Chapter 1: Penelope Featherington
Chapter Text
Penelope Featherington was late. Or, she was early, depending on how one looked at it. She was so early, in fact, that the sun continued to rise and still casted some shadows she could hide in. Which she would need as she descended her hired coach and made her way back home. Her editor had been late meeting her at the church and while she could normally make it back in time before anyone in the Featherington household woke (even the servants), today she would surely run into someone and have to lie and say she had been out for a walk at such an hour; if it was her mother she’d be reprimanded until the afternoon. Penelope sighed and turned the corner onto another empty street. When she saw the Bridgerton’s Number 5 in the horizon, she knew she’d be home in just a few minutes more. It was a shame that saying she was at Eloise’s would never work; no one would believe her. Her dear friend was not an early riser.
From around the corner, Penelope heard multiple footsteps and a voice and she quickly ducked into the doorway of one of the houses, hidden from view. She looked up at the door and groaned inwardly; it was the odious Araminta Reiling’s home.
But she wouldn’t be hiding at all if it weren’t for the fact that she recognized the voice that was about to round the corner.
“You should let her have her fill,” Benedict Bridgerton’s voice was saying. “You’d be doing her a service, believe me, she thrives on planning these things.”
He appeared then and Penelope realized he was accompanied by Miss Sophie Beckett. Walking towards Number 5, arm in arm, at barely six in the morning. Penelope blushed but smiled despite herself; so he’d finally figured it out, then.
Oh, it had taken Penelope a few days herself but suddenly one night, as if in a fever dream, she’d woken with a start and realized that that is where she’d seen Eloise’s new lady’s maid. At Bridgerton House, some years ago, at a masquerade ball, being swept away by Mr. Benedict Bridgerton. She nearly said something; she knew how long Mr. Bridgerton had longed for his mystery lady, but she knew very well that affairs of the heart were best left to their own devices.
“That is if she still approves of us marrying. Considering you holding me hostage, I can’t imagine what she thinks of me!”
The pair stopped on the front steps of Number 5 and Benedict pulled Sophie in, away from the street and prying eyes that didn’t happen to have the vantage point that Penelope had; right next door.
“I believe my mother will only insist that we marry more now, since I’ve ruined you so.”
Sophie reached up to slap Benedict on the chest.
“That is not funny,” but even Penelope could hear how Sophie’s heart was not in chastising him. “We will already be the talk of the town when everyone finds out you’re marrying the natural daughter of God knows who, never mind if anyone should see us!”
Benedict smiled cheekily and pulled her in flush to his body.
“No one will see us,” he said lowly and Penelope cast her eyes down, embarrassed. She shouldn’t intrude on their private moment but short of jumping out and letting them know she’d been lurking the entire time, she had no choice but to stay where she was.
Penelope had never been kissed, but she could hear the tell-tale signs of lips coming together and then apart, and the happy little sigh that Sophie made.
Penelope couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Miss Beckett. Not over Benedict, of course, but just over the fact that she realized with a pang in her heart that she would never get to share a kiss with the Bridgerton that she loved. Especially not after he’d loudly proclaimed he would never marry her to anyone who would listen.
“Benedict,” Sophie said quietly and now that they were talking, Penelope chanced a glance up. They were close together, touching foreheads; it was a rather sweet scene. “If someone should see us, it will be in Whistledown in no time.”
Penelope’s ears perked up at the mention of her alter ego. Benedict laughed.
“I thought you wanted to be in Whistledown.”
“Not like this!” Sophie chastised and Penelope smiled, Miss Beckett wanted to be written about? The notion made her want to laugh.
“Ah! There you are!” The door to Number 5 had been thrown open and Benedict and Sophie now stood in an open doorway, directly across from Mrs. Bridgerton’s disapproving look. They jumped apart. Even from this distance, Penelope could see Sophie blush bright red.
“I was about to send a search party,” Mrs. Bridgerton said sarcastically.
“I am so, so sorry Mrs. Bridgerton,” Sophie said in a rush. “We lost track of time and-”
“Oh, I don’t blame you, dear. I know how...crafty this one can be.”
Benedict acted offended.
“I’m your son! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Mrs. Bridgerton looked like she had the urge to pull him by the ear.
“Oh, I will tell you exactly what side I am on, now get in here before anyone sees!” She admonished, “the last thing we need is any gossip before the wedding.”
Sophie obediently started moving but Benedict pulled her back.
“Actually, I’m off to speak with Anthony. Catch him up on everything and...ask for his blessing and all that.”
He pulled Sophie’s hand towards his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“I will see you at dinnertime.”
Sophie nodded shyly.
“Make sure Colin comes along for dinner, if you see him,” Mrs. Bridgerton instructed Benedict. “Perhaps the news will inspire him.”
“I would not get your hopes up, mother.”
Mrs. Bridgerton clicked her tongue in disappointment and led Sophie inside by the shoulders, looking up and down the street suspiciously before closing the door to Number 5 behind them.
Nor should Penelope, she thought ruefully. Get her hopes up, that is. Colin was unlikely to marry any time soon. After the incident with Marina he seemed happy to just take off whenever the fancy struck him and as he’d said a few days earlier, he had no intention of marrying any time soon. And certainly not marry her. Penelope sighed as she walked the rest of the way home. At least she could spare herself the heartache of seeing Colin with anyone else. She couldn’t put it off forever, of course, but maybe in a few years’ time she might find a way to steady her heart for the inevitability of Colin falling in love just like Benedict; with someone who is decidedly not Penelope Featherington.
Somehow, Penelope managed to make it inside and into the safety of her bedroom without incident, and she quickly sat down at her desk to write her next column. Had it been anyone else she’d caught walking home that morning, she still would have never reported what she saw. She was not in the business of ruining reputations. Even if it had been the odious Cressida Cowper she saw with a gentleman. But she especially couldn’t do that to the Bridgertons. In time, she would announce the wedding. But the moment she’d witnessed that morning would be a secret to her. Those were the calls she had to make since the day she started her column all those years before. Some calls, she thought; her memories going back to the day she had to break Colin’s heart to save him from Marina’s lies, were more difficult to make than others. Others, like protecting Sophie Beckett and Benedict Bridgerton, were not at all.
There is not much to report as of late, this author is forlorn to say. But one does wonder if this is not merely the calm before the storm. -or in this case, before a scandal.
Chapter Text
If he were asked, Anthony Bridgerton would say that Benedict’s most distinctive quality was his single-mindedness and focus. One merely had to stand in front of Benedict to have his undivided attention. It had made him a wonderful playmate as children; completely dedicated and focused on the task at hand, dedicated solely to whatever game Anthony had invented for them for the day. Unlike, say, Colin who was easily distracted by everything from noises, smells of food or someone pointing and asking ‘what’s that over there?’.
Anthony suspected that it was this unwavering focus and persistence that made Benedict such a good artist. Anthony had no such qualities (that really, all boiled down to patience, which Anthony scoffed at). No, the Viscount was often accused (usually by his mother and his wife) of having his keen eye on everything at once. He could watch ten different things unfold before him and know the details of each one.
Right now, for instance, at the ball he and the family attended, he watched John Stirling dancing a third dance with Francesca; which was inappropriate, of course. If he didn’t propose within the week, Anthony would have to have a talk with him. He watched his wife, some meters away, sitting with the mamas and the chaperones and by the tight look on her face he could tell that she was explaining yet again that she was not well enough to dance, without revealing her condition. Anthony sipped his drink and rolled his eyes at people’s impertinence. They had wanted to wait to announce Kate’s pregnancy until after the season.
In his periphery, he saw Simon and Colin heading to the cards room with drinks in hand; while Penelope Featherington watched them wistfully (and Anthony knew exactly who the mooning was directed towards). His mother pointed out men to Eloise while Eloise rolled her eyes and muttered quickly to her mother; no doubt giving her reasons why her suggestions of eligible men were not eligible at all. And he saw Benedict chatting amiably with Lady Danbury. Which wouldn’t be a problem if not for the fact that across the ballroom he also saw Sophie being cornered, eyes wide in terror, by Phillip Cavender. Benedict, focused only on his immediate conversation with Lady Danbury, was oblivious to what was happening. Sophie was in a corner of the room by the refreshments table, which told Anthony she had been accosted on her way to fetch some lemonade and Anthony reached her in under ten seconds; just in time to see Cavender grasp her wrist forcefully.
“A dance, Sophie?” Anthony cut in, hand proffered towards her. Sophie took the opportunity of Cavender being distracted to wrench her arm free of him.
“Of course, my lord.”
Sophie stepped towards him and before Anthony led them to the dance floor she looked at Cavender, her eyes scared but determined all at once.
“Don’t let my husband see you,” she whispered, threateningly. “I say it for your benefit.”
Cavender glowered but said nothing and once the dance had begun Anthony eyed his sister-in-law with a crease in his brow; equal parts curious and concerned.
“Are you acquainted with Cavender?” He asked her discreetly. Sophie turned bright red and nodded. Anthony had no reason to distrust Sophie; he trusted Benedict’s judgement and Sophie was clearly a sweet and earnest woman but the more he learned about her, the more he realized she came with a secretive past.
“I worked for his parents.”
“I see,” Anthony said, but in truth he did not see at all.
“The night Benedict and I met again in the country,” she said quietly, looking around her to make sure no one was listening, “I was trying to escape the house. That man had...he attacked me,” she whispered.
Anthony cut his eyes towards the corner where Cavender still lurked and he must have looked as murderous as he felt because Sophie gave him a subtle tug as they danced, pulling his attention back towards her.
“Benedict arrived just in time,” she assured him. “It was the fright of my life, of course, but I wasn’t harmed.”
“He’s not fit for polite society,” he bit out.
“He’s not fit for any society,” Sophie agreed immediately. “Benedict will murder him if he sees him here.”
“I can’t say I wouldn’t let him. In fact, I might help.”
“Oh please don’t, my lord,” Sophie begged. “I’ve attracted enough negative attention for your family already on this trip. The last thing I want is a brawl breaking out because of me.”
“It would serve Cavender right.”
“Of course,” she conceded. “But all week everyone’s been looking at me like something they’ve stepped in,” Sophie confessed, sounding crushed and Anthony immediately wanted to apologize but she stopped him. “No, it’s fine. I’m used to it after a life with Araminta but I feel so terrible that people should gossip about Benedict. Or anyone in your family. We should have just stayed in the country,” she said with a regretful shake of her head.
