groaned as Sophie let out a low whistle. “Don’t.”

“Kate,” Sophie guffawed, “That was a train wreck, babe.”

“I know! Don’t you think I know that?! Now not only do I have to look at Anthony’s hot singer ex girlfriend; He’s going to reject me! Right in front of her probably! And then they’ll skip off into the sunset together!”

“Are we spiralling a little?”

“No!”

“So… that was insane.” Edwina hummed pushing the dinner cart in.

“Oh God!” Kate groaned, “Does he not want to even come in here and face me?!”

“He was held up.” Edwina tutted, “Congrats on… moving in together though? Are you getting a cat as well?”

“Anthony and I would clearly be dog people.”

Her anxiety still hadn’t abated at the end of the flight, jealousy and anxiety taking their turns, warring away in her chest. Right up until she opened the cockpit door. And there was Siena Rosso, nudging Anthony’s shoulder gently. Her eyes widened when she took in Kate,

“There’s your girl.”

Anthony turned, looking a little dazed and Kate didn’t know what came over her. She reached forward, grabbing Anthony by the lapels of his jacket and crashed their lips together in a searing kiss.

Anthony looked dazed when she finally nudged him back, his hand in his hair, “Hey, Kate.” He cleared his throat, “Have you met Siena?”

Siena peered around them, “Hi, Kate, so lovely to meet you. Anthony’s told me so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

Anthony tucked his arm around Kate’s waist before he cleared his throat, “Well, good luck with your show tonight. Chat soon hey? We’ll all go to dinner.”

“I’d like that.” Siena smiled, “Kate, hilarious announcement, 10/10.”

She winked over her shoulder at them and Kate suddenly felt ridiculous for it, with Anthony’s arm around her waist and his lips on her temple.

“Did you propose we move in together out of jealousy?” Anthony chuckled, but she could see the anxiety warring away behind his eyes.

“Yes, i did it in panic,” She straightened his tie, “But I actually do want us to move in together. So…? What d’you say? Ready to teach me how to do laundry?”

Anthony swallowed, “Yes, but I’m sorry, we need to move into my flat. Yours just…”

Kate scoffed, “Like I’m moving you into my place with all of your systems. I don’t have room.”

#mile high #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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hopepaigeturner · 4 months

Text

All a Matter of Place

CONTEXT:

This flashback takes part in E4 as well.

After being presented to Lady Violet and hired as Eloise’s maid, Mrs Wilson takes Sophie to settle her in...

As she walks, Mrs Wilson talks.

“How long have you been in service?”

“Since I was fifteen Ma’am.”

“Hmm, a typical age. Well atleast you have some experience. Have you worked as a Ladies maid before?”

“Yes, I have, ma’am.”

“Good, good. Then let us hope you have the strength of character to weather Miss Eloise.”

“Character?”

Sophie asks behind the pile of clothes she has been handed.

“You shall find out soon enough.”

Mrs Wilson does not divulge further as she starts climbing the stairs to the servant’s quarters.

“Now, the Bridgertons are a very reputable family of this ton, thus my staff are held to the highest of standards. I expect my maids to be well presented, even-tempered and exemplary in every task they do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs Wilson.”

“Good. Now,” Mrs Wilson open a door on the servant’s corridor. “Here are your sleeping quarters. You shall be sharing with Nadia who has recently returned to us.”

Sophie does not hear the rest as she looks around the room. Two beds fit comfortably in the space as does a wardrobe and a bedside table each. The curtains rustle with the moring air as sunlight streams through the small window.

Mrs Wilson notices Sophie’s mollification. She steps into her sight and says gently,

“The Dowager is a very generous mistress. We are very fortunate for her and the family’s kindness.” Her eyes harden “But that does not mean we should forget our place. Do you understand Miss Beckett?”

Sophie finally looks at Mrs Wilson over the pile of clothes in her hands.

“Yes, Mrs Wilson. I know my rightful place,” Sophie replies quietly…

✨Flashback✨

The viewer sees a carriage rolling out away from Penwood Place as if looking down from a high vantage point. The camera pans back to reveal a 15-year-old Sophie in mourning clothes staring blankly out.

Mrs Gibbons comes up behind her with a maternal smile.

“Sophia, dear, come away from there. You have not moved since the will reading started. Come have some tea—”

“Did you know that I only remember making my father smile once?” Sophie suddenly says.

“Sophia—” Mrs Gibbons sighs, as Sophie’s eyes seem to remain focused on the gravel even though the carriage is long gone.

“I was so happy I felt as if I could burst. And then moments later he was on the ground, dead.”

“Sophia,” Mrs Gibbons comes up and places her arms around Sophie’s shoulders but Sophie doesn’t seem to notice the embrace. “The doctor ruled it as a natural death, it was not your—”

There is a slamming of doors that echo down the corridors.

Mrs Gibbons winces: Sophie does not respond.

“I suppose they realised that she lied about the baby,” is all she says in that same detached tone.

There are the sounds of distant shouting and the crashing of furniture. Mrs Gibbons looks behind them, obviously frightened.

“Sophia darling, come down to the kitchen,” she tries to pull Sophie towards the doors but Sophie doesn’t move. Instead, she turns to Mrs Gibbons whose face pales further upon seeing the solemn maturity in Sophie’s eyes—eyes that seem far too old for such a young body.

“There is no use avoiding the inevitable, Mrs Gibbons. But you should go, I do not wish for your to be caught in the storm.”

“There you are, you insufferable child!” Araminta cries as she storms into the room. Sophie and Mrs Gibbons curtsey. Araminta takes a breath, her lips in a tight smile.

“Ah, Mrs Gibbons. Please will you start packing all our belongings. It seems that the new Lord will be too drunk with his whores to do what is necessary.”

“Ofcourse your Ladyship,” Mrs Gibbns curtseys once more and goes to leave, “Come, Sophia—”

“No, Mrs Gibbons.” Araminta commands. “I would like a word with Miss Beckett, alone.”

Mrs Gibbons looks to Sophie, her expression betraying her fear. Sophie nods with a smile that is barely plastered on. Mrs Gibbons leaves with great reticence but just as she reaches the door Araminta calls, “Oh, and Mrs Gibbons?”

“Yes, your ladyship?”

“There is no need to pack Miss Beckett’s belongings. She will not be needing such superfluous things where she is going.”

Mrs Gibbons and Sophie share a tense look. But Mrs Gibbons is only a servant, so she merely curtsies and says,

“Yes, your ladyship.”

And then leaves.

Once the pair are alone, Sophie walks forward, eyes wide with concern.

“I do not understand. Are you sending me away? My father—”

Araminta rounds and slaps Sophie hard across the face. She steps forward and towers over Sophie, her features still beautiful even in her anger.

“Your father is dead—you saw to that. And now my daughters are losing their home—do you take delight in making people miserable?” she asks, as if genuinely intrigued. “Thank goodness for the dowries your father left them. I am certain the rest of his funds shall be poured down the throat of that drunkard cousin of his.”

Sophie is shaking, clutching her cheek.

“My father—”

“Your father left you nothing!” Araminta seethes in her face. “Yet has burdened me with a child he should have sent away years ago.”

Sophie’s lips quiver.

“But he…he…”

Araminta cocks her head, a pitiful smile on her face.

“Oh, you truly believe that your father held some type of bizarre affection for you?” she coos. “No.” The word visibly strikes through Sophie. “He kept you out of guilt, trapped into caring for an inconvenience he made after a paltry affair. An inconvenience he has now saddled with me. You made him miserable, and now you have made us all miserable.”

“A-Araminta—”

Araminta grips her arm, nails digging in, looking down at Sophie over her nose. Never has she looked like the evil stepmothers in Sophie’s stories—but this is no story. Sophie has known that for a very long time.

Araminta speaks low,

“From now on you shall address me as Lady Penwood just as all the servants do. You shall work from morning to night just as all the servants do. And you shall continue to do so, until you have paid off all the clothes, education and frivolities that have been wasted on you.” Sophie starts whimpering, “From now on you will stay silent.” The command reverberates through Sophie.

Araminta releases Sophie with enough force to cause her to topple onto the floor.

Staged in the centre of the frame, backlit by the light, Araminta looks down on Sophie from the door.

“By the time I return I expect you to have taken your rightful place in this household—or there will be consequences.”

Araminta slams the door shut, leaving a shivering Sophie on the floor. Eventually she sits up by the wall, curls into herself and cries—smothering her tears with her hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Purpose of the scene:

Fill in some gaps with Sophie's backstory

Reinforce to the audience some of the negative messaging Sophie has been exposed to...

Masterlist

PREV | NEXT

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests!

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

#an offer from an avid reader #sophie's flashbacks #and the angst piles up #and the Araminta hate with it #sophie beckett #an offer from a gentleman #benophie #benedict bridgerton

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darklinaforever · 3 months

Note

Hey, I just want you to know that someone sent me this shit. I don't know what this person is talking about, but just know that some offended kid is clearly bored and spreading such nonsense. Because yes, it sounds like nonsense and anyone familiar with similar procedures knows this. Especially since it was sent to me for some reason, lol.

Thank you for letting me know about this and supporting me ! Besides, it will be sad to no longer have you among our regular accounts talking about HOTD / FIRE AND BLOOD, I will miss you a lot in that regard, it was always great to read your answers ! 🥰

Otherwise, other than that, to get back to this damn message... I guess this is the perfect time to tell the whole story ?

Basically everything starting with the fact that I didn't know (and still don't know) how to take the gender change from Michael (a male character who has existed since 2004 and whom I have personally loved for several years already) to Michaela Stirling and that I was hoping that Sophie Beckett's character wouldn't undergo that kind of change no. more in the future, as many people were hoping to see her become a man on screen (and thank god that apparently won't happen) for a romance with Benedict. This kind of opinion has caused me to be insulted as a homophobe and queerphobe in general.

Why is this important when we are talking about a story of plagiarism ? You will understand.

