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Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter One

I’m Not Okay (I Promise)

My Chemical Romance

What will it take to show you

That it’s not the life it seems?

I told you time and time again

You sing the words

But don’t know what it means

To be a joke and look

Another line without a hook

I held you close as we both shook

For the last time

Take a good hard look

In the year 1798, Earl Richard Gunningworth sat down in front of his friend, Viscount Edmund Bridgerton and declared he had made a mistake.

A mistake in marrying, to be exact.

“I told you nothing good would come of marrying that woman,” Edmund smirked from the cozy chair across from his friend.

Once upon a time, “friend” would be too strong a term for Gunningworth and Bridgerton. They had originally spent their acquaintanceship as friends of friends. Both had gone to the same boarding school and their roommates had grown up as best friends and next door neighbors. As a result they found themselves acquainted and increasingly friendly with their roommate’s best friend’s roommate. So by the time they sat across from each other that spring evening in Whites, friend was a most apt term to describe the pair.

“I should wager it’s even worse than you imagine,” Gunningworth signalled to a waiter to bring his usual.

“Let me guess. It’s about your ward.”

A thickness hung in the air. Anyone with eyes had long ago figured out that Gunningworth’s ward was not the daughter of a deceased friend as he claimed, but rather his own bastard daughter.

Edmund had never gotten the story out of Gunningworth, but it only took ten seconds of looking at the pretty blonde-haired green-eyed girl to know the truth. All Edmund knew of the sordid affair was one day seven years ago Gunningworth had casually mentioned his new resident while Edmund was taking a drink of port, and Edmund choked so hard that he nearly rendered his wife a premature widow.

Sophie was the girl’s name. Sophia Maria Beckett. Edmund had only met her once briefly when he visited Penwood Park, Gunningworth’s manor. All Edmund remembered was that she was very beautiful and had a magnificent accent when speaking French. When and why the girl had spoken French to Edmund was a mystery now lost to time. Still, Sophie had made a good impression and Edmund imagined that she would become a very pleasant young lady.

He also imagined her new stepmother was making the poor girl’s life a living hell.

“Araminta, well…” Gunningworth sighed as his thought of his new bride. “Well, I’m sure that every mother tends to play favorites with their children.”

“I suppose,” Edmund sipped his drink. He decided not to mention how his wife Violet most certainly had avoided that hurtle with their children.

“Look, Sophie is my… Responsibility. I made a promise and I keep my promises. If Araminta wants the girl gone, then tough. I told her straight up Araminta, you don’t have to love Sophie. You don’t even have to like her. But you have to put up with her. I have owned up to my responsibility to the girl for seven years, and I’m not going to stop now.”

“How did Araminta take that?”

“Not well,” he answered flatly. Gunningworth sighed, “You know, I married for Sophie’s sake to begin with. I could have chosen anyone to carry my heir, but I intentionally chose a woman with children. I thought Sophie needed more playmates. She was so happy when she had my clerk’s daughter to run around with, but then Sharma eloped with Lady Mary Sheffield and they took Kathani off to India with them. Now Sophie has no one. Rosamund and Posy were supposed to be friends with her. Instead they just ignore her, or worse antagonize her. Rosamund is just the mirror image of her mother. I know I’ve seen her pinching Sophie when she thinks I’m not looking, but thanks to Araminta, I can’t do anything about it.”

Edmund said nothing. He reserved his judgement for himself. Edmund Bridgerton would never put up with malicious violence between his children. His sons may play rough and would tease each other mercilessly, but they knew better than to cross the line into cruelhearted bullying. Surely Gunningworth could put his foot down as man of the house?

But how another man ran his household was not something you commented an opinion on unless asked.

Edmund was lost to his own musings so much that he didn’t notice the strange look Gunningworth had in his eye.

“You have children, right?” the query seemed to come from nowhere.

Edmund blinked, “Uh… yes?”

“Quite a few some say.”

“Six is a little more than a handful.”

“The thought occurs,” Gunningworth swirled the drink in his glass thoughtfully, “Sophie might find a playmate in one of them.”

Edmund wasn’t sure he heard that right, “A playmate among my children?”

“Yes, your children. Your daughters are fairly old now, aren’t they?”