Benedict had written to Anthony to ask his opinion on their trip to London, one year after he and Sophie had married. He asked if he thought it might be too soon, but he also confided that Sophie wanted to go to London for the season.
Anthony’s practical side had wanted to advise Benedict to stay in the country a little longer. Perhaps if Francesca married this year they could come to the wedding; an intimate affair to ease their way into society. But Anthony hadn’t had the heart to disappoint his sister-in-law. He had to confess he had a soft spot for Sophie. Ever since her wedding day, when Anthony had (out of pure good manners) offered to walk her down the aisle. The former lady’s maid had burst into tears and for a moment Anthony feared he’d ruined everything. But then Sophie had sniffed a little, dried her eyes and told him something to the effect of, “I’ve never had a family”.
The words had stuck with him. He knew he was a fortunate man; he was born into wealth and privilege. It never occurred to him to count his horde of siblings as one of his many blessings. He loved them of course, he’d do anything for them, but he’d never stopped to think how empty his life would be without them. From that moment on, he counted Sophie as one of his sisters the way he would Edwina. It was clear that with Sophie’s past, and her gentle nature, she required all the more careful handling.
“I’ll go speak to Cavender,” Anthony informed her when the song finished.
“My lord, please don’t. It’s just one night,” Sophie said in hushed tones. “I will fetch Benedict, tell him I have a headache and we will go.”
Anthony stopped her with an indignant look when they reached the side of the ball room.
“I’ll not have you hiding from that man for the rest of your life, always in fear of when you’ll run into him. We’ll settle this matter at once.”
And without another word Anthony strode over to Phillip Cavender.
Anthony hadn’t so much as gotten one good punch in when Sophie, along with Kate, came running into the private terrace he had lured Cavender to.
“My lord!” Sophie exclaimed, hands flying up to her mouth; while Kate winced. Anthony was almost annoyed that Sophie had gone to fetch Kate, no doubt in an effort to diffuse the situation, but he knew his wife. If she knew the details of what had happened, she’d probably only cheer for him.
“Bloody hell, Bridgerton!” Cavender whined, spitting blood onto the terrace while he fumed. “All this for some social climbing bitch!”
“You’re lucky I’ve not shot you!” Anthony threatened, shoving him hard. “You’re lucky I’ve not told my brother you’ve had the gall to corner his wife or he would have shot you where you stand.”
Cavender only laughed mockingly.
“Benedict isn’t concerned with what his whore wife gets up to. He’s ignored her all evening.”
“Excuse me, sir!” Kate exclaimed, furious. “You will watch your language!”
Anthony reared back, gaining momentum to land another punch that sent Cavender to his knees. From that position, Anthony pulled his arm behind his back, making Cavender howl in pain.
“You will apologize,” Anthony ordered menacingly.
“You must be joking,” that haughty tone still present even through the pain. “I’m not apologizing to a scullery maid!”
“She’s my sister!” Anthony roared. He gave Cavender a shove forward and the man groaned in reluctant agreement.
“And Cavender?” Anthony asked, standing in front of him and crouching to eye level. “Say it like you mean it. Or I’ll make you do it again.”
Sophie looked like she might say it wasn’t necessary that he apologize but in truth, it was. Not that it would erase the awful thing he’d done, but for the mere fact that he should be held accountable for it -on fear of bodily harm.
“I apologize, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he spat with an obvious sneer at her new name. Anthony looked like he might punch him again but he looked to Sophie for further instruction. His sister-in-law looked at the man with contempt.
“I was never a scullery maid,” Sophie replied with her jaw set in righteous anger.
And that seemed to be the end of that.
“Darling, kindly escort Sophie back inside. Mr. Cavender and I are going to have a few words.”
“Of course, my lord,” Kate replied, all feigned sweetness, looping her arm around Sophie’s and guiding her back to the ball.
“Is that the new Whistledown?” Hyacinth asked several days later, while the family took tea at Bridgerton House.
“It is,” Eloise responded, throwing herself sideways into a chair and continuing to read the column.
“Anything of interest?” Sophie inquired. She didn’t often get Whistledown in the country. And when she did, it was always several days late. It was one of the few things she’d found she liked about being back in London.
“Just something dreadfully boring about Phillip Cavender,” Eloise said with a shrug. Sophie watched as Benedict looked up from his sketching book with a glare.
“Don’t mention that name in front of me,” he said sourly.
Sophie, however, couldn’t help herself.
“What does it say?”
“Sophie,” Benedict said in a warning tone.
“You’re not curious?” she asked, eyes large.
Eloise ignored their back and forth and just gave another bored shrug. “It says Mr. Cavender has left quite unexpectedly on a tour of the continent. Apparently Cressida Cowper is furious. She had her cap set at him. No word of when he’ll be back.”
“A few years, I’d say,” Anthony declared from behind his newspaper, looking uninterested in the conversation. Sophie stared at him openly, wondering what on earth had been said the night of the ball that would cause Cavender to flee with such haste. Anthony reached for his tea cup and was barely able to hide a smile. “He will not be missed.”
Notes:
I have several one shots of Anthony's. In some he deals with Benedict, in some with Sophie. But I decided to publish this one first because I always wondered how everything went down when they inevitably ran into Phillip Cavender again. I also love how soft Anthony is around Sophie in TSPWL. She is the Bridgerton's baby and must be protected at all costs.
Chapter 3: Violet Bridgerton
Notes:
Who else was absolutely DESTROYED emotionally by the casting of Edmund Bridgerton? I'm still not over it. Rupert Evans is going to be amazing and the fact that he looks SO MUCH like Luke/Benedict? I'm not going to be ok for a long, long time. In response I wrote this. Hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Violet Bridgerton entered the master bedroom of My Cottage, she had already thoroughly composed herself and schooled her expression to one of gentle calm. It would help no one if she walked into that room looking as nervous and worried as she felt.
“Poor Mrs. Bridgerton has been wailing all night,” Mrs. Crabtree had informed her when Violet descended the carriage some minutes ago. Violet had travelled through the night. The minute she received the note she had set off. Anthony had begged her to wait, of course, but she could not. “Doctor says it’s not a good sign that baby has been so still for days. It should have been here by now. And Mrs. Bridgerton grows weaker.”
“Where is the doctor now?”
“Having a bit of breakfast,” the housekeeper said, “he’s been here all night as well, not had a bite to eat. He says all there is to do now is wait.”
“And Benedict?”
Mrs. Crabtree sighed sadly.
“He’s up there with the missus, m’am. Hasn’t moved from her bedside even though I’ve begged him to.”
And Violet had quickly ascended the stairs to find them.
When she pushed the door open, Benedict was on the floor, sitting with his back against the side of the bed, head thrown back and resting his eyes. She knew he wasn’t sleeping because the minute he heard her walk into the room, he jumped to his feet.
“Mother,” he said confused, probably expecting the doctor. “What are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Crabtree sent word that Sophie is having trouble. How is she?”
Benedict looked down at his wife, who seemed to be in and out of a restless sleep, she whimpered every now and again.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said helplessly. “The entire pregnancy was going well and then she just started growing weaker and weaker.” Benedict dropped to his knees and grabbed Sophie’s hand, he brought it to his lips and just stared at her, eyes wide and full of fear -and tears.
Violet approached her son and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You need to rest, Benedict.”
He was shaking his head before the words were even out.
“No. I want to stay with her.”
Violet’s heart broke for her son. Her most darling, gentlest son. How hard he had fought to be with the woman he loves and how he must feel like it’s all being snatched away from him. She’d give her life to ensure the happiness of any one of her children, but Benedict? She’d do it twice over.
“Darling, there is nothing you can do for her right now. The doctor says we can only wait for her to deliver the baby. You’ll be no help to anyone when that happens if you’re tired and out of sorts.”
Below them, Sophie stirred and Benedict leaned forward and gripped her hand tighter.
“Ben,” she rasped, her voice sounding weak.
“Yes, my love, what do you need?”
Sophie pulled at their joined hands weakly and gave him a sad little smile.
“Do as your mother says,” she said softly.
Benedict shook his head.
“What if you need me?”
“I promise to send for you if I do.”
He hesitated and Violet gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“Go on, Benedict. Have a bath and some breakfast and lay down for a bit. I will get you if anything changes.”
Benedict sighed and pressed a kiss to Sophie’s hand.
“Alright, I’ll go.” He stood and kissed her forehead. “I love you.” He said to her firmly. Then he leaned over and dropped a gentle kiss to her dry lips. “I love you,” he said again.
Sophie sighed and nodded and whispered the same sentiment in return. She watched her husband leave the room through heavy lidded eyes that fell closed the minute he was on the other side of the door.
“I’m so scared,” she confided a few minutes later. Violet pulled up a chair next to the bed and took Sophie’s hand, patting it lovingly.
“I know, darling, I know.”
“My mother died like this,” and the genuine fear in her voice chilled Violet to the bone.
“You will be alright,” she promised although she had no way of keeping such a promise. “The doctor is hopeful that if the baby comes tonight, this will all pass.”
Sophie gave a choked sob.
“I can’t feel him anymore -my baby.”
Violet blinked back tears and wiped back some sweaty hair from Sophie’s forehead.
“Eloise was my most difficult pregnancy,” she said because she didn’t know what else to do or say to comfort Sophie. There was nothing else to do or say. “I was in labor for what seemed like an eternity and I caught a fever right after. There was no one to nurse her immediately. She lived off lemon teas for the first few days of her life. Everyone thought she’d slip away from it.”
Sophie opened her eyes weakly and looked up at Violet; large green eyes boring into hers.
“But you made it. Both of you”
“And you will too,” she said, patting her head soothingly. “Eloise was a menace when she came into the world and she continues to be.” Violet gave a little laugh and she saw Sophie smile a little too. “You will love your baby that much more fiercely because of how you fought to keep you both alive. I am all the better for being Eloise’s mother.”
“If anything happens,” Sophie began and Violet shushed her. But Sophie insisted. “Promise me,” she cleared her throat weakly to speak with more conviction. “Promise me that if it’s a choice between me or the baby, you will save the baby.”
“Sophie...” Violet whispered. Sophie shook her head.
“Please. You must. I can’t ask that of Benedict. He would never do it.”
“I can’t ask that of my son either, Sophie. He loves you so very much.”
“Promise me,” she begged. Violet shook her head.
“I don’t have to,” she said resolutely. “You will both be alright.” She would will it so if she had to.
Hours later, Violet was startled by Sophie letting out a piercing scream.
“What is it?” Violet leapt to her feet immediately. “What’s wrong?”