The fact is that I am not homophobic or queerphobic. Those who follow me have already seen me posting on queer community posts and talking about my frustration with queerbaiting. Not only that but also know that I am a bi woman. (And contrary to what the antis say, no that's not a lie to be able to better spread my anti-LGBT remarks, which I have never had !)

As for this plagiarism thing, it turns out that someone (apparently named Grace, so we'll call her that now) accused me of plagiarizing her post that I liked, my own post having been post a few hours later after her own post :

Except I'm sorry, I didn't plagiarize anything at all.

Yes I liked her post, but I also liked other posts with almost the same arguments. By the time I wrote my post, his had disappeared from my memory, drowned in tons of others that I had liked.

This person basically acted as if I had written my post while looking at theirs, which is, as you will have gathered, not true.

The fact is that it is logical that the arguments are found when we talk about canonical events that happened in a show that we have all seen and a book that we have all read for the most part. We literally state canon things in these two formats. Logically it looks similar.

Also, officially, the reason I wrote this post is because, like I said, I saw a conversation talking about the topic : Will the plot be the same despite the gender change by Michael ? Essentially, that make me write my little post was this.

So Grace came in the comments and reblogs on this post to accuse me of plagiarism and I basically told her that well no, without being particularly mean or rude in my opinion, and only one person that I know of came to take my defense in comment @theweeklydiscourse and once again, she was polite and not mean. If you don't believe me, here's the conversation in the comments section :

Then, this person decided to publish a post asking for a second opinion / others opinions, to confirm whether or not I had plagiarized her.

I wasn't active at the time when she had to do it, and when I went there (since she had essentially tagged my name, obviously I had gotten the notification) she had blocked the comments and reblogged on her post.

Then later her account could no longer be found. I thought she had blocked me.

And that's when I received the news in anonymous that she was in the hospital because she hurt herself, because I apparently had harassed her, had encouraged my friends to also do this, that she would have received insults and death threats in comments and also private messages, etc.

And if all this (the party where she received hateful comments and private messages up to death threats) is true (because I remind you that we do not have proof that this is the case !) I have absolutely nothing to do with it.

Maybe yes, it's possible that Grace received hate messages from my community, or not from my community for that matter, because in the end we don't know since she deleted everything. But the fact is, whatever was in those comments, I know absolutely nothing about it.

I repeat I did not harass this girl or encourage anyone to do so !

Having myself been the victim of harassment almost throughout my schooling and having also had problems on tumblr, I can assure you that I will never encourage anyone to harass !

And the fact is that now I receive tons of hate messages, accusing me of plagiarizing people in a general way, of being anti LGBT, of pretending to be Bi to spread my LGBT hatred in tumblr. To advocate pedophilia (because I like Sareth and Sessrin I guess ?) incest, (because I like Daemyra and Borgiacest I guess ? In addition to writing a story myself with an incestuous romance between brother and sister in a fantasy world ?) abuse of all kinds, etc. (We really need to teach these people that liking things in fiction has nothing to do with real life...) That me and my community are disgusting. That I harass many people and encourage my followers to do so. That I have no life. That I am trashy, disturbing, etc.

Not to mention that the friend of this so-called Grace herself accuses me of all these things. Even going as to say that I am heartless ! I still remind you that overall this is what I said :

How the hell does that make me heartless ?

And all this hatred, who showed up after the first message from this so-called friend of Grace, obviously coming from pompous moral superiority, literally comes from people who also proudly claim that they created a discord account on me to spit on me. (And this apparently comes from Rhaenicent stans and therefore from a community linked to HOTD...)

Do you realize the paradox and the hypocrisy of all that ?

And obviously, these same people are actually also going to insult Grace for being "an anti-LGBT person". Because if I "plagiarized" it since I am accused of making anti-LGBT remarks, according to them it would be obvious that the person I plagiarized is also anti-LGBT.

What is false, her message which was also the only one that she had published on her account I specify, did not contain any mention of the LGBT community but in fact speaks, like mine, generally of the fact that the basis of the relationship Fran x John x Michael was different from the book, and indeed, it wasn't the same thing.

(Something that has once again been noted a lot on the networks in general. Hell, even my friend who doesn't have the networks deduced the same things !)

So not only am I accused of homophobia but also this person, whose drama these weirdos are using (if it's true once again) to try to take me down more than they already do. They say she's pathetic, and who knows maybe she'll kill herself, lol ! Essentially, their words, not mine :

Essentially, this is all just an excuse for the antis to basically, well, harass me again. Because at this point, that's what's happening. Did you still see what @nrilliree received ? It’s the fucking upside down world after all. (Besides, that makes me laugh... I'm not allowed to like several fandoms ? It's a crime to like several things on tumblr now ? What a joke...)

Why do trolls like me so much ? I don't understand ! 😂

The point is, I'm going to repeat what I've already said :

It's not very complicated to understand anyway ?

I wanted to give my overall version of the facts. Now you do what you want with it. The fact is that I know very well what is going on and I have a clear conscience. In any case, I thank everyone who supports me. You are adorable and I all love you very much !!!

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bohemian-nights · 5 months

Text

Like clockwork, the moment that Sophie is almost surely going to be played by a Black woman there is a sudden uptick in the Sophie should be a man or trans because that would be “true representation” discourse.

Representation for all communities is important(although that’s not what this rally is about), but Sophie Beckett is the last character in Bridgerton who should be gender-bent or made trans since her story is directly tied to her being a working-class biological woman.

It's because she's a woman that her only means of employment is as a maid. It's because she's a woman that she was almost raped by a pack of men. It’s because she’s a biological woman and fears birthing children who will be illegitimate and who may have to go through life as she did that she refuses to be Benedict’s mistress.

You can’t just plop a (white cause that’s what the real issue is) man or a (white) trans woman into her place without changing her story which is unique in the Bridgerton universe and dare I say the most empowering. So while yes it would be nice to see a gay love story on the show or a trans person, Benophie isn’t the couple to turn to for this representation.

And said representation definitely shouldn’t come at the expense of representation for Black women who are rarely shown as love interests or get to be leading ladies in media. Representation for Black women may not be your representation, but it's still representation for an under-represented marginalized group.

Seriously if your idea of representation hinges on the fact that Black women should step aside and wait “our turn”(aka we shouldn't be represented because y'all always come up with some excuse for why it isn't “our turn”) you need to reassess some things because that isn't going to happen any longer.

This also goes out to the people who keep saying that there are “too many” Black people on show therefore Sophie shouldn't be Black when the only Black woman* that has been featured has been Lady Danbury who is a side character who most certainly does not have a happily ever after(HEA).

*I love Queen Charlotte and both India and Goldie’s portrayal of her and I loved the spin-off, but both women are mixed.

Let’s not forget the people who said Sophie being Black would be too “problematic” since she’s slave(she’s not a slave you’re insulting the enslaved when you refer to her as such) while cheering on every other group of women playing Sophie.

That was what some said a year ago when people suggested Sophie could played by a Black woman, but now that it’s coming you’ve moved on from that excuse to needing to see two white men on your screens.

So once again this isn't about representation it's just another instance of fandom misogynoir aka trying to keep Black women off your screens useless we are there to serve you or be tortured.

Cause somehow seeing Patsey getting wiped and raped 23 million times is “powerful” representation, but seeing a Black woman being loved and cared for and getting a HEA with a man who adores her is “problematic.”

Again I do understand the ones who genuinely want to see themselves represented on screen, but to make this much of a fuss about a Black woman in the role of Sophie Beckett, it’s inexcusable.

Reference point to this rant.

#I didn’t want to rock the boat but one must say something #i tried to leave the dragon show fandom and then i am met with this #just bring in Sophie Beckett Shonda and make her Black #sophie beckett #bridgerton #afoag spoilers #fandom misogynoir #benophie #bncommentary

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tilly-tilly-2827 · 5 months

Text

Midnight Sanctuaries (Side B & Side C)

Reimaging An Offer from a Gentleman#3

Synopsis: Maria Beckett should know better. But there was nothing she could do. She craved love, she craved for warmth. And Richard Gunningworth didn’t know better.

But how Benedict Bridgerton knew better.

But how he was, a bit of a fool.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Mentions of sexual assault/ rape/ suicide.

AO3 post from here

Part one from here

“What is it, to woo a woman?”

Benedict Bridgerton spurred on his fifth glass of whiskey, contemplating if he should take the sixth.

“Not a lady, you mean?”

Alice eyed the man suspiciously, wiping the glass with a cloth. She was quite worried, seeing the second son of the Bridgerton family almost drown himself in whiskey. It was true that he had been dwelling in the stalls of the bar for years with a glass in hand, but he seemed to be improving.

“After a refreshing stay in Wilshire, I have gained a new perspective,” explaining to her happily a few days back.

“Well, yes, yes…a lady.” He added hastily.

“You must be at a loss, for a Bridgerton to be suffering in the process of a courtship!” Will laughed wholeheartedly, placing an arm over his shoulder.

“Might I ask who the lucky lady is? Which young debutant has captivated the eyes of a melancholic artist?”

Alice had expected Benedict to burst out in verse, declaring forever love and devotion to a young debutante somewhere in the ton, but his reaction was quite the opposite; instead, he sunk deeper into silence, dipping himself in another glass of wine.

“Isn’t she the one you talked about for years?” Alice asked a little hesitantly, “The women in silver you talked about-”

“What?” Benedict jerked from his intoxication. “No, no, no. Not her. Definitely not her.”

“Then who is she?”

Benedict decided to ignore the question altogether. He knew that he was being selfish, but anger and frustration had been slowly bubbling up in him. As he watched the young John Stirling whisper something teasingly to Francesca as her face flushed crimson pink, as they promenaded in the park arms in arms, giggling away happily about who knows what, Benedict couldn’t help thinking why he couldn’t do the same with Sophie.

He wanted to fill her room with flowers and bouquets.

