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Of her few aspirations in life, nearly all of which have already been achieved, absolutely none of them involved Sophie’s embarrassing herself in front of her husband’s older brother.
Embarrassment might be an incorrect word. Rather, mortifying herself in front of him would have been more apt.
But aside from that, Sophie was mostly content with how the rest of her life had currently transpired. In her younger days, though she supposed she was still young enough now, she’d never given herself the luxury to dream much. Endless days of servitude—no, Benedict had often said it was far worse than that, if they ever spoke of it in their quiet nights—had stamped out most of her wild imaginations. There had been a few untamed delusions, of course, such as attending a masquerade ball, not as a servant but as a guest, but otherwise, Sophie considered herself a dreamer for small things.
She’d mostly wanted a quiet life—one filled with less labor, or at least paid labor. She'd hoped for comfort. Love was something Sophie had always desperately wanted but was so sure she could not have. A mother’s love—she’d been devoid of that her whole life. Siblings. A husband. Family.
All those wishes, ones she previously thought impractical and perhaps selfish, ones she later realized were as natural to want as wanting to breathe, crashed into her life all at once.
With Benedict came stability. Their lives at My Cottage was mostly quiet. They didn’t want for anything, and she had more than she ever dreamed possible, had allowed herself to accept accommodations she hadn’t known since she was a teenager. Sophie didn’t have to work, not now that she had a husband with more money than she ever thought necessary. She still cleaned; as much as Benedict insisted she didn’t have to, the routines were interwoven into her muscles. Before marrying Benedict, her days were filled with unrelenting hours of housework–tending to a step-mother and her two daughters, scrubbing and cleaning and mending and embroidering. Even if Benedict had asked her to stop her old habits at the outset of their marriage, and he hadn’t, she would have felt aimless, without something to keep her hands busy.
Now, Sophie didn’t work like she used to, particularly because Benedict and Mrs. Crabtree simply wouldn’t allow herself to be so unkind to her body, but Sophie couldn’t allow herself to idly lounge around a home she took no part in keeping. The guilt would have overtaken her, made her anxious and unhappy, and so Benedict dropped it.
He worked, too, much to Sophie’s delight. He’d follow Mr. Crabtree around like a child, studying the older man as he made repairs to a piece of furniture or tended to the yard. And then he simply started doing the same. Never enough to put the Crabtrees out of work, but enough to put Sophie at ease, to make her oft-burdened shoulders relax. And, Sophie learned, Benedict quickly began to take pride in his work.
The man Sophie loved was earnest. He was kind. He was safe and, in spite of her initial conceptions about him, hardworking. They didn’t have to work, not with the allowance Benedict received from his brother, but the industriousness made Sophie strangely calm. She began to suspect it did the same for Benedict, though he didn’t admit it so freely.
And when Benedict returned indoors after a long afternoon of pulling weeds, his skin tanned and sweaty from working under the hot sun, his white shirt now dappled with dirt stains and clinging to his chest, Sophie could, on many an occasion, be pulled away from her self-imposed housework and be swept away to their bedroom. Time and time again she could fling open their bedroom window and scream at the top of her lungs about the carnal joy it was to be in love and to be loved in return.
Those other aspirations in life, those of love and family, were ones Sophie was blessed to find with her husband. She had no doubts Benedict loved her. He showed it in his fond lopsided smiles, in the way his arms would wrap around her before she even knew she needed him to hold her. And he loved her as much, perhaps more, as he loved his family.
That lovely, dysfunctional, gorgeous family. Benedict’s brothers, all perfectly handsome and for those married, all perfectly enamored with their beautiful wives. His sisters, all perfectly beautiful, and wickedly smart, just like their mother. For all the pain the Bridgertons had endured, they were still gentle. For all the prestige they had, they were patient. Sophie expected to respect her husband’s family; she did not expect to fall so deeply in love with them.
Sophie looked forward to family gatherings. She supposed she’d always feel a bit out-of-place, never fully confident of her worth as a Bridgerton, but Benedict and his family helped tremendously to put her anxieties to rest..
When Sophie did briefly forget herself, when her mind wandered away from stations and classes and the past, she slotted easily in place with the Bridgertons, with her family. They were like a missing spoke in a carriage wheel; once attached, life ran considerably smoother. And when she did come back to reality, she remained rooted in the understanding that she did truly have a family now, one defined by their laughter and their character, not just by their place in society.
And as expected, early marital bliss was, of course, blissful. With the finding of love, of a husband, of a family, Sophie was mostly certain that she had fulfilled any of her lifelong ambitions.
The rest of her life, she presumed, could be smooth sailing.
More or less.
Punctuated between nights and mornings and stolen afternoons with one another, Sophie and Benedict hardly discussed children. They both liked them, of course, assumed they would be a sure reality at some point, but had not had a real conversation about the matter. She supposed it was in both of their natures, one avoidant and one anxious, to avoid broaching difficult subjects. At any rate, they had not been married a full year. They hadn’t even been married half a year.