In response, Sophie screamed again and clutched her belly. Violet hurried to the end of the bed and pulled the sheets back, along with Sophie’s nightgown. An indescribable feeling of relief washed over her when she looked up, beneath the gown -she had birthed enough children to know what she saw.
“Start pushing, Sophie,” she instructed her. “I’m going to fetch the doctor. Your baby is coming.”
“Ben!” Sophie yelled as another wave of pain went through her. “Get Ben!”
Violet nodded and ran out of the room.
Despite Sophie’s request that Benedict be fetched, he was ushered out of the room the minute it was clear the baby was coming. All he wanted to do was fuss over his wife, hover and generally be in the doctor’s way. He was restrained in the hall by Mr. Crabtree while Violet and Mrs. Crabtree assisted in the birth. Given how long it had weakened Sophie, once her child decided it was coming into the world, it arrived with haste.
The doctor discreetly checked the baby’s vitals, while Violet watched nervously and met the doctor’s eye. The man smiled and nodded reassuringly, and as if on cue, Sophie and Benedict’s first born gave a healthy wail.
“Is he-” Sophie panted and sobbed from the head of the bed, “is he alright?”
“He’s perfect,” Violet assured her looking down at her grandchild’s face. He had a mass of thick dark hair and Violet somehow had the premonition that when he opened his eyes, they would be Benedict’s pale greyish-green. Mrs. Crabtree ran to the basin and fetched some wet towels to clean the baby off.
“It’s a boy, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Crabtree announced and Sophie gave a weak laugh.
“I knew it would be,” she said.
“You must rest now, Mrs. Bridgerton,” the doctor informed her some time later. Sophie had been cleaned up, the linens changed and her baby placed into her arms. “If anything changes; a fever, any pain that’s out of the norm, anything at all, fetch me immediately.”
Violet assured him they would and saw him to the bedroom door. The minute the door opened, Benedict nearly pushed the doctor out of the way to run in.
“How is she?” He demanded and then his eyes focused on Sophie who, though tired and sweaty, looked happy and healthy. Benedict ran to her bedside.
“Oh, my darling,” he shook with relief. He kissed the top of her head, her temple, her cheek, anywhere he could reach and then finally looked down at the tiny bundle Sophie held. The sheer love on his face could be seen from across the room.
Mrs. Crabtree smiled and excused herself from the room but Violet hovered by the door, watching with a smile as Sophie moved over on the bed just a little, making room for Benedict to sit next to her.
“Boy or girl?” He asked and Sophie gave him an impish smile.
“Boy. I win.”
Benedict laughed and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.
“I’m always happy to lose to you.”
He reached for his son, and Sophie gently deposited him in Benedict’s arms. He looked down at him reverently.
“He’s very handsome,” Benedict said with mirth and a crooked smile and Violet’s heart leapt to her throat and she was overwhelmed by a sense of deja vu. To hear Benedict say the same joking words her late husband had said to her once, over thirty years ago...Violet smiled as tears filled her eyes because she knew exactly what Sophie was going to reply. It was the same thing she’d replied to Edmund with as he held Benedict the day he was born.
“Of course you think that,” Sophie sighed dreamily and leaned her head against his shoulder. “He looks just like you.”
Notes:
I don't think this needs to be said, but even though I've read the books, I always use the physical descriptions of the actors (Benedict's eye color, for example) because that's now the picture I have in my head. (Except for Sophie, of course who remains uncast so I will use the book description and my own head-canon/fan-casting of what she looks like.)
Chapter 4: Michael Stirling
Notes:
Will you guys believe me if I told you I wrote this by popular demand ages ago and then completely forgot to post it? lol OOPS.
Also, WHWW is the book I've reread least so I'm not exactly sure where in the timeline this falls but, if it doesn't make sense, let's pretend it does. :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In the rare occasions that Michael attended balls and gatherings, he preferred not to dance at all. Although he was usually forced to, given that it would be incredibly bad form to be standing around as an eligible gentleman; especially when there were so many ladies waiting for partners. On such occasions, the Bridgerton women were always his pick. In years past, he would ask Francesca; and she would gamely indulge him. Now, with her in mourning and everything that lingered unsaid between them, he found himself offering his hand out to one of the married ladies. It was proper, it was good fun and it saved him from giving any young unmarried lady the wrong impression. His favorite partner was Mrs. Sophie Bridgerton.
Sophie was a wonderful dancer. She was small and graceful and since she and her husband so rarely made it out of the country, she was always the most genuinely delighted person in the room.
“I hate to leave you just before the waltz,” Michael said as they took their places to start. They were on their second dance of the night and even for her being happily married, it would not look good for them to dance another.
“It’s probably best I sit the next one out. Though I do love a waltz,” she said gamely, bright smile on her face.
“You should dance with your husband.”
Sophie pursed her lips, sourly.
“Mr. Bridgerton and I are in a tiff.”
“Oh?” Now, Michael was interested. Benedict and Sophie Bridgerton’s love story was the stuff of fairy tales in the Bridgerton family. Michael himself had been given what was apparently the short version. It involved masquerades, kisses at midnight, two years of searching for each other, an evil step mother and a glass slipper. Perhaps he’d imagined that last one; but it certainly wouldn’t have been out of place.
“You should dance with Francesca.”
Michael narrowed his eyes at the small woman.
“She’s in mourning.”
“She’s in blue.”
“Still.”
“You should tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
Sophie stared at him, a perfect little brow arched up. Michael felt himself flushing.
“You know?”
“Oh please. I wrote the book on pining over someone.”
Michael gave her a sly look.
“I thought Penelope Featherington wrote that book.”
Sophie gave a nervous laugh. So he hadn’t imagined Miss Featherington’s attachment to Colin Bridgerton. It was written all over Sophie’s face and women usually knew about those types of things.
“Very well, I’ll grant you that perhaps she wrote the longest book on the topic.”
“Tell me about what Benedict has done to upset you.” He endeavored to change the subject before it returned to him and Frannie.
“Good of you to assume it is his fault,” Sophie said, thoroughly satisfied. Michael shrugged, he knew a thing or two about women.
“The sweetest, most patient woman of my acquaintance couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong.”
“Alright, now you’re laying it on a bit too thick,” she told him with narrowed eyes.
“Well?”
“It’s silly, really,” she admitted, shaking her head. “And I’m not that upset with him. But he must learn his lesson.”
Now, Michael was beginning to catch on and he suspected something was afoot. Something that involved him.
“Which you will teach him by dancing with me?”
Sophie smiled mischievously.
Michael feigned offense. “You wound me, Mrs. Bridgerton. I’ve never felt so used.”
“Oh, I’ll release you soon, don’t worry. I know my husband. He’s stewing in some corner right now. He’ll be here to whisk me away before the song is even over.”
And sure enough, Michael hadn’t finished bowing as the song finished, when Benedict Bridgerton had appeared at Sophie’s side. Michael was taller, but Benedict was more broadly built and he somehow managed to loom over the pair.
“If you’ll excuse me, Stirling. I require my wife.”
“Technically you should call him my lord now,” Sophie pointed out sweetly. Benedict looked like he might throttle Michael in lieu of ever placing hands on his wife. Michael bowed out of the scene and went to stand next to Lord and Lady Bridgerton on the side of the ballroom.
He watched Sophie and Benedict talk to one another in hushed tones. Well, Benedict was mostly talking, trying to look neutral and composed while Sophie (not trained for pretense like the rest of the ton) stuck her chin out petulantly and mostly ignoring him. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the ballroom. Benedict reached out to grab her skirts but missed, cursed and then ran after her. Beside him, Michael heard Kate Bridgerton giggle.
“Should we be worried?” He asked, realizing she too had been watching the scene unfold.
“Oh no,” she said shaking her head vehemently. “They’ll be perfectly alright.”
“Sophie looked angry.”
“She did, didn’t she?” Kate sipped her drink.
“Clearly you know something I don’t. Out with it.”
“Michael, I don’t have all night to explain all the things you don’t know,” Kate said sweetly.
He narrowed his eyes at her. Kate laughed and relented.
“Oh alright, Benedict is in a bit of hot water after some...incident regarding a barmaid in the village.”
Michael faltered, eyes wide. “He didn’t-”
“Stray? Oh of course not,” Kate waved him off. “Benedict wouldn’t dream of it. I think it was just a wandering eye and Sophie’s not really that angry, but-”
“She wants to teach him a lesson,” Michael finished, laughing a little.
“It’s only right,” Kate declared.
“She wanted to make him jealous in return.” And Michael, he realized, was the chosen one to incite that jealousy. He wanted to laugh. The Bridgerton men were famously devoted to their wives. It was nothing short of outrageous to think either of them would ever stray. A wandering eye towards a well-endowed barmaid though...well, they were mere mortal men, after all.
“It was my idea, actually,” Kate quipped.
“I’m not surprised by that. I suppose I’m flattered...and always happy to help.”
Kate beamed, proudly and Michael chuckled, extending a hand towards the viscountess.
“A dance?” he offered; but Kate was shaking her head regretfully.
“I can’t. I’m keeping watch.”
“Watch? Of what?”
She glanced slyly towards the door Sophie and Benedict had slipped out of some minutes prior. Michael blinked owlishly.
“They’re not -are they -no!” He wouldn’t have expected that of Benedict and Sophie; not in the house of some acquaintances they barely knew while a ball was taking place. That was the kind of behavior he would expect of, well, himself. He was thoroughly amused. Kate simply sipped her drink, looking prim.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord.”
“Now I know this was your idea in it’s entirety.”
Kate choked on her lemonade and tutted, pushing him out towards the crowd with a shove on his arm.
“You’d better go mingle,” she ordered. “But don’t go wandering about,” she leaned forward to whisper: “especially not near the study.”
Michael went, shaking his head, and lingered for the rest of the night; making idle chatter with a few old friends. He debated taking Sophie's advice and asking Frannie to dance so long, that by the time he had decided to do so, the music was quite over, and Sophie and Benedict Bridgerton had apparently solved their little tiff. Wandering back to the main room with flushed faces and happy, if dazed, smiles.
Notes:
Next, (also by popular demand) I'm thinking....Hyacinth? Or should it be Kate? Let me know!
Chapter 5: Rosamund Reiling
Summary:
Sophie is h0rny when she's pregnant and that's all you need to know.