“My eldest daughter is barely out of leading strings. Francesca is 1, Eloise is 2, and Daphne is only 6. I can’t imagine that she would find much in common with a 10-year-old.”

“The boys then.”

“You are not serious,” Edmund asked askance. “Do you know what kind of scandal would incur if my boys started running around with your… girl?”

Gunningworth waved his hand flippantly, “Since when has Viscount Edmund Bridgerton cared about scandal? Besides, what objections would anyone have? They’re young children. It’s not a time when their ages would make it improper.”

Edmund hesitated. He liked children and Sophie wasn’t some creature of revulsion, but there was still an ugly truth hanging in the air, “Yes, but what about… you know?”

Gunningworth lifted an eyebrow, “And who is going to say it to my face?”

“They could say it to my face,” Edmund shot.

“Accuse Edmund Bridgerton of intentional impropriety to his face? Spare me; you know the Ton adores your family.”

“So you’re hoping the love for our family extends to Sophie?”

“I want the girl to have companionship. And if her reputation gets a boost, well then all the better. She’ll need all the help she can get to secure a good match.”

You intend to present the girl?”

 Gunningworth shrugged, “Let’s not close any doors for now.”

Edmund sighed, “I suppose it might be good to have an older girl around the house. Violet is so eagerly looking forward to the day the girls are old enough to dance and sew and all of those feminine trades.”

“So are you saying yes to my offer?”

Edmund couldn’t help the smile on his face, “Let’s give it a try.”

Gunningworth lifted his drink, “To an offer between gentlemen.”

“To an offer between gentlemen.”

And the clanging of glass against glass filled the club.

“Get off my foot, Colin!”

“You’re the one with your elbow in my eye socket! OUCH! Benedict!”

“Hush, both of you!” Anthony hissed. At fourteen years of age, he knew better than to huddle against locked doors with his younger brothers. Still there the three boys were, piled against the door, vulnerable to tumbling forward in a heap should the handle turn.

“Colin’s the one shoving,” Benedict objected.

Benedict Bridgerton was the second of six children, but sometimes it felt more like a hundred. Three brothers were hard enough to handle, and he feared what it would be like when the girls got older.

God forbid his parents have more.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Colin asked a bit too loudly.

“SHHHH!” Anthony and Benedict pounced on him together. They were not above a hand over the mouth if that’s what it took to shut up their younger brother.

“Listen,” Anthony beckoned.

“Well, I’m sure we could find more than enough room for the girl. But is this wise, Edmund?” their mother, Violet’s voice came vaguely through the door.

Their father’s answer was too muffled to hear, but the information was enough for the Bridgerton boys.

“Girl?” Benedict frowned. “What girl?”

“Is Mother with child again?” Colin groaned.

“No, you dunce,” Anthony resisted the urge to cuff his brother. “You can’t tell the sex of a baby until it’s born. It’s probably a cousin coming to visit.”

“Oh great. Another girl.”

“Hush. They’re saying something else.”

“What about the girl’s stepmother? Surely she wouldn’t want me to interfere with her daughter’s upbringing.”

“That’s my fear,” Edmund apparently felt comfortable enough to speak louder. “I’m afraid this is less found family and more of a Cinderella situation. I’m sure Araminta will have quite the problem with our interference. Hence the need.”

“So you’re asking me-”

“To act fairy godmother,” Benedict didn’t need to see his father’s face to know his eyes were crinkling at the corners with his smile. “Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to get some practice in with girls while Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca grow a little bigger?”

“I suppose.” Violet still sounded pensive. “But there is still the fact the girl is base born. Not that anything’s wrong with that, but it will make things difficult.”

“I don’t much see the problem. When you think about it, most of the Ton came from much humbler situations. It wasn’t that long ago when The Great Experiment changed everything.”

“Well… oh, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. I just hope the children get along with her.”

“I’m sure they will include her most splendidly.” Edmund suddenly raised his voice, “Won’t you, Boys?”

The brothers froze.

“Should we make a run for it?” Colin whispered.

“BOYS?” their father’s voice came again.

“It’s too late,” Anthony sighed. He nodded towards the younger two.

“Yes, Father,” they dutifully chorused back.

“Good.”

Their parents’ voices lowered and the brothers were left once more in the dark.

“What did we just agree to?” Colin asked nervously.

“I have no idea,” Benedict answered.