Of course, if there were a title to pass down, the couple might have felt more pressure to become pregnant. But Benedict was simply Mr. Bridgerton, and that was enough of a title for Sophie to respect, enough of one for her to want to pass down to their children, but one with far less societal expectations. Neither felt the need to hasten something which was certainly wanted but not a present necessity.
And then there was the other matter.
Odd as it sounded, Sophie assumed she would be the type of person who would struggle to conceive. She didn’t have much evidence for this theory other than family history. From what little she did know about her family, she knew that her mother died in childbirth and that her father died young. Before meeting Benedict, she figured that if she ever did marry, she would perhaps have one child, just as her mother did, and similarly die during childbirth. And if she did persist past that one birth, she certainly would not live long after. It was a dark thought, that her years were numbered, but the notion seemed like an inevitability.
As it so happened, meeting the love of one’s life did brighten her skies enough to suggest that death was not so imminent as originally thought.
When Sophie once admitted those thoughts to Benedict, he, to his credit, was not alarmed, or even displeased. He held Sophie a bit tighter that night, but he only really chuckled and said that she reminded him of his brother Anthony.
Which Sophie found strange, considering how they were currently lying in bed, tangled up in one another. She did not have the slightest idea what he meant by comparing her to his brother. She chose not to comment.
But regarding children, now that her mortality was less of a fatal concern, so to speak, Sophie did not feel so rushed.
Which meant, of course, that she was wholly unprepared and completely surprised by the following turn of events.
Sophie first knew something was amiss when over two months had passed and she had not had her courses. When only one month had passed, she was quietly distressed. But, she could naively reason, these absences were not particularly troublesome, certainly not ones to address with Benedict. It was strange, though, as she was a naturally routine individual, but not something to worry over. Yet.
But there were…other indications.
On occasions that Sophie had spoken about children, about being with child, with other people, she could recall something that Penelope had once said. They were sitting together in a drawing room, Eloise and Penelope sidled next to each other while Sophie sat across from them.
Sophie liked Penelope a great deal. She and Penelope shared a certain…deficit, in the height department, and the two found themselves bonding over that and commiserating together, and over their good-natured husbands and their good-natured husbands’ taller statures.
Penelope was always thoughtful with her words. She mulled over them carefully, while Sophie had watched her over the lip of her teacup.
“I suppose my first suspicion was a…a general sense of tiredness. And feeling faint,” she nodded, smiling knowingly at the disgusted expression Eloise pulled. “And then of course the way I couldn’t stand the smell of certain foods—”
Sophie nodded, placing her cup down. She appreciated her sister-in-law’s input. She herself always had a strong countenance and a stronger stomach; if she were to be expecting, she was certain she would know it, given Penelope’s accounting.
“Are you and Benedict…I mean—well, do you want to—” Penelope started, quickly becoming tongue-tied. She wasn’t particularly shameful, but she was proper. Most of her bravado, it seemed, had been left to Lady Whistledown.
Sophie pointedly ignored Eloise’s newly bothered face. All this talk of Penelope or even Sophie having children was plenty information, but it stood to reason that imagining her brothers actively contributing to such events was too much for Eloise. Sophie couldn’t blame her.
With a small, sly sort of smile, Sophie shrugged. “We’ve discussed it in detail,” she lied, “but we’re in no rush.” The last part was the truth. “I was just…curious, I suppose.”
If Penelope sensed a lie, she didn’t say it, just inclined her head in agreement as she returned to her own drink.
All that was well and fine, and it was well and fine that Sophie hadn’t bled in two months. She hadn’t confirmed anything yet, hardly believed there was anything to confirm.
There wasn’t anything of which to be ashamed, if she were with child. Sophie and Benedict were operating well within the confines of their marriage. They would have the support of his family, would undoubtedly have Posy’s support, too, which was an additional boon. In fact, the young woman would be unspeakably delighted, if she were going to be an aunt.
Sophie wasn’t embarrassed, even if she were expecting. Which she was not.
Or, she wasn’t embarrassed, until Anthony appeared.
His coming was known at My Cottage for a week. Anthony and Kate were scheduled for a short few days’ visit, along with their children. Benedict was delighted to welcome them, and Sophie found herself strangely excited.
Kate was another individual she liked tremendously. The statuesque Viscountess was even more stunning up-close, but her beauty seemed to come secondary to her nature. At first glance, Kate was a calming figure, if not a bit strict. Her children hardly cried, not for fear of being reprimanded, but that they were hardly ever stressed. Sophie supposed Kate was the reason, because Anthony was someone who many would call, often stressed. But the longer Sophie got to know Kate, the more she recognized the older woman’s other qualities—she was deeply competitive, she could raise her voice, she managed her husband in ways Sophie could only dream of doing. And she was deeply kind, had always been so welcoming to Sophie.