Notes:
I know. I know. I said I would do Hyacinth or Kate next but...I have no excuses. I simply finished editing this one first.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rosamund always thought it was unlikely that she would never see Sophie Beckett again. And in a way, she hadn’t. She would never see Sophie Beckett again. Instead, the woman that was standing before her at Hyde Park was Sophie Bridgerton. She almost scoffed at the name. The maid, the bastard, had gone and snagged herself a Bridgerton. Her mother had forbidden the topic to be discussed, but sometimes, Rosamund wondered how she’d done it.
Last year, Rosamund had accepted a marriage proposal. It was from an old lord who was closer in age to her father but he was titled and had money. Plus, Araminta hadn’t given her much of a choice. She was going on five-and-twenty at the time, she had long run out of time to be picky. Her life with her husband was dreadfully boring but he mostly left her alone, which she was thankful for. If she had the sheer luck Sophie had, and trapped one of those handsome Bridgertons, she thought petulantly, she would be well and truly happy. Had she really been born so pretty for nothing? For her scullery maid to show up and marry the biggest catch of the ton?
Finally, after glaring at her for what seemed like an age, Sophie turned and their eyes met. For just a moment, she got that panicked, meek look on her face she always got when Rosamund was just about to yell at her about something. But then, in a second, she caught herself, lifted her head just a touch, and looked away.
Rosamund was incensed. What airs the little maid had now that she had a wealthy husband and his powerful family to protect her! Her mother had ordered her to stay away from Sophie and the Bridgertons but Rosamund couldn’t help herself. She found her way towards their tent at the park with a wide, phony smile.
“Sophie!” She called out. Sophie tensed and the Bridgerton sisters, along with the viscountess, all looked in her direction as if a basket of snakes had just been set loose in their tent. “I suppose I should call you Mrs. Bridgerton now.”
Sophie took her time answering, probably insolently relishing leaving her waiting for a reply. She sipped her drink and finally spoke.
“How do you do, Rosamund?”
Rosamund laughed lightly.
“I’m Lady Westfield now,” she informed her. No matter what, she would always have a title and Sophie would not and she could find comfort in that. “I married last year, didn’t you hear?”
“I must have missed it.”
“Of course, with all of your wedding preparations, I’m sure you were very distracted. It was a very short engagement was it not?”
All but a few days, from what Rosamund had heard. Perhaps that was how Sophie had secured Benedict Bridgerton. She seduced him until, out of duty, he agreed to marry her. Women of her position certainly had their ways with men.
“Can we help you with something, Rosamund?” Eloise Bridgerton demanded and Francesca Bridgerton lightly swatted her sister for speaking so plainly to her. “I’m just wondering what we owe your presence to.”
Rosamund glared daggers at the girl.
“I merely wanted to say hello to an old friend. Sophie,” she said turning towards her again, “let us promenade.”
This time, the viscountess stood from her chair.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Rosamund deflated a little. Eloise was eccentric and strange; already well on her way to being an on-the-shelf spinster. But the Viscountess, she could hardly dismiss so easily. And Kate Bridgerton was not backing down. The two women stared at each other until finally, Sophie stepped in.
“Sure. Let’s promenade, Rosamund,” she said. The viscountess shot her a significant look.
“Are you certain, Sophie, dear?” Sophie nodded and Rosamund rolled her eyes. All this coddling over Sophie Beckett like she were some doll made out of fine china and not the scrawny girl that cleaned the chimneys at Penwood House.
“Oh, I assure you I will return her safe and sound!”
“What do you want, Rosamund?” Sophie demanded as soon as they were out of ear shot of the rest of the Bridgerton women. Rosamund kept a bright smile on her face as she looked about the park. A few meters away she saw the Bridgerton men, playing some sort of game with the younger Bridgertons. Sophie’s husband stood taller than the rest of them, a bright smile on his handsome face and Rosamund caught Sophie looking out at him.
“I merely wanted to congratulate you on your marriage,” Rosamund said innocently. “What a catch he is, Sophie.”
Sophie said nothing so Rosamund had to ask what she was dying to know.
“How did you do it?”
This caught Sophie’s attention.
“I beg your pardon?”
“How did you get him to marry you?”
“I didn’t get him to do anything,” Sophie bit out, “we fell in love.”
Rosamund had to laugh.
“Oh please, men like that don’t fall in love with serving wenches!”
Sophie stopped walking then, and turned to look at her.
“I’m sure the concept of love is foreign to someone so willing to sell their soul to an old man for a title and a few pounds. But I assure you, my husband and I are quite in love.”
Rosamund was breathing heavily. If this had been the old days, and Sophie was still a maid in her house, she entertained the idea of slapping her across the face for her insolence. But they were in public, the entire Bridgerton clan a few meters away. The only weapon Rosamund had were her words.
“I’m sure that’s what he’s told you,” she said with a venomous smile. “Just you wait until he grows tired of the slums and he finds a mistress. You’ll be back to washing chamber pots in no time.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes but otherwise showed no reaction.
“Either way he married me; as much as that makes you green with envy,” she said with a little shrug.
“Nonsense!” Rosamund replied still in a cheery tone. “I’m not envious, I’m happy for you!” And then she went for the kill. “You should be commended: You’re married and very much alive. You’ve already turned out so much better than your mother!”
And that got a reaction out of Sophie. She had never had much skill controlling her temper, Rosamund would absolutely relish if she attacked her right here in broad daylight, in front of all of London. For everyone to see the unkempt little beast that had wormed her way into the Bridgerton family.
But all Sophie did was clench her hands into small, tight fists and turn on her heel; she walked away from Rosamund quickly, visibly shaking with rage.
Rosamund was almost disappointed that she hadn’t gotten more of a reaction from Sophie. She watched her stomp away from the crowds towards a gazebo and she had almost declared her work finished but then she noticed Benedict Bridgerton out of the corner of her eye. She saw him mutter something to the viscount and he took off after Sophie, who was already hidden from view on the other side of the gazebo. A few moments later, Benedict was hidden behind the structure too and Rosamund knew she absolutely had to follow.
Everyone had noticed her taking off, leaving Rosamund standing on the path with no goodbye. Perhaps Benedict would tell her off for leaving a woman of a higher title like that. Oh how she wished Sophie had screamed or even stomped her foot at Rosamund’s comment about her mother. An embarrassing temper tantrum would serve the Bridgertons well so they could remember that Sophie was not like them. She was not of their class and she could never be.
Rosamund kept herself hidden behind some tall hedges and she peered between the leaves. Benedict looked angry already, pacing like a lion in a cage and Rosamund smiled. She was sure to delight in this.
“Benedict, don’t,” Sophie pleaded. “It’s not important.”
“Of course it’s important, Sophie!” Benedict nearly growled and he got extremely close to her face, looming over her with his height. But Sophie didn’t look frightened.
“I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken to her at all but I was afraid Kate might actually throw a punch if I didn’t get Rosamund out of there.”
“That terrible woman promised she’d leave you alone.”
“I suppose she didn’t make the promise on behalf of Rosamund,” Sophie said with a little shrug.
“Perhaps we should have stayed in the country.”
“We can’t avoid everyone forever; you said so yourself. We’d have to have faced her eventually. Along with Araminta...”
Benedict was shaking his head in disgust but then Sophie reached out to touch him. She placed a hand on his chest and Benedict visibly calmed. His breathing became more regular, his shoulders relaxed, his hands unclenched. Rosamund furrowed her brow and watched with confusion. What was happening?
“Truly, I’m fine,” Sophie assured him.
“What she said was terrible.”
“Yes. But she can’t hurt me anymore.”
“If she does, I’ll protect you,” he said with a little smile. Sophie laughed and the hand on his chest reached up to rest on his shoulder. Her other hand came up to mirror it.
“My knight in shining armor,” she laughed and threw a glance around them, making sure they were alone, then stood on tip toes to bring their lips together. Rosamund watched, scandalized, as Sophie pushed Benedict by the shoulders a few steps; until his back hit the gazebo, all while they kissed. Benedict chuckled and pulled away from her but his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.
“I’m starting to think this was all a ruse to lure me out here and have your way with me.”
Sophie laughed low in her throat and pressed her lips to her husbands jaw.
“I have been feeling very neglected today,” she pouted. Benedict laughed.
“Need I remind you we entirely missed breakfast this morning, and why!”
“Go on,” she said hoarsely, kissing his lips loudly, “remind me.”
“You’re insatiable,” he murmured against the skin of her neck. Sophie gripped him like she were holding on for dear life.
“You made me like this,” she whispered and Benedict leaned back to smile a wicked crooked smile at his wife.
“When the baby comes, and you’re still pinning me up most indecently against gazebos, what then, Mrs. Bridgerton?”
“Then I suppose I’ll just have to admit the whole ‘pregnancy hormones’ thing was just an excuse to defile my husband at my leisure.”
“You can defile me anytime,” he promised her, his large hand wandered down to her bottom and squeezed. “No excuses necessary.”
Rosamund’s face was on fire. She didn’t know what to do besides turn back and run. She moved her foot and a branch snapped beneath it. She froze and threw one panicked look towards the couple and they stopped; looking around them.
“Perhaps we should go back,” Sophie said, her heart clearly not in the idea.
“Mhmm,” Benedict murmured, pecking her on the lips and taking her hand, “we should go all the way back to Wiltshire where we can be alone every day and we can get back to that topic about defiling me.”
Sophie laughed and nudged his arm with hers.
“We have to stay until Francesca and John’s wedding at the earliest.”
“How long is that?”
“Another week.”
Benedict groaned like a petulant child. Before they could round the corner and be back in view of the park, Benedict gripped Sophie by the waist and pulled her back.
“When we return home, I’m sending the Crabtrees away for two weeks at least. Maybe a month. And then I’ll finally have you all to myself.”
Sophie giggled.
“Alone without the Crabtrees? And who will serve us?”
“I’ll serve you.” He leaned in to kiss her on the lips again; full and urgently and Sophie sighed against the kiss. “God Sophie, I love you.” He pressed another kiss to her mouth, this one sweeter and Sophie smiled.
“I love you, Ben.”
“Come,” he said finally, taking a few deep breaths and pulling her hand again. “Let’s go make sure Kate hasn’t pushed Rosamund into the serpentine yet.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I don’t want to miss it when she does.”
“Benedict!” Sophie admonished, but was laughing despite herself.
Rosamund fumed in the bushes, but it was only when she was home that night, alone in her bedchamber as she was every night, that she thought of anything clever at all she might have said back.