He wanted to take Sophie to ice cream parlors.

He wanted to ask her for the second Walz at the end of the ball.

All the jealousy, all the longing, all the desire were flaming stronger day by day, and the overwhelming craving was killing him, making him lose his mind. How much he longed to just take her down in the closet or even the hallway, how much he longed to bury himself inside her arms…

“……Why does she keep rejecting me?”

“…So you are being rejected by this mysterious lady of yours? Hence this drinking?”

“How do you know that she’s rejecting me?”

“……You said those words seconds ago, Mr.Bridgerton.”

Benedict softly touched his mouth, regretting that he had let it slip. He knew what others would think of him if they knew he was trying to seduce a maid to be his mistress. He was seen as a respectable gentleman, and he didn’t quite want to lose the reputation he had from his fellow men. Not like Phillip Cavender.

“Well, …I…”

“So she has been rejecting you.”

Alice stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Perhaps, you are not her preference,” Will teasingly added, giving a pat on his shoulder. “No need to pounder, Bridgerton. There will be someone who would appreciate your looks.”

“No, no. No.” He denied quickly, “I am definitely in her preference.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Mr. Bridgeton?” Alice arched her eyebrows.

“Well…”

She said I look like her Prince Charming.

“I just know.”

Alice sighed deeply. Men, she quietly thought. So sure of themselves, not doubting any bit that they could be the reason for rejection. She quietly felt sympathy for the poor girl in question; imagining Benedict Bridgerton trying to wear her down with his charms.

“Have you been sending gifts to this lady of yours?” Will asked nonchalantly. “Perhaps she does not like what you have offered to her…”

Gifts…Gifts!

It suddenly dawned on him that Benedict had never given Sophie Beckett anything, maybe except for an ill-cooked breakfast.

One doesn’t have to be a mistress to be receiving gifts, don’t they?

“Mondrich, you are a great man!”

Already planning out a perfect scheme in his head, Benedict hurriedly slipped down from his chair, quickly grabbed his jacket, and ran to the door. He’ll tip the florist double the amount, he knew how to sneak into Genevieve’s shop at night….

“He’s going to do something awful.”

Alice murmured under her breath as Benedict disappeared from their sight. She wrote down his bills on the piece of paper sighing at the amount. He will have to pay, soon.

“……Why didn’t you stop him then?”

“Because,” Alice replied as she took a glass of whiskey from his hands, drinking it in a swig.“Men can’t realize their mistakes until they truly experience how bad one screwed it up.”

----------------------------------------------

Sophie was exhausted to the bone.

She had been running up and down the house all day long, preparing for the Bridgerton Ball that was coming up next Wednesday. After helping Miss Eloise with the dress in the morning, she also assisted Lady Violet with the penning of the invitation and also helped Hyacinth with her Latin and French. She also secretly mended the tear Miss Eloise had made on her secret escapades, secretly washed the cigarette stain on Eloise’s nightdress, and secretly delivered the letters Eloise had firmly told her; that it is a secret.

She truly adored and admired the Bridgertons.

But she was truly exhausted. Her feet were sore from bustling around London with Eloise’s secret errands in ill-fitting shoes that she had been wearing for years, her hands were cramped from all the writing and the mending she did for the day, and her fingertips were filled with cuts for every time Benedict Bridgeton came into the room.

Sophie wished she could be more calm in front of his presence. Sophie wished Benedict would not look at her so longingly. With his ardent, morning-dew eyes. His warm, sweet, eyes.

Sophie shook her head fervently, trying to erase the fantasy that dwelled in her mind. It was almost midnight, and what she needed was a good night’s rest, not the passionate gaze or the warm arms of one Benedict Bridgerton. Sophie staggered herself up the stairs, wanting to lie on the bed and curl up in her sheets. But before that, she had to mend a hole in her stockings, iron out her apron, wash herself up, and change into her nightgown…

Benedict Bridgerton was the last person she wanted to see in her room that night. He was sitting on the corner of her bed, his face lighting up as he saw her open the door. With the crooked, teasing smile on his face, normally his expression alone would bring her to her knees, but that night Sophie was just goddamn tired. Just so, so, so tired.

“Why are you here, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“You look tired, Sophie.”

“Mr. Bridgerton, why are you here?”

“Can’t I be here?”

“You can not be here,”

“So hostile.” Benedict tutted, pouting his lips ever so slightly. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“No, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Come on, Sophie, I know…”

“Do you not hear me, Benedict?” Benedict finally noticed how cold and stern her voice was. “I am saying that I do not want you here.”

“Sophie, I just wanted to…”

“Did you not think that some could have seen you?”

“No, I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t think,” For the first time in her life, Sophie snapped, letting her anger get the better of her.

“How would the other servants think of me if they saw you in my room? They would think me as a self-serving whore-”

“Sophie, no-”

“And I would be fired from this position and…and…and…it would be very convenient for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Sophie, that’s not what I wanted to-”

Sophie glared at him with her moss-green eyes, and he noticed that Sophie’s eyes were filled with frustration. He staggered back, unable to say anything at all.

“Then what did you want to do?”

“I…I just…”

“Take me down on this bed, mark me as yours?”

It was exactly what he might have been planning to do.

“…And you call yourself a gentleman when you are no better than Phillip Cavenderー”

The next moment, Sophie was pinned up against the door, his hand grabbing her waist strenuously, his other arm slammed above her head, hovering against her by the door.

“You don’t mean that, Sophie”

His voice was dangerously soft, but there was a stroke of pain and fury, and Sophie realized she had gone too far with her anger. How could she ever compare him to Phillip Cavender? Benedict was far more sweet, far more caring, far more…

“I’m here because I love you,”

Sophie felt tears coming up to her eyes.

“…Please don’t say that.”

“I love you, Sophie.”

“You don’t know what you are saying.”

“I mean what I say, Sophie.” Benedict replied angrily, gritting his teeth, “I’m saying that I love you, and I want to take care of you…”

“If you truly loved me, Benedict,” Sophie was falling apart as she broke out in a sob, feeling the tears running down her cheeks. “Why would you ask me to be your mistress?”

But people have mistresses and by-blows all the time, Benedict stupidly found himself thinking despite his fury. What was wrong with having a mistress, if he loved her just the same, if he cared for her just the same?

“You’re hurting me, Benedict, don’t you know…”

“You have never thought how much you hurt ME, Sophie?” Benedict was almost losing his temper, he wanted to scream and roar if he could. Benedict tightened his grip around Sophie’s waist, knowing that his nails were biting into her skin, hurting her, scaring her. The awful side of him was wanting to hurt her, wanting her to feel the pain he had been suffering ever since Sophie had rejected his offer.

“I cannot breathe, Sophie,” Benedict’s words shook with anger. “I cannot breathe, I cannot live without you Sophie, knowing that you feel the same for me.”

He pressed his forehead against her, trying to regain his breath, trying to calm down the immense anger he felt towards her. He let go of his grip and instead placed them on the door, his nails biting the wooden plank.

“I love you, Sophie.”

“Benedict please don’t.”

“I love you.”

“Just…just, don’t, don’t Benedict”

Benedict slowly leaned in, softly nuzzling his nose against hers. Their lips were almost an inch apart, and if Sophie leaned in just an inch, he would have her sweet lips on his in a second.

“Tell me that you love me, Sophie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me,”

“Benedict,”

“….That you love me.”

Sophie’s lips were about to reach his, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the sweet sensation to reach his lips.

The next moment, he felt an immense pain slap across his cheeks, tasting the blood in his mouth. He staggered back, perplexed by the power she held.

“…….You’re drunk.”

There was a striking coldness in her eyes he had never seen before. Her hard, cold gaze was enough to sober him up in a second, but it wasn’t enough to deny her words.

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.”

Benedict instinctively reached out his arms, wanting to soften her, but Sophie stepped back, clutching to her shoulders as if she were protecting herself from him.

“No, no, don’t you dare touch me, Benedict.”

Benedict finally noticed that he was the stupidest man in the world. Benedict stood foolishly by the door, not knowing what to do or say, as he watched Sophie take another step back, shrinking into the corner of the room.

“I will tolerate, you dwelling on hallways,” Sophie said quietly. “I will endure you stalking me, sneaking and jumping up on me from hidden corridors.”

Benedict was beginning to notice how childish he had been acting as she spoke.

“But I can’t have you in this room, Benedict. This is out of the line.”

“…I apologize, Ms. Beckett.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I’ll …I’m going to leave these here.”

Without even a glance, Benedict left Sophie’s room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Sophie collapsed to the floor, hardly processing what happened over the last few moments. It was too much, too overwhelming to think with her drained body, but his desperate voice echoed through her mind.

“I love you, Sophie. Tell me that you love me too.”

Sophie staggered to her bed, the very place Benedict Bridgerton had been waiting on a few minutes earlier. He had left her something on the bed, and Sophie finally realized that there was a bouquet and a beautiful small box placed softly on her sheets. It was Lilly of the valleys. Her favorite.

Of course, he would have remembered.

During their stay at My Cottage, Benedict had insisted on her accompanying on his walks. “What if I collapse on my way? I have just recovered from sickness, Ms. Beckett,” Benedict had asked her teasingly. “I would need someone to run to Mr. Crabtree.”

Long walks they took on the country streets of Wiltshire, talking about their favorite authors, plays, and paintings. Benedict would ramble about his siblings and she would laugh, and Sophie remembered how much she loved the countryside; enjoying the wildflowers that bloomed in the side, enjoying the peaceful breeze that surrounded her. As she glanced at his warm smile, she remembered how much she was in love with him.

“You like Lilly of the Valleys?”

Benedict asked as Sophie softly took the blossoms in her hands.

“Yes,” she answered. “We had them around the garden when I was a child. It was my mother’s favorite…”

“Quite suits you,” Benedict had softly said.

“Why so?”

“Do you know what they symbolize, Ms. Beckett?