Anthony was…often stressed. He liked Sophie, or she hoped he did, but she was often unsure whether her existence made his position as the head of his family more difficult. She knew Benedict had taken a risk with his status to marry her, but his family had hardly been unaffected.
They didn’t speak of it, and Sophie was grateful for that. She could feel guilty enough, worrying that she had somehow ruined Benedict, despite his insistence that he was practically one with the earth before she met him, without the crushing blow that his older brother disliked her.
When Anthony descended from the carriage, he turned to hold out a hand for Kate to take. She already held one baby, the younger, in her arms, disregarding her husband’s chivalrous attempt and stepped down from the carriage without any further assistance. Anthony, not at all displeased by his wife’s independence, reached into the coach to grab their older child, Edmund.
Naturally, Benedict broke the silence first. He hurried over, his arm hovering just above Kate’s shoulder as he admired the baby in her arms.
“How lucky,” he said, beaming, “she’s the picture of her mother. And, thankfully, not at all like her father.”
The comment seemed to please Kate, though Anthony’s eyebrows knit together in annoyance. The older woman hummed, readjusting the little girl, who stared up at her uncle with big, doe-like brown eyes.
“You always know how to flatter a lady,” Kate smiled. Her gaze shifted to Sophie, and Sophie smiled briefly in response. “Now, shall our sweet Charlotte like to meet her aunt?”
Without much warning, Sophie had her hands full of the baby. She recovered from the shock quickly, and did her best not to notice Benedict’s change in expression. His usual fondness was still there, but it was augmented with something else, something like familiarity and wanting.
If only he knew what she already suspected.
“I trust you had safe travels?” Sophie asked.
Anthony glanced over, nodding curtly. “Yes, it was quite agreeable.” He did not smile, but he wasn’t unpleasant.
Kate must have thought otherwise. “Excuse my husband,” she said to Sophie, already relieving her of holding Baby Charlotte. “He must be so weary from our lengthy travel that he forgot his manners.”
The silence which followed was enough to nearly swallow Sophie whole. She was endeared to Kate, was certain that Kate liked her as well, but the precariousness of her relationship with Anthony undermined all those positive feelings. If he hated her, if he simply detested her existence, that may be better than his shame for her.
She didn’t catch it, but Benedict shot his brother a warning look. Had she noticed, Sophie might have even been more deeply mortified. The last thing she ever wanted to do was put Benedict in a hard place with his family.
Though now, it seemed, such was inevitable.
The morning passed without further incident, and lunch was a mostly pleasant affair. Sophie had become nauseous in the last few days, the feeling worse in the mornings but pervading her entire day. Her appetite had lessened tremendously as a result, though she still managed to eat more than most would expect from a woman of her size.
Benedict, who had always been so perceptive to the way in which Sophie handled food, always enamored by her appetite and sensitive to the fact that she always ate as if it were her last meal, noticed that she did not help herself to a second serving. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, so as not to draw much attention.
Unfortunately, even Benedict’s quietest words could be overheard by Anthony’s expert hearing. He lowered his utensils, still mid-bite. Cutting the other man a quick look, Sophie placed a hand on her husband’s and nodded.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Benedict opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. It was for the best—Sophie would have kicked him under the table had he persisted.
The evidence was beginning to pile up; Sophie was beginning to suspect that the answer to her ailments lay in the unavoidable truth that she was either pregnant, or dying.
The former option was a beautiful one, a joyous one, but one which would undoubtedly bring some future embarrassment. She would have to tell the family, her clothes would begin fit differently, she herself would begin to look differently, she would at some point have to be vulnerable when she would give birth. All of it was overwhelming. But the alternative, dying, was less pleasant.
So, until informed otherwise, Sophie believed she was pregnant. She would have to inform Benedict at some point, but that time would come after his brother and sister-in-law’s visit had ended.
After lunch, the two couples went outside while Mrs. Crabtree tidied up. Sophie wanted to stay and help her, if only to escape the uncomfortable pleasantries of fellowshipping with family, but the older woman shooed her outside with the rest of them.
“Shall I show the children the stables?” Benedict asked, mostly to Kate. He had Edmund in his arms, the toddler already bouncing excitedly. He knew that stables meant horses, and like his parents, he was an avid lover of the animal.
“We would love to see them,” Kate agreed, holding Charlotte.
Anthony and Sophie made a nervous sort of eye contact, neither one having enough time to respond before Benedict added, “And that will give my beloved brother the chance to spend time with my beloved wife,” he punctuated the last words pointedly at Anthony, as if to tell him to be nice.
Ah, good, even more embarrassing.
Anthony did not argue, though his dark eyes darted toward Kate, who smirked wordlessly.
Leaning over and kissing Sophie’s cheek, his hand resting on her elbow, Benedict lingered a few moments longer than needed. Sophie was grateful, melting against him. “I do not have to leave if you don’t want me to,” he assured her, his voice soft and light. “But he isn’t as scary as he seems.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sophie assured him, smiling. She was vaguely concerned about the sudden heat from the air, at the distant sound of Benedict’s voice as he released her, but Sophie shook her head and the world righted itself.