Notes:
Rosamund got a free show lmao jelaous cow
Chapter 6: Kate Bridgerton
Notes:
The long awaited, highly requested Kate chapter! I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations lololol *laughs nervously*
Chapter Text
It had been that decided that Sophie would stay at Bridgerton House while the wedding arrangements took place. The morning after the fiasco at the prison, Kate had taken one look at Sophie from across the parlor at Number 5, as Violet rattled off the list of things to be done in the next three days, and she had swept into action. Poor Sophie had looked so overwhelmed. It was a feeling Kate knew well. She had only had a fortnight to plan her own wedding; she couldn’t imagine the pressure of getting it all done in three days!
“Sophie, dear, why don’t you come stay at Bridgerton House?” she offered. “The wedding will be there and we’re so much closer to all the shops.”
Sophie perked up for the first time all morning and at the sight of it, Violet did too.
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Kate!” Violet exclaimed.
“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” Sophie, ever sweet, asked. Kate was already shaking her head.
“Of course not. I should be glad to have the company.”
Later, when they made their way to Bridgerton House, Kate looped her arm around Sophie’s and said quietly:
“I cannot save you from all the shopping, I’m afraid, but at least at the house you can have some respite and time for yourself.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, relieved. “I know Lady Bridgerton means well but...it’s all just so overwhelming. This morning I asked Benedict if we couldn’t just elope.”
“You absolutely cannot elope!” Kate laughed. “Violet is just so excited to see those sons of hers married off. Three days will fly by and the wedding will be over before you know it. Then comes the best part.”
Sophie smiled shyly; going red at the obvious implication: the honeymoon.
“The marriage, of course,” Kate explained; deadpan and feigning shock. “My, Sophie, whatever were you thinking?”
Both women chuckled as they entered Bridgerton House.
The morning of the wedding, Kate stood in one of the rooms of Bridgerton House, near the gardens, choosing ribbon that would eventually go on floral arrangements. She was no more adept at it than Sophie was (actually, Sophie was far better at all this than her) but Sophie wouldn’t exit her bedroom for at least another half hour, and Kate was an early riser.
Sophie wasn’t a layabout either; an entire life of service had her waking with the sun, but Kate indulged her this morning. As she had for the last three days. She smirked at the ribbon; she had a good excuse to rise later, after all.
As if on cue, Kate heard the now familiar rattling above her. She glanced up at the large windows in the room. Any minute now, she would see Benedict Bridgerton’s lean form hop down into view, after having scaled the trellis on the wall adjacent to Sophie’s window. On the second story. Kate shook her head, she had to give Benedict credit for his perseverance. The trellis wasn’t designed to hold more than vines; should he take a fall, he could hurt himself. Not too much, Kate figured, thinking about the distance; but enough for him to learn his lesson. Which was why she hadn’t said a word about it for the past three days.
Kate was just beginning to think that it was taking a little too long for Benedict to descend the trellis when, unexpectedly, Anthony walked into the room.
“Good morning, dear.”
She heard a strange noise from the exterior wall right next to the window, presumably where Benedict might be having some trouble descending.
“What are you doing here?!” She said loudly, trying to drown out the noise. Anthony furrowed his brow, regarding her strangely.
“Just wanted to wish my wife a good morning...is that alright?”
Another rattle, and a booted foot came into view at the window, flailing right behind Anthony's shoulder. Kate’s eyes went wide.
“Perfectly alright!” She said, with a wide unhinged smile on her face. The rattling didn’t stop and Anthony caught it this time, beginning to look around.
“Why don’t we go and have breakfast?” Kate called out, distracting him sufficiently.
“We should wait for Sophie,” he said, “no sign of her yet?”
“Not yet,” she said tightly. “Perhaps we can wait for her in the breakfast room.” She started to attempt to herd him out the door and it nearly worked.
Just then, to her horror, a loud creaking interrupted them and she watched in slow motion as the trellis slowly leaned into view at the window, revealing a panicked looking Benedict clutching on to it for dear life. Kate had no idea how he was even upright. It seemed the vines were keeping the trellis attached. In a flash, his boots found the windowsill and he balanced a little less precariously. Of course this meant he was fully standing at the window a few feet behind Anthony.
“What on earth is that?”
Anthony started glancing around at the commotion of noise. Kate panicked. If he turned around, he would see his brother standing at the window sill outside, several feet off the ground, at seven in the morning. Sophie’s room was directly above them. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what had been going on.
In an instant, Kate flung herself across the room, grabbing Anthony’s face and forcing him to look at her.
“Kiss me,” she said and pressed her lips to his. Anthony barely responded, it had all happened so quickly. She held on to his face with one hand, while with the other she motioned for Benedict to GO. When she fell back from her husband, he looked confused, while her brother-in-law, still at the window, looked helpless.
“You’re being very strange this morning,” Anthony declared, looking at her oddly.
“I’m just excited for the wedding.” She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her body close to his. Somewhere in the last ten seconds, she had decided seduction was the only way to keep Anthony from discovering his idiot brother who couldn’t wait 72 hours to be married. She should let Anthony catch him; it would serve him right. But she didn’t want Sophie to be embarrassed and, besides, now Kate was involved too. She didn’t do things by halves. If she was going to cover for her brother-in-law, she was going to make sure he wasn’t caught.
“It’s the first wedding in the family since ours. And it will be here! I only wish we’d had more time to plan a grander affair.”
“They were impatient to wed,” Anthony joked.
Kate scowled and cut her eyes towards the window, watching as Benedict managed to untangle himself from the vines and now perched on the window sill, eyeing the drop down.
“Benedict most of all, I’m sure.”
“I can’t blame him,” Anthony remarked, a smirk playing at his lips and his hands came around her waist. “I remember the urgency to be your husband.”
He leaned in to kiss her softly and for several moments Anthony was all Kate could think about. He still had that effect on her; she was starting to think that for the rest of her days he would kiss her and she would feel that same dizzying, exhilarating feeling that overtook her all that time ago in his study —in this very house.
Somewhere outside, perhaps muffled by her senses that were so wrapped up in Anthony, Kate heard a soft thud, and then a groan. The groan was loud enough to invade their kiss and Anthony released her, looking around again.
“You heard that, right?”
Kate glanced at the window and to her relief, Benedict was gone. No doubt somewhere on the garden floor below them.
“Perhaps it was Newton,” Kate suggested, “he’s always knocking things over.”
Before Anthony could reply, however, Sophie Beckett burst into the room still in her night clothes and dressing gown.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, out of breath. She glanced at Anthony, and clutched her already modest dressing gown tighter to her. Then she glanced, panicked, at the window. “I was just wondering if you needed help with anything.” She said to Kate.
Kate almost started laughing, imagining Benedict’s ungraceful descent from Sophie’s point of view at the window upstairs.
“No, dear, I’ve got it well in hand.”
“Wonderful.” Sophie started backing out of the room slowly, doing nothing to look less suspicious. “I’ll just...go, then.” She bobbed a curtsy towards Anthony. “Lord Bridgerton.” She turned and ran, decidedly not in the direction she had come from. Kate suspected she would make her way to the gardens to make sure her future husband was in one piece for the wedding.
“So you see, Sophie is awake,” Kate said awkwardly, to fill the silence. “Let’s go have breakfast. I’m sure she’ll join us soon.”
Anthony watched the empty space Sophie left behind with a crease in his brow and then he rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
“Benedict left a little late this morning, it seems. If she’s not ready yet.”
Kate faltered, and gaped at her husband. She decided feigning ignorance was the best course of action.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that he’s been sneaking into the house every night.”
“I-How did you find out?”
Anthony rolled his eyes again.
“He walks right by the window in my study every morning on his way out. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling.”
Kate clapped a hand over her mouth and started giggling.
“You didn’t say anything?”
Anthony shrugged.
“They’ll be married today. Besides, I didn’t wish to embarrass Sophie.”
Kate smiled, touched that he was already thinking of his new sister.
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
Anthony smiled wickedly, but placed an adorably chaste kiss to the tip of nose. Then he took her by the hand and started pulling her from the room.
“Would you like to have breakfast with the most thoughtful, most handsome man in all of London?” He teased.
“I would indeed! But since he’s not here, I suppose I’ll have to have breakfast with you.”
Anthony’s eyes went wide, and he used the grip on her hand to pull her to his body, reaching back to give her a gentle swat on her bottom.
“Infuriating woman,” he admonished. Kate threw her head back and laughed, wriggling out of his grasp and racing him to the breakfast room.
Chapter 7: Hyacinth Bridgerton
Notes:
I finally read IIHK and not only did I love it because I love Hyacinth so much, but the part of her bribing her maid with peppermints was fantastic! Classic Hyacinth!
Chapter Text
Hyacinth Bridgerton had a system, of sorts. Her governess would let her out of her lessons a full half hour early each day and in return, Hyacinth would pretend to get distracted for thirty minutes at a time at the book shop; so her governess could have the time alone with the gentleman who owned it.
In the kitchens, she’d get extra puddings from the cook and Hyacinth would save her whatever exotic sweets Colin brought from his travels. The footman would tell her who in the house was getting letters and from where. The butler would pretend not to notice if she ran out of the house with Felicity; or if Felicity snuck in after one of their mama’s had said no. Even an upstairs maid at Bridgerton House had sworn not tell Anthony about that bust in the main hall she broke last spring. A lot of them drove a hard bargain, but it was the price Hyacinth was willing to pay to have everything running exactly as she wanted it.
It was the source of her infinite frustration that their new lady’s maid, Sophie, was becoming such a difficult nut to crack.
“I’m afraid we can’t go to the park,” Sophie said, whilst braiding Hyacinth’s hair. “Your mother wants everyone around for lunch.”
“Very well, you don’t have to come but what if I went by myself. Felicity is already there by now!”
“I can’t let you go by yourself! What will I tell Lady Bridgerton when she asks?”
“You can say you haven’t the faintest idea where I am.”
Sophie gave her a look through the mirror.
“But I will.”
“Would...some chocolate candies make you forget?” Hyacinth asked hopefully, a sly gleam in her eye. “Perhaps some new ribbon.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at Hyacinth and shook her head.
“I can’t be bought, Miss Hyacinth. I want for nothing.”
“Everyone wants something,” Hyacinth declared sagely. Sophie laughed a little, amused despite herself.
“There is nothing you could offer me to get me to indulge you in your rule-breaking.”
Hyacinth huffed, not at all convinced. Everyone wanted something. She just had to figure out what Sophie wanted.