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

“Return to love, Ms.Beckett,” Benedict whispered, softly kissing her fingertips as he reached for her hand.

With quivering hands, she opened the white box, covered with oriental embroideries. Inside was a beautiful pair of shoes, laced in silk ribbons and white velvet .

Why wouldn’t he know servants can’t afford such things?

Such a foolish, foolish man,

Still feeling the warmth of Benedict Bridgerton against the sheets, Sophie sobbed silently, clutching to the warmth he had left on her bed.

----------------------------------------------------------

“Mrs. Gibbons?”

Annabel sighed as she saw a crack open at the door, seeing a petite figure in the shadows.

“Go back to your nursery, Sophie.”

“But I can’t sleep, Mrs. Gibbons.”

“Go back to your room, Sophie.” Annabel patiently replied, glancing at the clock as it struck midnight. She knew she needed at least four more hours of sleep, before starting another day. “Go back to bed, and close your eyes, and if you count to three hundred…”

“But it’s so cold and dark,”

Annabel rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath. God in heavens where is the governess? It should be her, or at least her father that should be tucking her to bed, not the bloody housekeeper as herself…

But when she looked at her soft almond eyes that loomed too large for her face, she felt a stroke of pain and regret.

“All right, Sophie, come here my dear girl.”

As Annabel pulled back the covers, Sophie climbed desperately onto the bed, clinging to her arms as if she were saving herself from drowning. Annabel noticed how cold her hands and feet were, and her cheeks stained with tears. Poor, poor girl, she thought to herself.

“I can’t stop shivering, Mrs.Gibbsons,”

“You’re all right now, my girl.”

As she put her arms around the poor girl, softly cuddling her against her back, she noticed that she should have done this years ago when she heard her young, petite roommate sobbing under the sheets every night. At that time, she would ignore her desperate sobs, covering her years with her pillow, trying to get some sleep. She wondered how the story would have changed if she had stopped and listened to her deepest vulnerabilities.

“Why can’t you reject him, Maria?”

“Annabel, he loves me. And he is so lonely, ”

“Sophie, are you asleep?”

“……..No.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, all right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Gibbsons.”

“You can come here every night, Sophie. If you feel sad or have a bad dream, or you can’t sleep, you’ll come to my side. I’m going to hold you tight, and we’re all going to have a nice peaceful doze. Do you understand that, Sophie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Gibbons.”

“But I don’t want you crawling into anyone else sheets except me. Nor do I want anyone else sneaking into your sheets.”

“Why would I have someone in my sheets, Mrs. Gibbons?”

“I’ll explain to you when you’re older.”

“How old Mrs. Gibbons?”

“Old Enough, Sophie.”

“Old enough for what, Mrs.Gibbons?”

She was quite at a loss for words. Instead, Annabel tightened her arms around him, hoping to warm up the poor child.

“You are going to be a strong smart beautiful lady, Sophie.” Softly stroking her golden locks, she felt a tear dropping down her cheeks. “Your mother would have wanted you to be strong, strong enough to keep yourself warm at night…”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #bridgerton fanfiction #benophie fics #benedict x sophie #an offer from a gentleman

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holybatgirlz · 11 months

Text

You're eyes whispered "Have we met?"

Read it on Ao3

Summary:

…and finally, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton, is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and ward to the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June…

Waking up to the news you're engaged is certainly a surprise. Especially when you have no recollection of a proposal ever happening.

Word count: 9.9k+

Notes: This was going to be my final entry to Benophie week back in June, but I didn’t finish it in time. But here it is finally. And yes, I know, I already have a fake dating fic (that I need to finish) but I read the summary for “Not the Kind of Earl You Would Marry” and started thinking about it relating to Benophie. Which is never a good sign.

Sophie had never particularly enjoyed the marriage announcements part of the morning paper.

It wasn't that she hated them, they were the announcements of other people's happiness. Those whose lives were far more privileged and more straightforward than her own. Uncomplicated by poverty and abuse like hers. She knew she shouldn't be bitter and jealous, but she couldn't help it. They left her wondering what their lives were like. Fantasizing about how they had met and fallen in love, hoping they were all love matches.

All it did was make the reality of her situation even worse.

Usually, she ignored them. It wasn't as if she actually had the time to sit down and read them over, to begin with, but today was different.

When she came downstairs and found Mrs. Gibbons and the cook with expressions of dread and worry on their faces, she grew concerned. A pit formed in her stomach as she watched the housekeeper approach her. Mrs. Gibbons didn't say anything as she handed her the paper and pointed to a paragraph hidden amongst the announcements column. It is right at the bottom and barely noticeable at first. Until she saw the names.

Recognized the names.

…and finally, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and ward of the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June…

Nothing but pure panic laced through her, freezing her to her core as she read it. As if her blood was being replaced with ice. Sophie was at a loss for words. Her body turned to marble, as if her brain had just stopped working. She no longer knew how to speak, think, or breathe.

But she knew exactly what would happen if Araminta saw it.

And unfortunately, as Sophie stood, trembling in the kitchen, trying to think up a way to hide this news from her stepmother, the butler had already unknowingly delivered the other copy to her upstairs as she readied herself for the day. The loud, shrill scream of Sophie's name reverberating throughout Penwood House confirmed that.

How on earth it was that she had ended up engaged to the man of her dreams was beyond Sophie's knowledge. She never left Penwood House (save for that one night two months ago), and she certainly did not interact with those of the other sex (save for that one night two months ago).

And that wasn't even the worst part.

It was that she was engaged to the man of her dreams.

~~~

Benedict woke up to the sight of his elder brother towering over him.

It took him a minute to recognize it was Anthony standing next to his bed. There was a dull throb in his skull he hadn't yet slept off, the result of his drinking choices the night prior after he had, once again, failed to find the Lady in Silver.

Blinking away the sleep from his eyes and realizing it was his brother, Benedict frowned. How the hell had Anthony gotten into his lodgings? Benedict was going to have to speak to his valet, Graves, about this.

"Good morning, brother," he said slowly. Benedict was concerned about how his brother had gotten in and why he was bothering him so early in the morning.

Glancing down, Benedict quickly remembered he was currently naked underneath the bed sheet that was covering his lower body. Grabbing it, he slowly pulled it upwards over his chest, making sure he was fully covered before he looked back to his brother and added. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What on earth were you thinking?" Anthony asked, no, demanded from him, glaring down at him with his furious I'm-the-viscount-and-you'll-do-as-I-say look that had never swayed or affected Benedict.

"That another drink wasn't a terrible idea," he groaned back, rubbing his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself up. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"Oh no. You do not get to play games with me right now, Benedict. Do you have any idea what your actions have caused? What they've done to mother? She's been in a state all morning since she found out," Anthony informed him furiously.

Benedict's confused frown only deepened as he stared up at his brother. While he was a drinker, he'd certainly never been the type to be the fool while intoxicated (minus the one occasion with drug-infused tea courtesy of his brother). Usually, he was just overly cheerful or depressed, but that was when he was alone. He doubted he'd done anything to bring shame on his family name. Let alone frazzle his mother.

"I'm confused. What exactly is it that you think I've done?" he asked back.

"Your engagement," Anthony snapped. "You've broken our mother's heart by not telling her any of this."

Benedict stared at his brother in silence before the confused frown on his face shifted to a smile. He couldn't help it. He started laughing.

Which only infuriated his already furious brother.

"Why are you laughing?" Anthony once again demanded as Benedict continued chuckling.

"Because I'm not engaged," he retorted between breaths.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes. You. Are."

"I think I would know if I was, brother."

"There is an announcement. Benedict."

"What announcement?"

The vein bulging in Anthony's forehead looked about to burst. Clearing his throat, his brother lifted the paper he'd been holding this entire time and read it out to him.

"Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton, is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and the ward of the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June," he said with a dramatic flourish that barely concealed his annoyance.

The laughing ceased immediately. The humor of this situation disappeared in a puff of smoke as Benedict stared at his brother in disbelief.

"What do you mean there is an announcement in the paper?" Benedict sat up and snatched the paper from him, believing this to be nothing more than a lie. A bold-faced prank his brother was pulling on him.

He scoured the page until he found the announcement in the bottom right corner. The last one. Almost hidden away, he found his name staring back at him mockingly, next to the name of a woman he did not know.

Staring at the little paragraph in shock, he'd hoped he could just blink, and it would magically fade away, or that his brother would tell him this was all just some sick joke.

And besides that, who the hell was Sophia Beckett?

"You seriously don't know?" Anthony asked, now the one who was confused. And concerned.

"Anthony, I swear, I'm not engaged, and I certainly did not announce one to the public," Benedict replied, his voice almost shaking from the shock of what he'd just read. Praying that his brother would believe him.

But he did. It was Anthony, for crying out loud. His brother knew immediately that he was being truthful with him. The rigid, tense posture relaxed as he shifted from furious Viscount to supportive older brother, recognizing they had been had. The implications of a false engagement on Benedict and their family led Anthony's anger to slowly shift and be directed toward whoever was at fault for this.

"We'll figure this out," he told him gently. "Get dressed. We'll head to the printer's shop and find out what happened."

Benedict groaned as he realized another problem. "I need to explain this to mother."

"We'll tell her on the way," Anthony patted him supportively on the shoulder. "Get dressed. Come on."

After hastily dressing, Benedict departed from his lodgings with his brother, not even bothering to shave as they were in too much of a rush. He hopped into the carriage behind his brother, spending the entire trip feeling as if he'd throw up his heart, given it felt as if it was sitting in his throat now, beating wildly. He wouldn't even look out the window, couldn't actually. He feared someone would recognize him from behind the glass.

His anxieties got the better of him as they traveled the short distance to Number 5. His mind was overwhelmed by guilt and worry. How on earth was he supposed to explain this to his mother? God, she must have been furious with him.

They entered the home quickly once they'd arrived, and Benedict found his mother pacing the front foyer, rambling to herself. Kate was there as well, and it was apparent she'd spent the past God knows how many minutes trying to calm her down as his youngest siblings were perched on the stairs, watching the scene unfold.

"Benedict!" his mother cried out as she spotted him, rushing towards him.

"Here we go," Benedict muttered.

"Good luck," Anthony whispered, patting him on the back as their mother stopped in front of them.

"How could you not tell me?" was the first question out of his mother's mouth, voice laced with pain and a distraught look on her face that tugged at Benedict's heart. He hated upsetting her.

"Mother, I-" Benedict started.

"Did you truly believe I would be against this?"

"No, I just-"

"Have I offended you somehow? Made you believe I would not support you?"

"Of course not. Mother, this is just some-"

"What did I do to make you believe you had to go behind my back?"

"Mother, I swear I-"

"I never wanted any of you to believe you had to keep your love for another to yourself. If you had just come to me, Benedict, I would have been more than welcome to give you my blessing. I could care less if Miss Beckett is a ward. If you are in love with her, then you have my full support," his mother rambled on.

"Mother. Mother!" Benedict placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "I'm not getting married. I do not even know the woman."

"Oh!" his mother looked momentarily surprised at the news, bright blue eyes wide, before she blinked at him, then frowned. "But there is an announcement."

"Which I assure you, I did not make," Benedict explained.

"Well, then, who on earth did?" she loudly asked, aghast now.

"That is something we would all like to know," Anthony replied. He'd gone to stand by his wife now, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

"I have no idea," Benedict said, answering his mother's question. "Anthony and I are going to the printer's shop today to figure out how this happened. We'll get them to retract it. I promise."

"Well, it's a little late for that now," his mother told him with a little huff. "And even if we can get a statement out to reverse this, we'll have to figure out a way to explain what's happened."

"Thankfully, Whistledown arrived before the newspaper did," Hyacinth said.

"Even she did not know," Gregory added.

"Well, Whistledown won't be able to know anything since there is no truth to any of this," Benedict replied quickly, his aggravation over the entire situation leaking out through his tone. He turned towards his mother. "Sophia Beckett. Have you ever heard of Penwood having a ward?"

"There were whispers a few years back. That a child was living at Penwood Park. The earl's mother allegedly said he'd taken in a distant cousin's daughter before she died, but it was never confirmed. No one ever saw or met this ward of his. And Lord Gunningworth was never an approachable man, so I do not believe anyone ever asked him to confirm it," his mother told him. "The only children I know of are the late earl's stepchildren."

"The Reiling girls, yes, I remember them," Benedict supplied, recalling his visit to Penwood House in search of his mysterious dancing partner. He tried not to shudder, recalling his interactions with the eldest Reiling and her mother. The entire interaction had been a waste of time, and he had left with no interest in spending time with them again.

His mother frowned. "If anyone would falsify an engagement announcement for their own benefit, it would be Lady Penwood. There were rumors she did that to Lord Gunningworth to guarantee his proposal, but I'm surprised she did not use one of her daughters. If it was her, that is."

"I never met or saw this Miss Beckett when I visited. I don't even recall her being mentioned," Benedict told her.

He'd only met the two Reiling girls, quickly dismissing them both once he realized neither was the woman he was searching for. And when he thought about it, Lady Penwood had told him herself that no other ladies were living in Penwood House besides the staff.

"She may have remained in the county after her guardian's death," Anthony suggested. "If she even exists."

"Maybe we get lucky, and she doesn't," Hyacinth supplied.

"If someone went to the trouble of falsifying an engagement announcement, I doubt they'd give the name of someone who never existed," Kate replied. "Even if that would make all of this much simpler."

His mother hummed. She had her scheming face now. That was never a good sign.

"It may be beneficial, as much as I hate to say this, to invite Lady Penwood and Miss Beckett here," his mother replied. "We will be able to confirm Miss Beckett's existence. And while I would rather not have that woman in this home, we may be able to learn more about how this all happened. If we feign ignorance."

"If you are willing to extend the invitation while Benedict and I will head to the printer's shop now, then it's settled," Anthony said.

Benedict took a deep breath. Today was undoubtedly going to be an adventure. And he still had yet to fully recover from his hangover.

He could only assume that this Miss Beckett, wherever she was, was having a more enjoyable morning than he was.