As Benedict and Kate and the children dipped from view, down a small hill to the stable, Sophie cleared her throat, glancing at Anthony from the corner of her eye.
Anthony half-smiled, sniffing once and readjusting his posture. “Lovely weather,” he commented.
“Very agreeable.”
Another bout of silence followed, and Sophie busied herself with tapping her fingers against her dress. Anthony was adjusting a patch of grass with the tip of his boot.
“Mrs. Crabtree makes a wonderful lunch, does she not?” Sophie asked.
“I’m sorry?” Anthony glanced over.
Sophie’s cheeks felt hot. “The lunch—Mrs. Crabtree prepared it—”
Anthony’s mouth made a large “O,” the man nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, it was delicious. I apologize, I just hadn’t heard—”
“No need to apologize, Lord Bridgerton—”
“Anthony—”
“…Anthony.” She swallowed thickly, lifting her gaze to the sky. How she wished she could be taken away from this moment.
But alas, she was happily married to a man with a large family.
“Are you enjoying—”
“Is Benedict—”
The two began to speak over one another, and they immediately lapsed into quiet again, neither one willing to over-talk the other. Sophie did laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and was relieved that Anthony smiled, as well.
He turned to face her, his expression softer, disarmingly so. “I…apologize for my rudeness,” he confessed.
As he began to speak, Sophie was once again painfully aware of how warm it was outside, and how light-headed she felt. Anthony’s words sounded as if they were muffled by water, discernible but just barely.
“It wasn’t a long trip, but it wasn’t the length of the trip which made me…off-putting, but it wasn’t a long trip. I suppose I have been…concerned. Not concerned. Not of you—you are perfectly agreeable. Mother adores you. Hyacinth and Eloise fight over your affections. It’s Benedict. I’ve never seen him so…singularly focused on anything. Or anyone. It’s refreshing. It’s wonderful. It’s—well, it’s scary. He really and truly is in love, and—are you quite alright?”
By the time Anthony had noticed that Sophie looked unwell, she was already seeing black spots in her vision. Her knees buckled, and while it was very fortunate that Anthony was present to break her fall, she would later think that this was near the top of the most embarrassing things which have happened to her. Certainly, there had been worse, but not too many others.
To faint in front of one’s brother-in-law was mortifying enough. But to practically fall into his arms like a limp doll? If only the earth could swallow her whole.
She could have gone the rest of her life without knowing the full details.
Anthony helped lower Sophie closer to the ground, not letting go of her. With shaking hands, he began the briefest of assessments. She was breathing, unlabored and steady. Her cheeks were red, but her color was relatively normal. Her body was still, as if she were sleeping.
As he looked Sophie over, Anthony simultaneously yelled for his brother. He saw the distant figure of the other man emerge from the stable, pausing for a moment before starting off into a full run toward Anthony.
It only took about a minute for Benedict to meet his brother. In that time, the Crabtrees had hustled out of the home to see what the noise was about.
“What happened?” Benedict asked, his voice thin, as he knelt down beside Anthony. He accepted the trade-off of Sophie’s body from Anthony, breath only loosening once his wife began to stir.
“She was fine a moment ago, we were talking, and then she just—I believe she merely fainted—” Anthony began. “I do not know why. Perhaps the heat?” He got up, patting his brother’s arm before jogging down the hill to relieve Kate of trying to hold a baby and manage a toddler in a haste. He scooped Edmund up and into the air, pressing a swift kiss to the boy’s hair. He was upset, just as his father was, though it was only socially acceptable for one of them to cry about it.
The careful transition from Anthony to Benedict roused Sophie slightly. Her brows furrowed together in confusion, eyelids fluttering open in an attempt to wake. She opened her mouth to speak but found the words unable to form. Wasting no time, Benedict lifted her into his arms and stood, following Mrs. Crabtree back inside.
Sophie was fully awake by the time Benedict had settled her into their bed. She was conscious, alert, and fully frustrated. Frustrated, that her body which had so reliably gave her strength for so many years under harsh circumstances, had faltered at a most inopportune time. She had fainted, plainly, into the arms of her brother-in-law, the one who clearly didn’t like her very much. But she was also happy, breathlessly happy, when the first sight she saw was her husband’s face.
Benedict—handsome Benedict, with those bright blue eyes and that gentle smile—was holding her hand as if it were made of the finest crystal, like if he dropped it, it might shatter. He inclined his head as if to ask a question, his free hand finding her hair and petting it.
“Sophie, my love,” he began, then laughed, the sound pleasant but with a hint of fear, “what happened?”
Beginning to sit up, and making a face when Benedict kept her reclined, Sophie merely shrugged her shoulders. “I briefly lost consciousness, could you not tell?”