Just a few days later, the answer was right in front of Hyacinth’s face. Or rather, below her face. Down in the garden, to be specific; in that little alcove by the door where Sophie had just been pulled into by her brother! Hyacinth slapped a hand over her mouth. Hyacinth happened to be walking by the upstairs window, when she saw Benedict talking with Sophie and she almost knocked and waved at them; but something told her she shouldn’t. Now, she was glad for it. She couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, hidden in the alcove as they were, but there was no mistake that they were embracing. She blushed. Perhaps her brother was even kissing her lady’s maid!
Hyacinth smiled impishly. What a monumental secret she had discovered. And a secret like this, had a price.
“Do you suppose Benedict will marry soon?” She asked the room at large some days later. Three pairs of eyes looked her way.
“I certainly hope so,” Her mother replied in a decisive tone.
Francesca shrugged her shoulders.
“I suspect if he meets the right person, he will. You know how Benedict is.”
“Shouldn’t we all be waiting for the right person?” Eloise asked, annoyed.
“Of course. I’m just saying that I don’t see him looking for someone out of the blue, you know? Or letting mama find someone for him.” Francesca cut her eyes to their mother, looking mildly apologetic. Violet waved her off.
“Why do you ask, Hyacinth?”
Hyacinth shook her head and looked down at her messy needlework. “No reason.”
She very much had a reason, however. The scene she’d witnessed at the garden had been eating away at her for days. She knew she would only have once chance to barter with it and she had to use it wisely. Was it at all wise to tell Sophie what she saw in exchange for a few illicit outings if Benedict married her soon? How long did that give her? A month, tops? Hyacinth wasn’t at all versed on affairs of the heart but all signs seemed to point to Benedict having found the right person, like Francesca had said. Which meant he’d be married soon. And then what leverage would she have? Not to mention that; she suspected it would not be a very good thing at all to tell anyone what she saw. Sophie could get into trouble. And she certainly didn’t want that.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make her brother sweat for a little bit.
“Does mother know you’re here?” Benedict asked when he came to the front door. Hyacinth shrugged her shoulders and urged him out.
“Hyacinth, it’s swelteringly hot outside. Whatever you want, say it in here.”
Hyacinth shook her head resolutely.
“I can’t enter bachelor’s lodgings!”
“I’m your brother!” Benedict rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Hyacinth stared him down; but ultimately she sighed, stomped her foot a little, and entered his apartments. The topic did require discretion after all.
“You weren’t at tea today,” she began casually. Benedict harrumphed and went back to his study and Hyacinth had no choice but to follow.
“Is that why you’re here? To talk about tea?”
“I thought you’d be there. To see mama...your sisters...” she eyed him, sitting back behind his easel and then went for the kill. “...Sophie...”
Benedict stopped just as he was about to dip his brush into a jar of paint. He slowly brought his eyes up to hers.
“Sophie?” He echoed.
“Sophie. My lady’s maid...your...friend.”
Benedict looked back at his easel, and started mixing paint with indifference.
“Sophie is a friend, I suppose.”
“Mama said she saved your life.” She poked some brushes that were sitting in a jar near her.
“She looked after me while I was ill. I’m very grateful to her.”
“Were you expressing your gratitude the other day, when I saw the two of you,” she pinned her eyes on Benedict, “in the garden?”
Benedict faltered and this time the brush fell from his hand, clattering onto the floor and leaving a splatter of blue paint behind.
“You really are the nosiest little menace,” he said to her, thoroughly annoyed. Hyacinth beamed.
“I’m observant. And you shouldn’t conduct private conversations in the garden where anyone can see you.”
Benedict stood, stalking over to her and looming over her with hands on his hips.
“Whatever you saw, you are not to speak a word of it,” he threatened. Hyacinth tried to look innocent and shrugged her shoulders. “I mean it! You could get Sophie into a lot of trouble!”
“I know that!” Hyacinth finally responded, rolling her eyes. It was no fun to tease Benedict if he was going to be so serious.
“And you can’t mention this to Sophie either! She’ll be mortified!”
And there it was. Her golden opportunity. Of course she would never tell anyone -not even Sophie- what she saw in the garden. But Benedict didn’t need to know that.
“Perhaps I’ll be so busy at the fair next month with Felicity that I’ll have forgotten all about it. Of course, mama hasn’t let me go but if you promise to take me...”
“Hyacinth...” Benedict ground out.
“And I’ll need money to buy sweets.”
“Hyacinth.”
“I could just ask Sophie to chaperone me. She said she didn’t want to but I can probably convince her-”
“Enough!” Benedict ordered, shaking his head at her in disbelief. “I’ll take you.”
“Great!” She grinned. “Now, about that money...”
“You said you wanted sweets. I’ll buy them at the fair.”
“And other things! A lady needs pin money,” she replied in that prim way Francesca always used.
“This is extortion,” Benedict grumbled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few coins.
“Not at all. I’m giving you a bargain. I should tell you about the deal I’ve cut with the butler.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
In the end, Hyacinth did end up going to the fair; although chaperoned by Anthony and Kate. Benedict, for his part, was unavailable to take her. Seeing as he and Sophie were away on honeymoon. For once, it was a debt Hyacinth was willing to forgive.
Chapter 8: Sir Phillip Crane
Summary:
Sophie is emotional and pregnant and has a brown thumb. Phillip has never done anything wrong in his entire life.
Chapter Text
Sophie Bridgerton sat on the ground looking, in Phillip Crane’s opinion, a little pitiful. Well, not as pitiful as the rose bush in front of her but it was hard to look graceful sprawled in the dirt looking as sad and as heavily pregnant as she was.
He’d taken Oliver and Amanda over to the cottage so they could run around with Benedict and Sophie’s boys, and give Eloise some respite for the day. Phillip was walking the grounds, accompanied by Benedict, when both men came across Sophie who pouted at her rose bush.
“Sophie, darling,” Benedict called out, quickening his step towards her. Phillip had no choice but to follow. “What’s wrong?”
Sophie looked over her shoulder and then gestured with frustration in front of her.
“They keep dying. I don’t understand, I’ve done everything you’ve said, Phillip, and they keep dying.”
“You’ve been pruning the dead parts?”
“If I cut any more, there’ll be nothing left; seeing as they’re all dying.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Sophie’s bottom lip quiver.
Phillip crouched low to the ground to examine the flowers. He touched the soil, looked at the leaves and stems and could find no reasonable explanation for the state of the rosebush. He sighed. Some people just didn’t really have a knack for plants and Sophie Bridgerton seemed to be one such person. It was strange, really. She was such a gentle and delicate creature in all things, even her movements were graceful. But she had once told him how she killed every plant she ever touched and Phillip thought that simply couldn’t be possible. Perhaps she just needed a bit of instruction.
But he’d been instructing her for months now and plant after plant seemed to wilt and shrivel up under her thumb.
“You said roses were easy to care for.”
“Perhaps you can try marigolds,” Phillip suggested, cringing internally. Truthfully, he wasn’t so sure. But even Amanda was able to grow a patch of Marigolds last year.
“Or, perhaps you can pick up a different pastime,” Benedict said to his wife. “What about painting or watercolors? You could join me in my sessions. We have gardeners for this, Soph.”
This time, Sophie’s lip did quiver.
“I just wanted to prove to myself that I could keep something alive!” She rubbed a hand over her large belly and a few frustrated tears escaped her moss green eyes. “How am I expected to keep our child alive if I can’t even look after some roses?”
“It’s hardly the same, love. You’ve done a fantastic job with the boys.”
Phillip stood there feeling awkward and intrusive —not to mention unhelpful. While Sophie continued to tear up on the ground next to him.
“Kate has managed such beautiful tulips at Aubrey Hall. I just wanted to help make our home beautiful too!” She was fully crying now, and Phillip sent a panicked look over to Benedict, who looked not entirely too fussed about it. Just...patient. Sophie wiggled a little on the ground, trying to find purchase to heave herself up but couldn’t. Finally she huffed and looked up at her husband expectantly.
Benedict leapt forward and took one of her hands to help her stand and Phillip offered his as well. Together, they pulled Sophie to her feet and Benedict instantly wrapped her up in his arms. Over her head, Benedict gave Phillip a resigned look.
“Sophie, our home is beautiful because you’re in it. You and the boys. I honestly couldn’t notice the damn foliage less.”
Phillip thought about taking offense to that; but seeing the emotional turmoil the couple was in, he let it go.
“Ladies are supposed to be good at gardening. I just want to prove that I’m a lady like that. Sometimes I still feel like...well, like the maid.”
Benedict nudged her chin, and smiled gently at her.
“You are my wife and I love you, Sophie. You could kill every damn plant on this property and I wouldn’t stop loving you.”
Phillip looked around apprehensively. Surely not every plant...
“Really? Do you promise?”
“Of course.”
Sophie wiped her eyes and beamed up at her husband. Then she turned to Phillip and blushed.
“I’m so sorry, Sir Phillip. How silly you must think I am.”
Phillip shook his head fervently.
“I can see you’ve been trying your best here,” he said, gesturing towards the rosebush.
“I won’t give up,” Sophie said decisively, “not until the last of them dies, I suppose.”
Phillip eyed the flowers. She had a week perhaps, give or take.
“Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed, “how rude of me! I haven’t even offered you any refreshments!” Phillip was about to tell her not to trouble herself but she was already talking again. “I’ll just go and see about having some sandwiches made. And lemonade. How does that sound?”
Phillip ate a rather big lunch before he departed Romney Hall but given the tears from a few moments before, he had a feeling he shouldn’t chance it.
“Delicious.”
And Sophie (and her 7 month old baby) waddled off in the direction of the house. When she was out of earshot, Benedict blew out a loud breath.
“She’s been...well, absolutely batty lately.”
Phillip turned to look at him, eyes wide.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Benedict continued, “she wasn’t like this when she was expecting the boys but this time around she’s happy one minute, in tears the next. She cried at breakfast because we ran out of jam.”
Phillip’s brows went up and wondered if this was his future when Eloise became pregnant. He could hardly compare notes to his life when Marina was expecting. A mood swing would have been welcome. It meant that she would have at some point been anything but quietly miserable.
“You said it wasn’t like this the past three times?” He asked hopefully. Benedict smiled and shook his head.
“The last three times were easy. And much the same to one another. I think this time it must be a girl.”
Everyone knew how much Benedict wanted a daughter and Phillip smiled indulgently at the man. For his sake, he hoped he got his wish.
The rosebush caught Phillip’s eye again and he went back to inspecting it, shaking his head.
“Is she watering it with cyanide? I don’t understand.”
“Sophie kills every plant in her vicinity. Even when I bring her flowers they don’t last longer than a day in a vase. It’s a curse.” Benedict laughed dryly. “We used to have a good laugh about it but now with everything setting her off...Apparently she’s decided that if she doesn’t successfully grow some roses, I will leave her for another woman.”