~~~

Sophie had been stuck in the downstairs closest for roughly two hours now.

She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been in the closet. She'd gotten tired of trying to keep track of the time as she sat cross-legged on the floor in the dark, waiting for Araminta to decide she could be let out again. It always got incredibly dull when she was locked in one of the closets as punishment, her thoughts her only company.

Suffice to say, her stepmother had not taken the news well. Storming down the stairs like a bat out of hell, screaming like a banshee at her. Accusing her of being ungrateful, of ruining her daughters, and being a whore like her dead mother (for which Sophie got slapped across the face after trying to defend her). After she was done screaming, Araminta had trapped her in the closet while she tried to figure out what to do with her. She'd screamed about throwing her out of the home and onto the streets, but Sophie had heard that threat too many times before for it to have an effect on her. There was no one else in London Araminta could get to work as a maid, gardener, tailor, and whatever else she needed Sophie to be for the simple fee of nothing at all.

Not that Sophie was prepared to leave. She always had been, but when you worked for nothing, she was left with nothing. No way of supporting her escape.

Yet somehow, through all of this, Araminta still hadn't figured out Sophie had snuck out two months ago to attend a ball. The scuffed silver shoes she'd borrowed were still hidden in the back of her stepmother's closet. She had that, at least.

So, as she sat on the floor of the closet, fiddling with a loose string on her old dress, Sophie waited for someone to come unlock the door. Going through her unattainable escape plan once again. Nothing but a fantasy, just like Benedict Bridgerton was.

Benedict Bridgerton. The man she spent such a wondrous evening with. Who made her heart flutter whenever she thought about him and of whom she'd spent many evenings dreaming about.

And now her name was in the paper next to his. Announcing an impending marriage.

Which was impossible. She hadn't seen him since that night. Not once. They'd become nothing more than two ships passing in the night. A man who did not even know her name. A man she'd already come to terms with, never seeing him again.

She sighed. This was a nightmare. Her dreams and fantasies had somehow become her personal nightmare.

The lock shifted suddenly, moving from its place in the door frame and snapping her from her anxious thoughts. Sophie stumbled to her feet, realizing the door was finally unlocked and opened. Light pooled into the room once again.

And revealing a still furious-looking Araminta on the other side of the door. Who sneered at Sophie when she saw her before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"We have been invited to the Bridgertons for tea."

Her eyes opened again as she said the last sentence and snapped to Sophie. She glared at her with such anger and disgust that Sophie flinched back from it, wishing to be anywhere but here.

"I'm sorry?" Sophie bleated out, confused.

"Rosamund will give you one of her dresses since I doubt you will fit into any of Posy's, and then we will depart. Now go! Get dressed," she ordered curtly, stepping back so Sophie could exit the closet. "You will come with me, and you will say nothing. Nothing. Do you hear me? You have done enough damage, and I will not risk you ruining any chances of Rosamund finding a match. I will handle this. See how I can convince the Bridgertons to break this insulting pairing." She scoffed, shaking her head in disgust as Sophie stepped past her and into the hallway. "To think you thought you had a chance with one of them. How pathetic."

Clenching her jaw and her fists, her nails digging crescent-shaped moons into her palms, the only thing she had to ground her, Sophie took a deep breath through gritted teeth. She focused on trying to ignore how her stomach tightened at the jab. She wouldn't let it linger. She wouldn't. No matter how deep the knife felt.

She was well aware that she had nothing to bring to this match. Her stepmother did not need to remind her.

Straightening her back out, and ignoring the insult, as she had done for years now, she turned to face her.

"Anything else you would like me to do, Lady Penwood?" she asked politely, forcing a smile.