That was their way, some of the time. To tease the other, to speak plainly but with little answers. They had been like that since the masquerade ball, before they even knew each other, and old, bad habits die screaming. As long as one another was fond of the playful avoidances, the other was not keen to stop.
“Yes, but I would like to know why.”
“I’m not a doctor—” Sophie smiled.
“Neither am I. That is why Mr. Crabtree has gone to fetch one.”
Sophie’s smile dropped at the realization. The last thing she had wanted was to inconvenience the Crabtrees, or anyone at all. They were always so good to her, even before she was a Bridgerton. When she was just Sophie Baek, the maid who Benedict rescued, they were kind to her.
“…I doubt there is a need for that,” she confessed softly. “…I believe I know why I—”
“Fainted?”
“Momentarily fell asleep. Without warning,” she corrected, her gaze unable to meet Benedict’s. But she could feel his eyes on her, and she eventually relented with a huff. “Yes, I know how that sounds—”
“Then why,” he began, walking to the other side of the bed before she could look away again, “do you not want a doctor?”
She swallowed, mouth in a thin line. Benedict’s eyebrows shot up in anticipation, still pleasant but slowly losing patience with his stubborn bride. “I cannot say until you close the door,” she whispered seriously.
Blinking, Benedict stifled a chuckle before he wordlessly rose to his full height and crossed the room toward the entrance, closing the door with a purposeful shove. It was only at the last possible second that Sophie saw that Anthony had turned a corner, not moving to enter the room but close enough that the door practically slammed in front of his face.
Sophie made a noise of frustration while Benedict laughed with his full chest. He sidled back to his wife, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.
“My brother will think you so rude,” he joked.
“Benedict.” Sophie closed her eyes for a few moments, inhaling deeply so her next words were chosen carefully. “In a span of mere minutes, I have brought unspeakable shame to your family, haven’t I?”
When she opened her eyes to meet his, Sophie saw that he was still smiling. “I think you’re being a bit dramatic, would you not agree?”
“I would not. Your brother—”
“—was scared,” Benedict muttered, his volume dropping considerably. “So was I. I was only gone for a few moments, but you—I had no clue what had happened, I just heard Anthony yell for me and found him holding you. It all happened so quickly, and I—” he stopped himself before his voice became too thick, but Sophie did not miss the catch in his voice. “—I knew you did not feel well this morning before they arrived, and that you did not feel well during lunch, but I ignored it—”
Although their childhoods had been plenty different, Sophie and Benedict shared in the grief that came from losing a father. Sophie’s father’s death had felt torturously long; he had been sick for weeks before finally passing. There was heartache in that, for Sophie had been mourning him for so long before he finally died. With Benedict’s father, he had died so quickly. It was because of a bee sting, he had told her. One moment he was fine, and the next, he was dying in Violet’s arms, unable to breathe. Anthony had seen it all, and was fundamentally changed afterward.
And although Benedict had not seen it happen, he had been changed, too. He was the second oldest son, and with Anthony’s new title, as well as his dangerous proclivities, came the knowledge that should something happen to Anthony before he could produce an heir, Benedict was next in line. To his credit, Benedict did not become strait-laced overnight. In fact, he was not even now. But he lived as if the rug would one day be pulled out from under him, with reckless abandon so that he could look back fondly later, when he was sidled with mind-numbing responsibilities, with no regrets.
Those fears no longer had teeth. Anthony had a son, an heir, and had returned to his duties at home. But the feelings, the quickness of tragedy, had not fully left him. They never would.
So Sophie understood what he was saying. He was not mad at her, he rarely ever was, but he was terrified. He did not know why she had suddenly fainted, and briefly had feared that she would be taken from him as suddenly as his father had been.
Oh, but it was quite the opposite.
Sophie smiled softly, her hand finding his. His ramblings immediately ceased. “Benedict,” she began, carefully, “I do not believe that I am sick.”
“Then, what—”
“I do not know for certain, but…” On instinct, she made sure the door was still shut. “...I believe I am pregnant.” She hurriedly repeated, upon seeing his mouth drop open and his eyes widen considerably, “I do not for certain. I have just–I have not had much of an appetite, you did notice that. And, there are other considerations which I do not need to explain to you. Personal matters.”
“Personal?” Benedict asked, voice high-pitched. “I am your husband.”
“And I am your wife, who does not wish to speak much of personal matters. I just suspect that I am with child, and we may not know for certain, but I have not ruled it out yet.” She mulled over her next words with care, adding, “And, I must confess, I have had some…tenderness.”
Her cheeks were hot, but not like earlier. Against her better wishes, she did not feel prone to slipping into unconsciousness at the moment. When Benedict’s eyes lowered to her chest, she moved to cover her breasts. She had not even really considered this symptom, the soreness, but the longer she considered the facts, the more the recent changes to her body began to convince her that she was well and truly with child.