Phillip chuckled lightly and let Benedict lead him back to where their lunch spread was being served, casting one last look at the pitiful rosebush.
“What’s all this?” Benedict asked, watching his wife enter the library with an armful of pink roses. She dropped them on the table in front of him and beamed.
“My rosebush is thriving!” She declared. “I’ve had to cut some of the flowers or there won’t be room for all of them!”
Benedict smiled at his wife, but inside he was confused.
“What are you doing differently?”
Sophie shrugged, bewildered but happy.
“I’ve no idea! Nothing I’m doing has changed. If anything I’ve been paying them less attention lately; I was so ready for them to die.”
“Perhaps what they needed was a hands-off approach, then.”
Sophie picked up one of the flowers and smelled it, sighing happily and walking around to perch on Benedict’s knee. He wrapped his arms around her lazily; Sophie was heavily pregnant, but she was still a small woman.
“Are you proud of me?”
Benedict plucked the rose from her hand, noticed all the thorns had been trimmed off and placed it in her hair; in the knot at the base of her neck.
“I am always proud of you. Are you proud of you?”
Sophie nodded.
“I know it seems silly. But all the society wives are always going on and on about their gardens and it just seems like another thing I’m not a part of, or wasn’t taught because I was too busy cleaning Araminta’s shoes.”
Benedict sighed heavily and nuzzled her neck. Years on, Sophie had grown into her place in society. They still didn’t frequent London; they liked their lives in the country but whenever they did, every now and again something would creep up to tarnish their perfect little world; an ugly reminder of how excluded Sophie sometimes felt. Even after almost a decade of marriage.
“I thought, what better time to master it than now, that I’m sitting around idle with this baby?”
“I would never call you idle.”
Sophie only had a few more weeks to go and Benedict had long lost the battle of convincing her to please sit and rest and be still. Like the last three pregnancies, Sophie intended to hustle and bustle until the very moment their child decided to make its grand entrance.
Sophie ran a hand over her belly.
“I’m so huge; I can hardly move. I’m sorry to tell you, but I think this one will be a boy as well.”
Benedict shook his head.
“It will be a girl. I know it.”
Sophie giggled and leaned in to kiss him.
“It’s a boy.”
“Do I feel another bet coming on, Mrs. Bridgerton?” Benedict teased. Sophie refused him with a shake of her head.
“I cannot take any more of your money in these bets. It’s downright a crime at this point.”
It was a shame that not two weeks later, Benedict could have finally won that bet.
“Benedict,” Sophie whispered in the direction of the bed, over her shoulder. “Ben!”
Benedict mumbled something incoherent, slowly being roused from sleep. The room was cast in that strange semi darkness just before dawn and he blinked the room into focus. Sophie was standing at the window, a shawl wrapped around her.
“Why are you up?” He questioned.
“Violet was hungry,” she said quickly. Benedict glanced over to the crib a few feet from their bed, where their daughter slept peacefully. “But Ben, I think there’s an intruder.”
Benedict frowned. “What?”
“I see someone down there. Well, not right now. But I did. They’ve probably gone around the house.”
“Perhaps it was a worker.”
“This early?”
It was best not to jump to conclusions but still Benedict stood, pulling on his trousers. He walked up behind Sophie and peered through the window. He saw nothing but a typical foggy morning. He stepped back to find a shirt as well. He would go down and investigate, of course. Perhaps it was nothing, but he didn’t wish to gamble with the safety of his family.
“Ben! There! There they are!”
He crossed the room in two strides and looked at where Sophie was pointing. He did, indeed, see someone down there. It was difficult to tell because of the fog but he could see someone moving in the shadows and disappearing towards the east side of the property.
“They’re going towards the gardens,” Sophie looked back at him with wide, panicked eyes. “The servant’s door is on that side.”
“Take Violet to the boys’ room and lock the door,” he instructed decisively, striding out. He didn’t even bother with boots. He simply ran towards his study, where he kept a pistol and ran outside via the only entrance on that side of the house. He kept his ear out for any noise or indication someone might break in but found none. All was quiet in the house.
Out in the garden it was still difficult to see. He took slow, silent steps further and further out and the deeper he went into the garden he began hearing noises. There was...shuffling, about. It was hard to describe and harder to see. But beyond the fog he could see a shape moving about, lower the ground than he imagined but Benedict aimed the pistol and stepped forward. Christ, he didn’t even know if the damn thing was loaded. When was the last time he’d even used it?
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” He demanded. The figure stopped moving, then slowly stood to its full height and Benedict charged forward confidently; he was, after all, the one with the firearm.
At the sight of him, the intruder dropped everything and put his hands up.
“Woah! Calm down, it’s me!”
Benedict squinted and lowered the pistol. “Phillip?”
The man shrugged sheepishly and gestured next to him. There were pruning sheers next to him, a tiny shovel, a mound of dirt and of course, Sophie’s prize rosebush. Suddenly, it all made sense.
“What are you doing?” Benedict asked, almost laughing, even though he knew the answer. “I almost shot you!” And then he really did start laughing. Phillip chuckled.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you try to kill me,” the man noted.
“It might not be the last if you keep sneaking in here.”
“I-” Phillip was at a loss for words. Then he just sighed. “Sophie was so put out about the roses last I was here.”
“Have you been taking care of them ever since?”
Phillip nodded. “I only stop by a few times a week. Roses really are quite easy to care for.”
“Tell that to Sophie. She fancies herself a botanist now.”
Phillip looked downright offended at that. Benedict smiled and shook his head. Sophie really had been over the moon about her success with the roses.
“She’ll be sad if she ever finds out she didn’t really revive her flowers,” Benedict noted.
“Don’t tell her.”
“It’s terribly important to her, you know,” Benedict said. She was right, it was silly; but it mattered to her and he didn’t wish for her to feel patronized.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Phillip shook his head in bewilderment. “Honestly the first time I came it was mostly for research purposes.”
“Have you any theories?”
“Only that perhaps she once crossed a witch who was also a botanist.”
Benedict laughed.
“It’s truly a mystery how she manages to murder all her plants,” Phillip said, dismayed.
“It’s probably best if you don’t keep tending to them,” Benedict insisted. “It was a kind gesture and I appreciate it but now she’s busy with the baby and won’t be out here for a while. It won’t be so surprising if the roses die.”
Phillip nodded understandingly. He picked up one of the roses, perfectly bloomed and beautiful and handed it over.
“For Sophie and the baby.”
“And those?” He gestured towards the pile already cut at Phillip’s feet.
“I’ll take them home for Eloise.”
Benedict rolled his eyes and gestured for him to keep at whatever it was he was doing.
“I should charge you for them,” he joked; turning and strolling back to the house.
Notes:
I love Phillip Crane so much and I will not tolerate any slander of him. Not that I think any of you would, because you're here which means you love Benophie which means you have taste. But just FYI.
Chapter 9: Gregory Bridgerton
Summary:
Gregory, his neck fetish and his penchant for tiny, fierce blondes: an origins story
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory Bridgerton raced through the London streets, his lungs burning with the effort of it. He came to a halt at one corner as a carriage passed and he stopped to take a breath and check his pocket watch. Damn. The wedding would have started already. He had abandoned his carriage and his driver several streets ago, the traffic was so heavy, he figured he’d do better on foot. And he almost had. Alas, he was ten minutes late.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, to be fair. He had received word three days ago that his brother was getting married and, alright, perhaps he should have spent less time dawdling about Eton and actually left for London the moment he received the letter but to his credit, since the moment he left, he’d been traveling non-stop.
He pushed himself a little faster, panting now, and ran the last block towards the church. Such was his momentum that he didn’t stop to think and make a discreet entrance. No, instead, he pushed his way into the church, sending the doors flying open with a loud crash as everyone turned with frightened gasps to stare at him.
The minister stopped mid word, mouth open. The bride and groom were still facing the minister and Gregory tore his eyes away from them guiltily. Instead, he scanned the people in the pews, spying only his siblings, his mother and a few Rokesby cousins. But that still made at least two dozen pairs of eyes on him as he made his ungraceful entrance and completely halted the ceremony.
Hesitantly, he glanced back towards where Benedict and his mysterious bride stood, but the view was blocked by a furious looking Anthony that was marching up the aisle and towards him.
“What are you doing here?” He hissed, shoving him down the aisle and depositing him into a pew.
“I believe I was invited,” he quipped. Anthony gave him a death glare that said I will deal with you later, and resumed his place at Benedict’s right.
It was a short ceremony; they were only there another twenty minutes and it was over and the couple, Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton finally faced their guests and Gregory finally got to see just who his brother had married.
Benedict was different than Anthony, in Gregory’s mind. They were close in age, they were close to one another but Anthony had always been a father figure to him. He respected Anthony’s authority, he feared Anthony’s authority. Any rule-breaking he got up to at Eton was followed by the loathing he’d feel when he’d see Anthony’s dark steed bounding up to the doors of the school; presumably to deal with him; the way a father might.
But Benedict was different. Benedict felt like his eldest brother; if only because Anthony felt like his father. Benedict was good-humored and patient. He’d taught him to fish because, obviously, Anthony had no patience for that. All of his memories of his eldest brothers, few as they were since they had been out of the house for as long as he could remember, included Benedict in some sort of quieter, more contemplative activity; especially when compared to Anthony. The moment Gregory had met Kate, steadfast and quick-witted Kate, he knew, he just knew, that she was Anthony’s match. It was what came with belonging to a family that thus far had all found the perfect person for them.
And so he narrowed his eyes to get a better look at what sort of woman had captured his quieter, more subdued brother’s heart.
***
Gregory had been mashing his piece of wedding cake around with his fork for surely what had to have been half an hour. It made him look busy, he hoped. It was mindless; which was good, because his mind was currently focused on the woman across the room from him at the main table of the wedding breakfast. She was smiling and blushing prettily and Gregory’s head swam. Her hair, the dark golden color of delicious honey, was shorter than was usual; which meant she could not style it in those fashionable knots ladies normally wore. Instead it hung in loose tendrils at her shoulders and his eye couldn’t help but be drawn to the curve of her elegant neck which was-
“Ow!” He grunted, reaching back to rub his head. The empty chair beside him was suddenly filled by Anthony; no doubt the deliverer of the sound smack he’d just received to the back of the head.
“Would you please have some manners?”
Gregory looked around. “Oh! Er...cake?” He offered the mushy contents of his plate and Anthony rolled his eyes.