Araminta only sneered, her lip curling upwards. "Make yourself look presentable. That is the least you can do for me. We leave for the Bridgertons in an hour."

~~~

The printer's shop had been a dead end. The owner had refused their demands for answers, for explanations as to how Benedict's name had ended up in his paper next to a woman he did not know. Even Anthony's threats of libel and ruin did nothing to curb the owner's resolve.

"It ain't false unless they don't get married," he told them gruffly. Adding to the insult, he'd then informed them a retraction would cost them quite some coin.

A lot.

Anthony made clear there would be consequences, regardless, before they took their leave. Finding no other reason to stick around and argue any further. Benedict had briefly contemplated waiting, noticing how skittish the printer's assistant looked as he worked in the background. He watched them with a guilty look as they spoke with his employer, and Benedict wondered if the man had more information. Information he was willing to provide.

But they'd decided to try again later, knowing they had to be home in case there was a visit from the members of Penwood House. They could find out if their mother had learned anything new in their absence.

And their mother informed them that, yes, Miss Beckett did, in fact, exist and would be arriving upon the hour with Lady Penwood.

Which was enough time for Benedict to down two glasses of whiskey just to keep his strength up.

Christ, he had no idea what to do.

And he was angry. The shock of waking up to find himself engaged had slowly turned into annoyance and then rage as the day continued. He was furious that someone would force him into a marriage. It made him think about Nigel Berbrooke and what he'd tried with Daphne, which only made him even angrier when he remembered that slight. Against his sister, no less. And that had been years ago now.

Not to mention, he'd already found the love of his life, the mysterious Lady in Silver. The woman who had captured his heart in one evening and then ran off with it when the clock struck twelve, disappearing into the night. He was still searching for her, and now he may never even be able to be with her even if he did find her.

So, he was angry. With Miss Beckett. With the printer's shop. With whoever the hell it had been to put that announcement in the paper in the first place.

His mother had tried to keep him calm, pulling him into a comforting, maternal hug when she saw him step out of his brother's office. He went willingly, a small part of him needing the validation, support, and comfort his mother offered.

"We'll figure this out," she whispered. "If I didn't let your sister marry that god-awful Berbrooke, I won't let you marry someone you do not wish to either."

"I know," he replied.

Then she pulled away, moving to cup his cheeks in her hands as she rubbed circles over them with her thumbs.

"I'm sorry," he tells her again, his shoulders sagging.

"Oh hush, you have nothing to apologize for," she tells him, letting the words linger for a few seconds before she drops her hands from his face. "Lady Penwood should be here soon. Am I correct in my assumption you will be on your best behavior?" she gave him a knowing look as she said that part, one dark brow raised.

Benedict huffed a laugh, trying not to roll his eyes. "Of course, mother."

His mother only smiled again, reaching out to rub his cheek once more.

"Behave," she warned, and he nodded.

He was somehow able to keep his anger in check as he waited for the arrival of his apparent fiancee, Miss Sophia Beckett.

The entire time they were waiting, he could only think the worst of her. The most likely ulterior motives she must have had. A country-raised woman, an orphan, a ward who probably had only a meager dowry. Most likely seeking out his family's wealth and status to uplift her own. He didn't know if she was younger or older than him. No idea what her likes were or her personality. If she was anything like the elder Reiling sister, Benedict doubted they'd get along.

And then, she arrived.

And he realized he may have rushed to conclusions.

Because, frankly, she didn't look to him to have been the one to cause this. Didn't look a thing like the image he'd created in his mind.

She was young, petite, probably a foot shorter than him, wearing pale green and white, although the gown appeared to run rather big on her. The bottom of the gown's skirt dragged across the floor as if it hadn't been altered correctly, the sleeves barely hanging onto her thin arms or covering her shoulders.

Her features were fairy-like, sharp but soft. Enough that drew him towards her like a moth to a flame. A look of innocence. Ringlet curls pinned back into a bun, the curls falling around the bottom like a fringe of a curtain, with the shorter ones framing her face. And her eyes were the color of emeralds. Round and weary of the surroundings around her.

Benedict had to admit. She was quite beautiful.

And almost familiar. A feeling of deja vu swept over him as he studied her. They couldn't possibly have met before.

She was nervous, fiddling with the tips of her gloves as she lingered behind Lady Penwood during the introductions, as if trying to hide, keeping herself out of sight.

"Lord Bridgerton and Lady Violet!" Lady Penwood exclaimed cheerfully as she entered; however, Benedict had seen enough forced smiles in his lifetime to know the woman was not happy to be here.

"Lady Araminta. How are you?" his mother replied, with an equal matching forced politeness to that of the countess, sounding as if she was being reunited with an old friend when he knew her feelings to be the complete opposite.

"My sincerest apologies for all of this," the countess replied with a wave of the hand. "You must understand, we have no idea how any of this has happened."

"Oh, I would never dare to assume. I'm certain this is nothing more than some cruel prank," Violet returned with a sharp smile. Her pale eyes drifted over Araminta's shoulder to the young Miss Beckett standing quietly behind her. "And you must be Miss Beckett."

The young lady curtsied. "Your ladyship."

"This must have been such a surprise for you," Violet told her. "Getting dragged into all of this. I doubt it was what you expected when you woke up this morning."

Miss Beckett opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Araminta, who went as far to step in front of her, blocking their view as she began to talk instead.

"You must understand, Sophia has never been the smartest young woman. I've personally never understood why my late husband took her in, but I know she'd never ever be stupid enough to force a gentleman's hand. You see, she only just arrived in town," the countess said.

Benedict frowned. The tone had been polite, but there was a pointed jab directed at Sophie when Araminta spoke, anger hidden between the words. And Sophie only flinched as she spoke, shrinking back and away from them. A look on her face that said she wished to just disappear.

Araminta's icy eyes finally fell on him.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she smiled, her wolfish smile. Teeth and all. "I feel I must personally apologize for you being dragged into all of this."

He nodded his bow. "There is no need to apologize, Lady Penwood. I'm certain we can resolve this amongst ourselves. And quickly."

"Why don't we discuss this all in the parlor?" Violet suggested.

Araminta quickly agreed and followed his mother into the parlor, his brother close behind them, but Benedict found his feet suddenly rooted to the ground. Unable to move. Frankly, he didn't want to. Going into the parlor meant handling this god-awful affair, and he was just too tired to deal with it right now.

And it appeared Miss Sophie felt the same. She hadn't moved from the front hall either, still standing a short distance away. Leaving them both standing there, awkwardly and alone.

"I do not believe we were properly introduced," he told her, giving a short bow. "Benedict Bridgerton."

"Sophie. Sophie Beckett," she replied with another quick curtsy. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Bridgerton. I swear, I had nothing to do with this."

He believed her. He hardly knew her, yet something told him he could trust her. There was a strange familiarity about her like he'd met her before, but he couldn't place were. And the sincerity in her voice, the worry in her round doe eyes, she was not lying to him.

"I believe you," he told her.

She blinked. "You do?"

"If anything, I should apologize to you," he told her. "I doubt this has been an enjoyable experience for you. And after you just arrived."

"Yes, I suppose it hasn't," she replied rather weakly.

He knew her. He had to. She seemed so familiar, and yet he couldn't place were. Her curls and eyes, her voice, those soft, plump lips, he could have sworn he'd met her once.

"Shall we?" he motioned towards the parlor, and she nodded.

He'd figure it out.

~~~

You could hear a pin drop. That was how silent it had become.

And the silence was going to kill Sophie. As she sat next to Araminta on the robin eggs blue and gold settee, across from Benedict, his mother, and brother, who all sat on the matching pair, all it did was aggravate her already high level of anxiety.

No one was speaking. A standoff over who would speak first had been going on since they first entered the room and took their seats.

It was apparent the Bridgertons were suspicious of them and that they did not particularly like them either. Not that they didn't have a reason not to be. Lord Anthony Bridgerton stoically sat next to his mother, watching them both intently with a severe expression. His mother, Violet, had kept a more polite and cheerful facade.

And Benedict.

Benedict looked increasingly uncomfortable like he'd eaten something that hadn't sat well with him.

She'd barely exchanged another word with him since their brief introduction.

Not that she'd been able to. Araminta kept answering for her whenever one of the Bridgertons asked her a question.

"I did not know the earl had a ward," Violet said suddenly with a forced cheery voice. Trying to start a conversation.

"I spent most of my life in the country," Sophie quickly lied, smiling politely back.

"His lordship did not see it fit for Sophie to mingle with the ton. What with her background being as low as it is," Araminta added.

Her smile faltered for a second, but Sophie was able to keep it up, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could leave.

But she had not gone unnoticed by Lady Violet. The older woman frowned with concern as she watched Sophie slowly shrink in on herself, trying to look smaller.

"Still, I doubt that should have been a barrier," she remarked, her pale eyes snapping back towards Araminta.

"Is there anyone you can think of who might have done this?" Anthony interjected, getting back to the point at hand.

"Of course not, Lord Bridgerton," Araminta replied. "My best guess is someone wished to bring scandal to both our names. For all I know, it could have been Whistledown, trying to create her own drama to write about."

"Unlikely, given her pamphlet today made no mention of my family and any recent engagements," Anthony replied.

"She most likely will tomorrow, though," Araminta said back.

"Yes, now that she knows, along with the rest of the city," Anthony responded tightly with an unimpressed look. It was apparent he was not happy with the responses Araminta was giving.

"It may be best for us all to figure out how we will be handling this moving forward. We can focus on who is behind all of this later," Violet said this time.

"Well, it seems rather simple to me," Araminta retorted. "We just informed the printer to report the engagement is now off."

There was a loose string on the wrist of the lace glove Sophie borrowed from Rosamund. An old pair she hadn't worn in years, and Sophie couldn't help but fiddle with the thin string hanging off from the fabric, rolling it between her thumb and index finger as she only half listened to the conversation.

"There will be talk, of course," Violet told them. "But we should be able to make this work out in our favor. Make this look amicable on both parts."

"A few public appearances here and there, and if we all stay to the same story when someone asks, I'm sure we can keep the rest of the ton off our backs," Anthony added.

"My daughters will be more than welcome to help," Araminta told them with a genuine, excited smile. "Sophie will unfortunately be returning to the country at the end of this week, but I'm sure we can make it work without her."

More like the broom closet of Penwood House.

But Sophie didn't like the look that crossed her stepmother's face. Her stepmother had just been told the Bridgertons would willingly interact with her and in public, no less. Sophie suspected she was already scheming to figure out a way to make this benefit her and Rosamund.

"Well," Sophie turned back towards Violet, who was speaking, and gave her a sympathetic smile. "It will certainly be much quieter in the country."

"Yes, yes, she's incredibly lucky," Araminta added, with an edge in her voice only Sophie could recognize.