Little did Benedict know that what he had agreed to would set into motion the threads of his deepest destiny.

It had been two years since Sophie’s one and only friend, Kathani “Kate” Sharma had left for India. Even worse, it had been a month since the Earl had married that awful woman and Sophie’s life had become a nightmare.

She could barely find her solace in even Kate’s letters anymore. Araminta had looked down on Sophie communicating with some clerk’s daughter and tried to bring an end to the contact. The Earl had thankfully stepped in and personally sent and received the letters now, but Sophie still worried the day would come when Araminta got her claws on Sophie’s letters. Especially since in her letters to Kate was the only time Sophie dared to express her true feelings about Araminta.

Sophie had wanted to love her stepmother, but once someone tells you never to speak to them or be in their company, that tended to shut down any chance of affection.

It was even harder since the Earl – her one true defender with any power in the house – would always go off on long stretches to the London House or business trips and social calls.

So Sophie was quite surprised when the Earl told her she was to join him on his next trip.

“It’s because Mama doesn’t want you infecting us with your disgusting lowborn status anymore,” Rosamund pinched Sophie’s hand while their Governess had her back turned.

Sophie masked a yelp and jerked her hand away. Her hand was black and blue from the broken blood vessels of Rosamund’s many assaults. She would have to be careful to wear gloves on whatever trip it was that she was about to embark on. If it was found out how Sophie was being treated and Araminta’s reputation was damaged… well, it wouldn’t just be Sophie’s hands that were ugly.

When Sophie was told to pack a bag with her best clothes and anything important to her, fear struck her heart. Was this a bag to leave Penwood Park forever? Was she finally to be cast aside back into the dirt from where she came?

It didn’t help that throughout the journey, the Earl didn’t speak to her. His nose was stuck in what Sophie assumed were business papers, while Sophie had been given some romance book called The Orphan of the Rhine to keep her busy.

Sophie had certainly read better in her time.

She was pleasantly surprised with their carriage pulled up to a larger manor with the most beautiful flowers surrounding the entrance. Standing at the front entrance was a man and a woman. They were dressed beautifully and were a rather handsome couple. They both had dark hair and friendly eyes. There was something so naturally warm and inviting about them. If Sophie was to be abandoned into someone else’s care, she supposed they didn’t seem that bad.

Of course, Araminta hadn’t seemed bad either at the start.

“Welcome,” the woman greeted as Gunningworth helped the little blonde girl out of the carriage. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

“Our pleasure,” Gunningworth bowed his head, not giving Sophie so much as a glance.

“Trip went well?” the man asked. And the pair devolved into standard pleasantries.

Sophie stood there unsure of herself. Her hands clasped and unclasped her pretty blue skirt, still amazed by the quality of the dress the Earl had presented her at the inn last night. It was a play garment but finer than anything she had yet owed.

Her eyes wandered around the beautiful grounds in wonder, but pain edged every moment. Why was she here? Nerves getting the best of her, Sophie crossed her arms across her body to hug herself. She wanted to cuddle the stuffed toy puppy she had had ever since she first came to Penwood Park, but the toy was packed away in her truck in the carriage.

Then her gaze fell the strange woman’s face. Her eyes were blue and her smile was warm. In just that moment of blue meeting a green gaze, something shifted in Sophie. She knew she was safe.

“Hello,” the woman stepped towards Sophie. It took all of Sophie’s bravery not to take a step back. “You must be Sophie.”

Automatically Sophie bobbed a curtsey, “My Lady.”

“Oh, there will be none of that.” The woman placed a gentle hand on Sophie shoulder, “I’m Violet Bridgerton. You can call me Violet.”

Sophie hesitated, “P-Pleased to meet you, Violet Ma’am.”

The strange man snorted, and Violet shot him a scathing look.

“I’m Viscount Edmund Bridgerton,” the man introduced. “Please call me Edmund. My family is so excited to have you here, Sophie.”

Sophie’s heart fell. So she was to be left here with these strangers. Araminta had finally won.

The Earl must have noticed the way Sophie’s face had fallen, because he extrapolated, “The Bridgertons are some friends of mine who have graciously opened their house to you for a few days. I have some business to attend to not far from here, and I thought you might like to spend some time with some children of your own age. The Bridgertons have a few children I think you would get along with.”