“I mean could you stop staring at Sophie? I can see it from all the way at the main table and surely she must too. You’re going to make her uncomfortable.”
If he had been anyone but a sixteen year old boy, he might have been embarrassed at being caught.
“You must admit she’s quite-”
“She’s your new sister!” Anthony interrupted before he finished the thought.
“She is not. She only married Benedict!”
“Exactly.”
“That does not make her my sister.”
“Stop staring, Gregory,” Anthony ordered.
“You can’t make me,” he said petulantly, in that tone he used to use when he was compelled to stop torturing Hyacinth.
“I will gauge your eyes out.”
“Throw me a bone!” He pleaded. “I’m stuck at Eton all year long, I haven’t seen a woman I’m not related to in ages. And you have to admit Sophie is...” he glanced back at her and smiled dreamily, sighing like an idiot. “She looks like a storybook princess. Or like a painting.”
“Benedict is an artist.”
“Wherever did he find her?” And can he find me one, he wanted to add.
“Somewhere in the country and that’s all you need to know.”
“I should ask her to dance.”
“Please don’t.”
“She’s my new sister, shouldn’t I get to know her?”
“Eugh don’t say it like that.”
Gregory laughed and stood from his chair, making his way to the woman who had stolen his sixteen year old heart.
One year later, at My Cottage, Gregory knew it must be love because Sophie was heavily with child, and still she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Don’t you think Sophie has such a glow about her lately?” He asked Anthony and Colin.
Colin chuckled. “You’re a fool.”
“We are all fools in love.”
“Stop saying you’re in love with her!” Anthony looked like he might hurl his glass of brandy at his head.
“In love with who?” came the ever-curious voice of Hyacinth Bridgerton as she entered the room with their mother.
“Gregory fancies himself in love with Sophie,” Colin informed the room at large, highly amused.
Violet frowned. “Oh dear.”
“Please,” Hyacinth mock laughed, “even if Sophie weren’t married to Ben, she’d never look twice at you.”
“Of course not. Not now.” But perhaps in a few years. He was endeavoring to grow even taller than Benedict.
“Not ever.”
“Loath as I am admit it, I must agree with Hyacinth.” Hyacinth brightened at Colin’s words. “It’s a beautiful dream but you must give it up, Greg. It’s uncomfortable.”
Gregory grumbled but peered out the window, where Sophie was walking arm in arm with Benedict, the sunshine making her look like a veritable angel. Her hair had grown longer now, she wore it pinned up and it gave him a view of that elegant neck that had captivated him from the first moment.
Right, he was seventeen, he knew he could not very well steal his brother’s wife and a part of him was simply making a bit of a joke about how deep his feelings ran. But if he could someday find someone like Sophie, well, he wouldn’t exactly complain.
He reached for the decanter of brandy but it was snatched out of his reach.
“Children don’t drink,” Anthony reprimanded.
“I’m almost 18,” he said indignant. He’d already had his fair share of drunken escapades at Eton. Anthony, whose own stories were the stuff of legend at the school, should know better.
“When you start behaving like an adult, you can drink with the adults.”
Gregory gaped at Anthony and watched him stride off with the brandy, muttering something about In love with Sophie, for fuck’s sake...as he exited the room.
By age twenty-nine, Gregory had quite grown out of his tendre for Sophie Bridgerton. Well, almost. She was still one of the most beautiful and graceful women he’d ever beheld. But he’d known women now, had courted and bedded his fair share and he no longer felt what he could now only describe as the feelings of a randy sixteen year old first seeing a pretty woman, knowing what it meant that she was a woman. If, through the years, he tended to favor petite blondes with fairy-like qualities, well, he could admit Sophie Bridgerton had been his most formative crush. Who else would be able to rope him into helping in the kitchen, of all places, and having him go willingly and without complaint?
He was currently sitting at the table, stuffing raisins into some small rolls Sophie was making. She’d been married to Benedict for years, had long since grown into her role as mistress of My Cottage, but Sophie liked to feel useful, she could never really be kept from little chores and tasks like these.
Gregory was happy for the distraction, or at least for something to be able to do with his hands. His mind was quite occupied thinking of the mess he’d made of things at Aubrey Hall with Lucy.
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed into that bread, what is going on?”
He looked up, startled out of his thoughts by Sophie’s voice. He opened his mouth several times and then, without much thought, he blurted:
“I fell in love at Aubrey Hall.”
Sophie raised a brow. “Oh?”
“And then out of it, I suppose.”
“My, you had a busy week.”
Gregory barely registered his sister-in-law’s words, the floodgates of what had happened had burst open and he was simply thinking out loud.
“It was supposed to be easy. I was supposed to see the woman I was meant to be with and it would be perfect. We would be together. Instead she ran off with someone else.”
Sophie pulled a face not unlike the ones Benedict made when things turned awkward. It was funny how much they mirrored each other after so many years together.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he went on, “any of it.” He included of course, everything that happened afterwards, with Lucy, and all the confusing emotions it was causing in him.
“Any lady that doesn’t see you as the better catch is probably not one I’d like to count as a sister, anyway,” Sophie said very passionately. Gregory’s lips quirked into a lazy smile and he looked up at her, through his lashes. Because old habits died hard.
“It seems all the women I like are interested in someone else. Where was I when you weren’t married to my brother?”
“Probably still in nappies.”
“You wound me, Mrs. Bridgerton.”
She rolled her eyes playfully and went to wash and dry her flour-covered hands. It was a little joke now, his former tendre for Sophie. She mostly giggled and flushed whenever he said anything to flirt with her and it was worth it to see Benedict get annoyed. He was the youngest brother of four, never included in anything growing up, he had to get his justice where he could.
Sophie sat across from him at the table and clasped his hand atop the bowl of raisins.
“If it wasn’t meant to be, as I suspect this wasn’t, you’ll heal faster than you can even imagine.”
“That’s just the thing. I thought I’d be broken hearted but then I went and-” he stopped himself before he confessed to what he’d done, the kiss he’d stolen the very night Hermione became engaged.
Sophie was staring at him with large green eyes and he felt trapped.
“And what?” she pressed.
“Do you promise not to tell?”
“Mhmm,” she said, not at all convincingly. Gregory had a feeling Sophie shared everything with Benedict.
“I kissed her friend, lady Lucinda,” he confessed.
“Gregory!” Sophie admonished, reeling back with a disapproving look, but only mildly so. “I hope you didn’t compromise this young lady.”
“No one knows. Save for you. And honestly I rather think she wants to forget it ever happened.”
“Do you?”
Sophie was looking at him strangely, and Gregory fidgeted, playing with a few raisins until they grew warm and sticky. He sighed, tossing them down on the table and shaking his head.
“I...I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
Sophie stood, patting him comfortingly on the head as if he were a child and he rather felt like one right there in the kitchen of My Cottage. He looked up, giving her a crooked smile.
“Life was easier when I was in love with you.”
Benedict chose that moment to walk through the doors and he stopped and rolled his eyes.
“This again?” He asked, annoyed.
Sophie chuckled.
“Do me a favor and stop ogling my wife,” Benedict called out as he grabbed a plate and one of the already baked rolls. “It was hardly cute when you were a boy, it’s certainly not cute now.”
“It’s not my fault you neglect to keep her company,” he quipped, “holed away in that paint dungeon of yours. Someone must pick up your slack.”
“Gregory, I will kill you.”
Sophie was merrily humming a tune while she kneaded dough.
“You can certainly try. But I’m pretty sure I could outrun you. You’re quite a bit old these days.”
“He’s got you there, Ben.”
“Sophie!”
Sophie giggled and walked behind where Benedict sat, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. It was a gesture of love and affection and understanding. They were the type of people who were so in tune to one another that no words, or even a glance was needed. And watching them made Gregory ache with the question of if he would ever find that for himself. Everyone else in his family had. He thought he had, in Hermione, but then it had all changed so quickly.
“I want what you have,” he said, when Sophie exited the kitchen, lost in thought.
“Stop it,” Benedict warned.
“I don’t mean Sophie!” He explained, laughing a little. “I mean what the two of you have. At Aubrey Hall last week, I thought I’d found it and then...it turns out I had it all wrong. That story of you seeing Sophie for the first time at the ball and just knowing, right then and there at first sight; I guess I’m not meant for that.” Sophie and Benedict’s love story was the stuff of legend in his family. All of his siblings had beautiful and loving marriages, but Ben and Sophie had magic. He thought that was what he had been waiting for as well.
Benedict drew his lips into a line, his pale eyes going far away as he gathered his thoughts.
“It’s true that the first time I ever saw Sophie I thought she was the woman of my dreams,” he began. “But it was the second time we met, that I fell in love with her. The weeks and months I spent with her and I realized that what I had felt for the woman from the masquerade was an infatuation; Sophie was real. I was willing to give up the fantasy of that masked woman and marry Sophie.” He smiled. “I just got extremely lucky that it happened to be the same woman.”
Gregory thought over his brother’s words. So it hadn’t exactly been love at first sight then? Or it had, just not exactly like he thought it.
“How did you realize you were in love with her?”
He thought he knew and he’d been gravely wrong. Now, he felt like he needed to step back and asses the concept all over again anew.
“I thought about how she made me laugh,” he said simply. “How I couldn’t envision my life with anyone else and how she was, above all, my best friend.”
“I thought Anthony was your best friend,” he joked, because he wasn’t exactly used to having heart to hearts with his brothers. He wasn’t sure how to react to any of it. He supposed if any of them were to be open like this with him, it would have to be Benedict. He had always been the romantic of the three.
“I’m Anthony’s best friend.”
“I think you’re Anthony’s only friend,” Gregory pointed out. That got a chuckle out of Benedict.
“When the masks came off,” Benedict continued again, growing serious and thoughtful, “when the clock struck midnight and the magic ended, it was still Sophie underneath. She’s kind and generous and intelligent. Puts me in my place when I need it. The proverbial fireworks at first sight are nice, thrilling even, but there’s magic in the little things too. If you’re with the right person.”
Gregory nodded, dumbfounded and deep in his thoughts. When it all came down to it, what did he even know about Miss Watson? He knew more about Lucy than he did about Hermione. He smiled at the thought of Lucy. Steadfast, dependable Lucy. A fiercely loyal friend who made him smile more in one week than he possibly had in months. He’d once said that she would make a fine friend and with Benedict’s words echoing in his ears, he wondered if perhaps she wouldn’t make the very best of friends.
Notes:
A moment of silence for Anthony's poor nerves.
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