Maybe it wasn't the broom closet she was being sent to.

~~~

After conceiving the story they would be using, the Bridgertons having decided they would be the ones to go to the printer's shop to have the announcement made, Sophie was preparing to leave with Araminta. Lady Violet, the only one who had followed them to the carriage to see them off, while her sons remained standing on the front steps, watching them.

Sophie curtsied quickly to the dowager viscountess. "Thank you for hosting us, Lady Violet."

"Oh, it was no worry. It was lovely to meet you. Safe travels back," Lady Violet replied, speaking to her and only her as Araminta seemed to wish to be anywhere else, speaking with the carriage driver.

"Miss Beckett?" a voice called out behind her. A voice Sophie recognized.

Sophie turned and blinked in surprise as she found a familiar face coming towards her.

"John?" she tilted her head towards the side.

Dressed in similar lilac-colored uniforms as the other Bridgerton footmen, wig and all, was John Baker, the son of her father's butler. His family had worked for his father until he'd passed; his mother was one of the maids, and John had been assigned to the stables when he'd gotten old enough to be able to do manual labor. After Sophie's father died, the Bakers had taken their final payment and a letter of recommendation before leaving for London, having no interest in working for Araminta now that the earl was gone.

"You two know each other?" Lady Violet asked, glancing between the pair.

"Um, we were friends when we were children," Sophie told her quickly.

John nodded. "My family worked for the Earl of Penwood, your ladyship."

John had been a few years older than her but was one of the only children close enough in age for her to play with, given she wasn't allowed to interact with the children from the village. They'd chased each other around the grounds of Penwood Park when they were very little. John was one of the few to keep her company, given her father, stepmother, and stepsisters had never given her any.

Sophie had run into John the month prior at the markets one morning, recognizing her old friend when he'd been on his off day and not wearing his uniform she saw him in now. He'd been equally surprised to see her in London and to see her dressed as a maid, no less. At first, she'd done her best to hide what had happened since he'd left with his family, but John had caught on quickly to what Araminta had done to her.

They'd chatted while she went through the market, purchasing the items Miss Gibbons had sent her out to fetch, and during it, she may have finally admitted to her old friend everything that had happened. Everything Araminta had done since her father died, up to the night she'd slipped out without anyone noticing, to attend a ball.

"I did not realize you worked for the Gunningworths," Violet replied to John, looking surprised.

"My parents took a position in the city after his death. To be closer to my mother's family," John told her. "Miss Beckett and I have not seen each other for quite some time now."

"You look well, John," Sophie remarked, giving him a smile.

"As do you," John replied. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Oh, just fixing some small miscommunication. I believe it's all been settled," Sophie shrugged off nervously, not sure whether she should disclose what had happened to him in front of his current employer.

"Yes, it's all been settled now," Lady Violet smiled. "It was wonderful to meet you, Sophie, even under rather stressful circumstances."

"Come, Sophie," Araminta ordered curtly from where she stood by the carriage. "Let's go."

"You're leaving already?" John asked, seeming confused before glancing back to where the elder Bridgerton sons were standing.

"Well, we did settle everything we needed to," Sophie told him politely.

"Sophia!" Araminta snapped from the carriage. "Now!"

Sophie cringed, while Lady Violet only raised a brow at Araminta's curt orders but said nothing. She stepped aside so that Sophie could leave.

Reaching out to grab the carriage door, knowing Araminta wouldn't hold it for her and the driver had already climbed up onto his seat, an arm reached out past her and grabbed it before she could even place her hand on it.

"No, here," John stepped forward. "Let me get that for you."

~~~

They had yet to leave.

After all the polite chatting and planning, Benedict was exhausted. The whole situation was exhausting, and now he was stuck playing niceties with the Reiling girls for the next few weeks.

He just wanted them gone. The Countess and Sophie.

And they looked about to see if his mother would finish her conversation with Sophie. Even the Countess appeared to have the same feeling about him, looking rather bored and impatient as his mother saw them off.

He impatiently tapped his foot against the ground enough that his brother quietly admonished him to stop. He couldn't help it. He just wanted the day to be over. And they were so close. The seconds felt like agonizing hours as Benedict waited.

And then Footman John appeared. Benedict frowned, watching the man greet Sophie like she was an old friend, and by the looks of it, they seemed to know each other. Strange. How on earth did they know one another?

The pair chatted happily together, briefly, as his mother seemed to ask a few questions before the countess ordered Sophie into the carriage. That they were leaving.

Finally.

But then, Footman John stepped forward and moved his arm up to hold the carriage door open for Sophie, covering the top part of her face. Given her height, only her nose and jaw could be seen as she turned to thank him.

It felt like the floor gave out under him.

Benedict froze. His heart stuttered as it almost stopped completely in his chest. It couldn't be.

He knew that jaw. Those lips. He'd drawn it a thousand times. Seen in his dreams, found himself haunted by it and been practically tormented by it as the image followed his thoughts while he drifted through the days listlessly in search of her. As it became more and more apparent, he would never find her.

Until now.

It couldn't be her. It wasn't possible.

The Lady in Silver.

She was here. She had been here the entire afternoon. Standing right in front of him, he hadn't realized.

No wonder he thought he knew her from somewhere. His heart had been yelling at him the entire time she'd stood before him, and his mind had never caught on to it. Never put two and two together. But the pieces had finally fallen into place.

And she was leaving. If he didn't stop her, he was going to lose her again.

"Wait!" he yelled, rushing down the stairs.

"Benedict?" he heard his mother say, alarmed, as he raced towards the carriage, hastily moving past her.

"Wait!" he yelled again, grabbing at the carriage door to prevent them from leaving. John, thankfully, stepped aside in surprise, giving him the space he needed.

"Mr. Bridgerton, what on earth–?" Lady Penwood started from inside the carriage, but he wasn't focused on her. He was too focused on the woman standing outside it, staring up at him with wide, petrified eyes, to care about the countess.

"It's you," he breathed out.

"I'm sorry?" Sophie blinked at him, confused.

"That night. Two months ago. The Lady in Silver. That's you," he said, watching as her wide eyes somehow widened further.

"I-I have n-no idea what you are talking about," she nervously stuttered.

"I've spent the past two months searching day and night for you, and here you are," he huffed a laugh, still in disbelief. "All this time, and I never realized."

"What do you mean you've met before?" Araminta snapped from inside the carriage. "Sophie. What is the meaning of this?"

The fearful look that flashed over Sophie's face as she glanced back toward the countess had tugged something within Benedict, making him ready to put himself directly in between them if necessary.

"I-I… It's nothing, your ladyship. He's just confused," Sophie quickly told her.

And then he realized. Two months. It had been two months since he'd seen her. But the countess had said she'd just arrived in the city that week. That she'd been in the county since the season began.

The countess, who was the same woman that had told him, to his face, that no other woman lived at Penwood House. No one but the staff.

"You've been here all this time?" he said, and Sophie looked back at him. "How?"

"Because she's a maid," Footman John said quietly next to him and he looked at the man with alarm. "Lady Penwood forced her to be her servant after the late earl passed."

The staff. She'd said no other woman lived in the house except staff.

"She what?" his mother asked, aghast, having approached from behind him.

"I did nothing of the sort," Araminta shot at them defensively. "She's been living at Penwood Park. The new lord cares for her out of the kindness of his own heart after my late husband left her nothing."

"He left her an inheritance. A dowry," John corrected, eyes dark as he glared at the countess. "To be managed until she turned twenty, after which the solicitor would help her manage it until she married, and it was handed off to her husband. My father saw his will. Multiple times. She'd get four thousand pounds a year after his death, and Sophie hasn't seen a single coin from it in all these years."

"What? I have a what?" Sophie asked quietly, stunned by the news she was only just learning.

"Two thousand pounds a year increased to six if you continued caring for her until she was of age," John grounded out at Araminta. "He didn't trust the new earl to be able to, what with his drinking habits, so he put the clause in to guarantee you would. He thought you'd get her married off quickly, and instead, you forced her into servitude."

"You have no proof," Araminta hissed.

"Is there a copy of this will anywhere?" Violet asked gently.

John shrugged. "The solicitor may have one, but it's been years since I last saw him."

"He left me a dowry?" Sophie said. Benedict finally noticed how pale she'd gone; the color all but vanished from her face. She was shaking.

"Why on earth would you do that to the poor girl?" Violet demanded.

Araminta had decided to finally drop the pleasantries altogether, her worry turning to fierce fury, her lip curling into an ugly sneer.

"Because the girl is nothing more than a bastard," she hissed.

“What?”

“She’s my late husband’s bastard,” Araminta repeated. “The daughter of some whore.”

“Good lord,” Violet gasped quietly at the news, taken a back as well.

Benedict wouldn't deny the surprise he felt at this, followed ever so briefly by concern. Sophie was a bastard? There was nothing to suggest it except, but if the rest of the ton where to discover—

Concern over whether not he could or should be with Sophie, a flash of worry about how his family would handle this, briefly shot through him. He would hate himself later for it, but Benedict hesitated. He hesitated on the idea of being with Sophie.

But when he glanced towards her, seeing she was now shaking, her eyes wide and filled with fear, he knew the only thing he wanted to do was keep her safe. To be by her side. The last thing he cared about was what the rest of society thought about him. All he wanted was to be with her.

"I don't care," he told Araminta, a protective fury building in him now.

The countess was momentarily taken aback by this, faltering briefly before the furious rage returned to her icy eyes.

"You want to marry a bastard, then, by all means, do so. I'm certain the ton will be interested to hear exactly who Sophie Beckett truly is," she hissed.

But Benedict glared furiously back at her, his hand clenched into a tight fist at his side. At that moment in time, he was completely prepared to throw a fist at the countess, but his mother suddenly stepped in front of him.

"You will do no such thing," she snapped.

"You think I'll allow some lowly bastard like her to marry into this society?" Araminta shot back.

"Oh, I think you will. In fact, I think it would be best if you give nothing but your best wishes to pair whenever you are asked," Violet coldly told her. "If this dowry has been mismanaged and withheld from Miss Beckett all these years, then I believe it would be best to investigate where exactly it has gone. Our solicitor will be more than welcome to seek out the truth on this matter."

"You have no proof," Araminta repeated.

"Then I will send word immediately to your late husband's solicitor and the new earl. And I will not stop until I find it," Violet informed her. "I doubt you'll be able to afford that. What with the recent financial difficulties I've heard you've been having. Unpaid debts at the modiste."

Araminta stiffened, revealing his mother's assumptions to be true.

"Your financial difficulties have certainly been the talk of the town lately. I'm surprised Whistledown hasn't pointed out how you have remained in London after the social season was over while the rest of us returned to the country these past few years. Trouble with the new lord?" Violet inquired, knowingly, moving closer to the carriage. "And it is not as if you haven't been without your own accusations. Your last marriage was rather rushed. Wasn't it? I doubt the late earl was happy it left him without a male heir. That was the reason he returned to London that season. And let's not forget your second marriage was done rather hastily, too. If I recall, your eldest was born soon after that? Seven months after your marriage to Lord Reiling. And perfectly healthy, too. Must have been a blessing for you that she took more after you in appearance than her father."