Benedict’s subsequent smile was devilish. He all but jumped on top of her, careful not to disturb her body. He peppered her face with kisses, and Sophie scrunched her face together, giggling as she failed to fend him away.
“You really think so?” he asked, his smile growing near-childish right before she buried her face in his neck. “You think you’re going to be a mother?”
The question gave her pause, in the best of ways. Benedict was never really concerned about himself. He wasn’t an entirely selfless person, but he did often put Sophie’s needs above his own. But the way he asked, so hopefully, about Sophie rather than himself, tugged at her heart. Sophie pulled back, nodding quickly as she leaned forward to kiss him. “And I think you’re going to be a father.”
She knew that Benedict would be the best of fathers. He would be gentle and funny and forgiving and perhaps an enabler at times, but truly and most importantly, kind.
Benedict laughed, then cheered, then attacked Sophie’s neck, kissing a line of kisses down her skin. She shrieked in surprise, a mix of delight, pulling him close to her.
Their reckless abandon must have sounded somewhat worrisome to an outsider; the door swung open without so much as a knock, and Benedict and Sophie both shot up, their hair already tousled (though she would maintain that they were acting quite chastely) and cheeks reddened.
At the doorframe stood Anthony, flanked by Mrs. Crabtree. The two had seemed ready to face a far worse scene–perhaps that something more had happened to Sophie that had resulted in screaming from the couple. Anthony’s face scrunched into a confused frown, before realizing that his brother and sister-in-law were quite fine and that he should not have opened the door without warning. Clearing his throat, Anthony waved wordlessly before fleeing the scene. Left in his wake, Mrs. Crabtree simply gave the couple a knowing smile before retreating down the hall.
In any other instance, Sophie might have been embarrassed at being seen in such a state of disarray with her husband, but she could not find it within herself to care very much, not when Benedict had her in his arms, not when she was so completely happy, knowing that they were going to be parents, and that the rest of their lives lay out in front of them with so much promise.
This, becoming a mother, was like the dream Sophie never knew she was allowed to have. But now it was a certainty, not a far-away notion. There was, indeed, nothing of which to be embarrassed.
She could be wrong.
She could embarrass herself further in front of her husband’s family. There were so many of them, in fact, the shame could span countries, she realized.
Fainting in front of Anthony, practically onto Anthony, had been torture enough. After the fact, he had been overly cautious the rest of his and Kate’s stay at My Cottage. Sophie suspected he still did not know why she had fainted, and he was certainly too much of a gentleman to ask. Kate, on the other hand, had an omniscient way about her; she most certainly could piece the signs together but chose not to comment.
But Sophie sensed it, later that very first evening. She was still resting in bed, momentarily alone because Benedict had gone to speak with Anthony elsewhere, and looked up when Kate knocked on the doorframe. The older woman leaned against the wood, soft smile playing on her lips. “Are you entertaining visitors?” she asked gently.
Nodding, Sophie began to sit up. “Please. I have already been dying of boredom just from a day like this.”
Crossing the space of the room in a few steps, Kate smoothed out her dress before sitting on the chair next to Sophie’s bed. “I can imagine. I do appreciate the quietness of My Cottage, though I could see how the silence can become overwhelming at times.” She leaned over, offering an arm for Sophie to grab so that she could pull herself into a sitting position. “The Bridgerton house is…its own kind of wilderness. Makes quite the contrast.”
Breathing out a soft laugh, Sophie could not help but agree. She wasn’t a wallflower and did not usually struggle with shyness, but she had learned rather quickly that it was important for one to find their voice among the Bridgertons, lest they be drowned out by the rest of the noise. “Yes, and I must think that settling back at home after your time overseas was an adjustment?”
Once Sophie was sitting up, Kate took a few pillows from the bed to prop them up behind her back to make her more comfortable. Her free hand was holding Sophie’s. “It was,” she began as she re-took her seat in the chair, “but I find all the noise comforting. It is strange,” Kate admitted. “There were times before my children, before I even met Anthony, where such a large family with so many loud voices would have unsettled me. After all, they all have opinions, and most will not hesitate to tell you them.”
“...I think that is what I am afraid of,” Sophie said quietly. She squeezed Kate’s hand, and the other woman squeezed it back. She had not known Kate long, but she sensed a camaraderie between them. Of course, they had different upbringings, but they knew what it was like to feel out-of-place, even in one’s own family. To then be transplanted into the Bridgertons’ world, at times, was frightening. “The opinions, that is.”
Kate hummed in understanding. “Yes, what if they do not like you?”
Sophie’s eyes widened immediately. Kate giggled in response. “Why, have you heard something?”
“No, but I know how my own thoughts were. What if they do not like you? What if you embarrass yourself in front of them? What if you embarrass one of them?”
When Benedict had first introduced Sophie to his family, not as a maid but as a proper future member of the Bridgerton family, he had given her a sort-of primer on the characters she would get to know.