Araminta blanched; mouth open in shock at what Violet had alluded to before white-hot fury flashing in her eyes. "How dare you–"

"How dare I what?" Violet snapped, head held high as she stepped towards the other woman again, and somehow, even as she stood below her due to the carriage, Violet was still able to look down at her. "Remind everyone of old rumors you did nothing to prevent or deny. Three scandalous marriages, Araminta, and not a single whisper. I am more than welcome to point out to the others that you are in no position to cast a stone at my family if you dare to speak out. Your past will certainly help deflect any gossip you direct towards us."

Violet stopped briefly, allowing her threats to linger, watching the shocked and grave expression grow on Araminta's face before continuing. "But I suppose I would be willing to hold my tongue as long as you hold yours."

"B-But, sh-she's…she is a–" Araminta stuttered.

"Daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett last I heard," Violet informed her curtly, the threatening tone having yet to disappear. "And I think, for the benefit of your dwindling reputation, Araminta, that you would be best to remember that."

Araminta was silent, stuck glaring at Violet, who only raised a dark brow back at her as the seconds ticked by.

"Right?" she added, slowly.

After a few additional seconds of silence, Araminta nodded. "Fine," she muttered at her, before glaring at Sophie. "Don't even think about returning to Penwood House. You are no longer welcome there."

"I wasn't welcomed there, to begin with," Sophie quietly retorted back.

"And she certainly has no need to go there, ever again," Violet said to Araminta. "I'd say it was good seeing you, but we both know that would be a lie. Good day, Lady Penwood."

And with that, his mother slammed the carriage door in the countess's stunned, furious face, before turning back towards the pair and smiling. "Well, I believe that settles it. I suppose your brother and I will have to get a special license. Won't we?"

"Have I told you how wonderful of a mother you are?" Benedict smiled.

"Not today, you haven't," his mother replied with a smile of her own.

Benedict leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

"It was no issue, sweetheart," Violet replied. "Now, I need to get in contact with the archbishop. If you would both excuse me."

She quickly departed back into Number 5, with John following close behind, returning to his place by the front door, leaving the pair to watch the Penwood carriage pass by, the cracking of reins and whining of horses before it raced away. Araminta was glowering as she sat within, not daring to glance out the window towards them as the carriage set off. Once it had disappeared around the corner, Benedict glanced back towards Sophie, finding her watching the road with a sullen, anxious look gracing her perfect features.

"What's wrong?" he asked her gently, concerned.

"You really want this?" she asked him, hesitantly. "To marry me."

"Of course, I do," he told her.

"You're better off without me," Sophie told him with a sigh.

Benedict slipped his hand in with hers, stepping closer to her. "I'll be the judge of that."

She gave him a look, her head tilting to the side as her eyes grew sad. "You barely know me."

He brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. "I learned enough about you that night to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he told her, his breath tickling over the skin of her fingers. He smiled. "And if you're that worried, we'll at least have three days to get to know each other better. My mother is an expert at getting special licenses."

“Three days?” Sophie eyes’ almost bugged out of her skull.

He only chuckled. “Well, the announcement was already made. And the less time I have to wait, the better. I don’t believe we need to wait for the banns to be read. Do you?”

Sophie smiled back at him, shaking her head. Slowly, but the corners of her lips pulled upwards eventually. A soft pink hue developed over her cheeks and nose as she blushed. God, she was beautiful.

He pulled her close, linking his arm with hers. "Come. Let's introduce you to everyone else," Benedict told her. "I can finally rub it in their faces that you are in fact very much real, and that I didn't imagine you. It will be quite the surprise for them."

After a moment of lingering hesitance, Sophie linked her arm with him, allowing him to escort her up the front steps and to a far better future than what had once been. Neither one noticing the smile Footman John had as he watched them head inside.

While this writer was certainly surprised to hear about the sudden marriage announcement between Mr. Benedict Bridgerton and a young Miss Sophia Beckett, it appears the couple are so helplessly in love they just could not wait to marry.

This author had heard whispers from Kent of a young ward catching the eye of the eligible second Bridgerton son, but it was a genuine mistake of mine to not investigate it further. You all must forgive me for not reporting it to you sooner, I've just never been interested in gossip from the county. It's always so dreadfully boring the news that comes from there.

Let me at least give my many blessings to the happy couple, and best of luck with the nuptials. Many, including yours truly, are ever so interested in knowing how they met.

But alas, we'll all just have to wait until they return from the honeymoon to learn that story.

– Lady Whistledown Reports

| The Day Before the Announcement |

John knew it was a mistake. Coming here.

He really needed to stop involving himself in the lives of his employers. It was getting out of hand.

But Eloise had begged him to deliver one last letter for her. A final apology was written in the envelope he held clasped in his hand, so she finally ceased caring for Theo, the printer's assistant. He had no idea if it was a good idea if it would help, but he liked Eloise. As brash as she could get with him, she did bring amusement, and he'd felt sorry for how Whistledown had treated her recently.

He'd helped her before. That's why she asked him.

As he entered the printer's shop, John was forced to wait in line behind another scrawny-looking man, who was currently speaking with the shop owner.

"My employer wishes for it to go out tomorrow," the man told him.

"It will cost extra," the shop owner grunted as he skimmed over the small piece of paper. He then scoffed. "What's this? The third marriage announcement from the Bridgertons in the past year? I thought that Viscount was already married?"

John froze, immediately on alert at the mention of his employer's name, and then frowned as he thought over the information he'd heard. A marriage announcement? Not one of the unmarried Bridgertons were engaged. And Lord Bridgerton had only just returned from his honeymoon a few months ago. The man in front of him was certainly not employed in the house either, John would have recognized him.

"Lady Penwood is willing to pay as much as you need," the man retorted, dropping a bag of coin on the counter. "Just get it out tonight, or she'll have my head and yours."

John's frown deepened. Lady Penwood was a name he hadn't heard in years but one he knew always came with trouble. His recent interaction with her stepdaughter, Sophie, had confirmed the suspicions he'd held towards her since the moment his father's old employer had returned to Penwood Park with her.

The shop owner pulled open the small pouch in front of him, giving a quick count of what he could see, and nodded. "Alright. I can get it printed out tonight and sent out in the morning run." He then looked over his shoulder and shouted. "Theo! Get over here!"

The other man nodded his thanks before turning to hastily depart the shop. John confirmed he was undoubtedly not another footman or employee in the Bridgerton house as the man passed him by. Meaning he had to work for Lady Penwood.

And he'd been discussing a marriage announcement. To whom, John had no idea, but he knew it was probably with Lady Penwood's eldest and more favored daughter, Rosamund. A woman John wouldn't wish on any man.

"Get this note sent up for print, and fast, boy," the shop owner told Theo. "I'll be in the back if you need me. You can help the next customer before you get to work."

Theo glanced towards John, eyes widening as he recognized him, while his employer disappeared further back into the shop.

"John, isn't it?" Theo asked once they were alone.

"What was that about the Bridgertons and a marriage announcement?" John demanded quickly, approaching the counter. "None of them are being courted right now, let alone engaged."

His questioning led the young printer's assistant to read over the paper he'd been handed, eyes widening as he recognized the names himself.

"It says Benedict Bridgerton is marrying Rosamund Reilling," he told him, glancing back up. "Benedict is Eloise's older right?"

"Benedict isn't engaged," John informed him harshly, ignoring his question. He knew for a fact he wasn't about to marry. Unless he'd finally found the Lady in Silver, or Sophie Beckett as John had learned, but he would have known by now if he had.

"I believe you," Theo replied softly. "But why would someone do this?"

"To force a marriage to prevent a scandal. It's one of the oldest tricks in the book," John replied, recalling how it had almost happened to the eldest Bridgerton daughter. "The man who was just here was employed by Lady Penwood, Miss Reiling's mother. She most likely wants to force an engagement for her own personal gain. You cannot allow that to be published."

"John, I have a job to do," Theo retorted with a sigh. "If I don't put this in, I'll be let go."

"But it's not true! Your boss is likelier to get stuck with a slander accusation if he publishes it. He'll be ruined," John argued. "You'll cause more harm than good by putting that in."

"I won't lose my job," Theo shot back. "I'm sorry. I really am. I don't want to do this to Eloise's family either, but I've got people counting on me. My hands are tied. Unless you have a better idea, I'm putting this note in tonight."

He opened his mouth to argue further, but John could not think of anything else. Of anything that would convince Theo to throw away the note. He'd been through enough himself, and losing his job, his only source of income would only add to that.

Seeing he had nothing else to say, Theo sighed, telling him to have a good day before heading back towards the large printer to get it set up.

"Wait!"

Theo turned to look at him.

"What if you change the name?" John asked.

Theo thought about it for a second before nodding. "If you have a name I can use instead, I'll probably be able to get away with that."

He did. He knew exactly which name to give.

Oh, but she was going to kill him when she found out. And so were the Bridgertons.

But after the last conversation he'd had with her when he'd seen what had happened to her, John couldn't allow her to stay in that house any longer. And if he was right about what he'd learned from her and what he'd seen from Benedict, this may work out for the best.

And, besides, it was better than being married to Rosamund Reiling.

"Sophia. Put down Sophia Beckett. Here. Give it to me. I'll write it down for you."

#my fics.#did I take the p&p (2005) hand scene for this fic's image #absolutely I did #and am I back again with another fic #lets not talk about that my brain just finally put it together for this one as well #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton #Bridgerton fics

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dailybenophie · 1 year

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This blog is all about An Offer From A Gentleman and everything related to #TeamBenophie! For clarification, we mean Benedict Bridgerton and Sophie Beckett, not Benediction Chumbawumba and his wife - if it's those two that interest you, then we're sorry to say that you're in the wrong place...

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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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