Violet, his mother, was a hard read. She was always polite, rather nice, but not a pushover. Sophie would have to learn exactly what he meant by that. Anthony was, according to Benedict, uptight and judgmental but fiercely protective of his younger siblings. Colin was earnest, and Daphne had always been maternal, even before she became a mother. Eloise was Benedict’s favorite, and she was scarily independent and secretly sensitive. Francesca–lovely and quiet, lovely even in the face of her hardest season in life. Gregory had grown up quite a bit, apparently, but he was still rambunctious yet eager to join his brothers as an adult. And Hyacinth was much the same, excitable and equally excited to debut in society; she in particular reminded Sophie so much of her dear Posy.
This primer, of course, included spouses. The Duke of Hastings, Simon, Daphne’s husband, was not seen often, but on the one occasion that Sophie had met him, she was taken by his regal stature. And Penelope, was, of course, kind and inviting with the quickest of wits.
Kathani Bridgerton was Benedict’s second favorite, Sophie learned. She was statuesque, controlled, and wildly competitive. Her beauty could only pale in comparison to the depth of love for her family. Given Benedict’s compliments for his sister-in-law, Sophie might have felt jealous of her.
But she couldn’t, not when she felt such a deep kinship with the other woman.
In quiet moments just as these, when Kate somehow gave life to the fears that Sophie refused to voice even to Benedict, Sophie was struck by her own transparency. Was she truly such an easy read?
Pulled from her thoughts by the feeling of Kate squeezing her hand again, Sophie met her gaze.
“But what if,” Kate began slowly, lips turning upward into a soft smile, “they love you as one of their own? Every part of you, the love you share with Benedict, the life you two are making for yourselves. The life you two have made.”
Tears sprung to Sophie’s eyes without any warning. She did not expect to start crying and did not think she could yet blame her pregnancy on her heightened emotions. She wiped at her eyes and laughed wetly, Kate joining. “I must truly be the most obvious person on the planet,” Sophie said with a sniff. “It has been less than a day.”
“And I have had two babies,” Kate retorted. She reached over to brush a tear off Sophie’s cheek, her touch feather-light. “And I know Anthony. If he is unable to piece a puzzle together, I have to take it upon myself as his wife to figure it out. And he was…utterly puzzled.”
The two women laughed again, and Kate began to wipe at her own unshed tears. “You’ll soon find that you start crying over anything.”
“Oh, wonderful, as if I needed one more thing to worry about.”
Sophie was unsure whether she should, but she scooted over on the bed, patting the spot next to her. There was one moment, just one, where she worried that she was being too forward, but Kate beamed and slid from the chair to the spot next to Sophie, settling onto the mattress in a sitting position. Her hand found Sophie’s again, squeezing it.
The two women were silent, both perhaps overwhelmed by the enormity of reality—two near-outcasts, who once thought they were doomed to never find love and never be loved, were now unashamedly loved by a set of brothers who could not be more opposites. And yet, the single thread which connected them, their depth of love and kindness, had woven around them and around their wives, tying them all together.
Resting her head against Kate’s shoulder, Sophie closed her eyes. “I can only hope that Benedict and I will give our child the warmth and kindness that you and Lord Bridgerton give your children. A happy life, a calm one. It is what they deserve.”
Nodding, Kate lay her cheek atop Sophie’s head. “It is what we all deserve,” she agreed.
The two allowed themselves to lapse into silence, unaware of the two figures watching from the doorway. Two brothers, so unlike one another, yet united in this moment, fondness and love filling the space.
For the rest of the week, much to Anthony’s possible discomfort (at least in Sophie’s eyes) and Benedict’s delight, the two Bridgerton wives were glued to each other’s sides.
While Sophie was sad to see her sister-in-law leave at the end of the week, she might have ushered Anthony out the door with a bit too much glee. If she could avoid seeing him for the next, say, year or so, she would think that would be an appropriate amount of time to recover from this mortifying incident.
The morning Kate and Anthony left, he helped his wife into the carriage before turning to Benedict and clapping him on the back a few times. It was an awkward way to say that he loved his younger brother. His gaze met Sophie’s, and devastatingly, it traveled downward to her mid-section. Not inappropriately, not judgmentally, but as if to try to confirm an inkling that had been brewing in his mind.
He only looked at her stomach briefly, but the action was enough to make Sophie wish, as she wished so many times throughout her life, that the ground could swallow her whole.
So, then, she was wrong about Anthony. He did know, or at least considered the possibility. And he was trying to see whether Sophie had gained any weight with the early pregnancy. What could be worse–if he thought that she had, when she didn’t see it yet, or that she hadn’t, and he thought she was wrong or if she was lying?
Anthony caught himself before he stared too long. He righted himself, with that tight-lipped smile, and inclined his head. “Sophie,” he said, the discomfort hanging thickly in the summer air.
“Yes, Lord–sorry–Anthony?”
“...I’m happy for you, truly. You make my brother so happy. I can see how much he loves you. And I can see why.” His smile was softer now, and Sophie found herself returning the expression.
“That is very kind of you.” She looked behind Anthony, where Kate was peering out from the carriage, a smirk playing on her lips. But it was more than that; she could sense how kind Anthony was being, and it made her love her husband even more.
Sophie understood that feeling all too well. She felt the same way about Benedict.
“...when you are feeling up to it, I would–well, the Viscountess and I–” he said, loudly enough for Kate to hear. She made a surprised sound before ducking her head back into the carriage, as if she did not want Anthony to know that she had been eavesdropping. Anthony chuckled at the result. “–we would be honored if you spent a few weeks at the estate with us, with the family. We could make a better showing next time, you and I.”
Crossing her arms behind her back, Sophie glanced over at Benedict, whose brows were furrowed in confusion. “You mean, my Lord, you would like it if we could have a conversation without my fainting into your arms?”
“Yes, I would like that very much. I would like to prove to my very suspicious wife–” Again, Kate’s head disappeared from view, “–that I am in fact not so boring that I cause my companions to fall asleep while standing.”
Benedict looped his arm through Sophie’s, pulling her in closer, their hips brushing against each other. “I don’t know if we should take such risks again, Brother.”
“Well, at any rate, I would like to make up for my embarrassing actions earlier,” Anthony confessed.
It struck Sophie then, silently, even as she agreed with Anthony. As much as she was worried that she had embarrassed herself in front of Anthony, he worried about the same. Watching him climb back into the carriage, his words to Kate muffled by the sound of Edmund and Kate giggling at his antics, it was impossible for Sophie to feel anything but lighter. She melted into Benedict’s touch, but turned her expression back to his brother.
“There isn’t any need for apologies,” she insisted. “I am grateful that you were…where you were. Your support means the world.”
In that moment, Sophie recognized a very Bridgerton-like quality in Anthony she had once assumed had passed over him—a sense of humor. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he said, “I presume you mean ‘support’ both literally and figuratively.”
Against her own decorum, Sophie laughed loudly, immediately covering her mouth to stifle the sound.
Eyes widening in surprise at the sudden sound, Anthony composed himself quickly. His smile betrayed his shock, his gaze wandering over to his brother. “You two are so well-suited for each other,” he said, his voice soft. “I suspect your home will always be filled with warmth. And laughter,” he added. He turned around to take a look at the carriage before nodding. “Alright, then. I’m off. I’ll be seeing you two soon, I hope. And please, Sophie, for my sake and the sake of your husband, do take it easier.”
Sophie nodded, touched at the genuine concern from her brother-in-law. She smiled up at Benedict, the two of them watching as Anthony went to join his family in the carriage. Benedict’s hand found Sophie’s, their fingers entwining together. His wedding ring grazed against her finger, the metal band a comforting feeling against her skin.
With one final wave, the Viscount and his Viscountess were off to their home, leaving Sophie and Benedict alone in front of My Cottage. He chuckled, then laughed fully, before pulling Sophie against him in a tight hug. She immediately relaxed into his embrace, eyes sliding shut.
“I may never let you leave this house again,” Benedict muttered, his lips resting against the top of his wife’s head. “You and…and our child. Our baby.” His tone softened tremendously, reverently. “We’re going to have a baby—”
Nodding, Sophie beamed, even thought Benedict couldn’t see her expression. “Yes, but this wasn’t the way I envisioned telling anyone, let alone your older brother.”
“Why are you so concerned with what my older brother thinks?” he asked. He pulled away, brows furrowed together.
Rolling her eyes, Sophie pulled him back in another hug. Naturally, Benedict obliged, all but melting against her. “I am concerned, Benedict, because he’s your family. And I would like him to like me. And…I believe he does. Even though I have a knack for embarrassing myself in front of him…”
For once in her life, it was somehow easy for Sophie to imagine that she could be likable, or rather, liked. Perhaps it was because she was married now and was simply more confident, or that Benedict had given her a glimpse of a life in which she could be loved, loudly. Whatever it was, she felt secure in her life, was becoming more secure in this beautiful family she had married into.
“Well,” Benedict began, his hand rubbing up and down her back comfortingly, “you should know that in this family, we are all prone to great acts of embarrassment. Not me, of course, but I have many stories about Anthony making a fool of himself.”
“I can’t wait to hear them, as long as it takes,” Sophie said, though she sincerely doubted that Benedict was as scandal-free as he suggested.
But, it was true. All Sophie wanted to do was spend the rest of her life with Benedict, hearing about his happy childhood and his not-so-happy teenage years. And of course, they would write their own stories, of their love and their children. They’d share many laughs, likely more than a few tears. Sophie didn’t expect the rest of her life would run smoothly; no doubt, there would be bumps along the way, more embarrassing moments and missteps. Yet, despite these certain…uncertainties, Sophie could not find herself feeling anything but excited.