A few days. The words seemed hopeful, but Sophie was unsure. Was this just some sort of trial run to an abandonment later down the line?

It was Edmund who seemed to understand the child’s fear the most. He gently took her by the gloved hand and squeezed it softly.

“Just for a few days,” he said kindly. “You won’t be making a home here.”

“Promise?” Sophie whispered.

“Promise,” Edmund smiled. “We just want to be your friend.”

Sophie grinned.

“Alright then,” Violet took Sophie’s hand from her husband. “Why don’t we go meet the other children?”

Benedict was just putting the last line of charcoal on his drawing when he heard the footsteps coming towards the library. The mad scramble to hide his paper tore the page clean in half. He groaned, mentally kicking himself when the door opened.

“I knew I only counted five children,” Edmund’s voice sang across the room.

Sighing, Benedict tossed his page down next to his pencils. His father took a seat in the chair next to him and picked up the page.

“This is very good,” Edmund examined the torn drawing.

“No, it’s not. The shading is too heavy, and the light source is all wrong,” Benedict – pink at the ears – made to snatch the drawing, but Edmund yanked it out of reach.

“This,” Edmund repeated, “is a very good drawing. And someday I think you might find your talents and your passions to come to a head.”

Benedict smiled.

“But not today,” he set the drawing down. “Today you are going to be a good brother and a good host and welcome our guest to our home. You can be a good artist another day.”

Rolling his eyes he asked, “Do I really have to meet this girl?”

“She’ll be with us for a week at least. You can’t avoid her forever.”

Edmund stood and a offered his hand. Benedict sighed and grabbed it, allowing his father to pull him to his feet.

“Come,” Edmund patted him on the back. “Let’s go introduce you to the girl.”

To say the children took well to Sophie was undercutting things quite significantly, Violet observed. True, Eloise and Francesca were far too young to understand what was going on, and at fourteen, Anthony was more concerned with playing host than playmate with the ten-year-old Sophie. But Daphne at six was the perfect age to look up at the girl with stars in her eyes and Colin at seven years loved that Sophie wasn’t too prissy to play games in the grass, mud, and water with him. Only Benedict was unintroduced to their guest, and Edmund had gone off to herd the reengage Bridgerton.

For now, Violet was content to watch the children from the shaded area that had been set up for her and Edmund. They were on the eastern lawn of the manor which was the one that overlooked their small lake and the shed of sports equipment. It was a gorgeous sunny day and the children were running all about, acting like Sophie had been part of them since time immemorial.

Then Violet heard noises behind her and turned to see Benedict and Edmund approaching.

“What are we playing?” Edmund asked.

“Blind Man’s Bluff,” Violet reported just in time to see Anthony tying the blindfold around Sophie’s head. “Benedict, you should join them.”

Benedict, who had been distracted by a bird in a nearby tree nodded and distractedly walked towards his siblings and their guest. Laughter filled the lawn as they scattered about yelling bluff. The sounds brought a smile to Benedict’s face, and he turned when he reached the open field, and then—

He saw her.

Her.

He found himself facing what had to be the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.

Of course it would take many years for those feelings to be sorted out, but in that heartbeat of a moment when Benedict Bridgerton first laid eyes on Sophie Beckett, the beauty of the world unfolded to him.

She was blindfolded, smiling as she groped her hands toward the giggling children. He could see only the bottom half of her face, but still, that’s when his heart knew its home.

Unfortunately his head had no idea why his breath had stopped. Why he stood so stock still was a mystery he could not fathom. But there he stood as the beauty got closer and closer until grasping hands landed upon his shoulder.

“Got you!” Sophie giggled. She lifted her blindfolded and then gasped.

Standing in front of her was a strange boy, older than her but not by much. He was tall, handsome with a perfectly square jaw, deep chestnut hair, and lips that hinted of irony and smiles.

The moment stole her breath. Likewise with Benedict, it would be many years before Sophia Beckett understand the significance of that moment. Still, even in that moment when moss green eyes met ice blue, Sophie knew somehow her world had shifted.

“Oh,” Sophie’s lips pulled into a frown. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Benedict,” he blurted out. His voice was a bit too loud and he winced. He couldn’t tell if that was a failed attempt at introduction or if he had lost all sense and that was the only word his brain was lift clinging to.

He couldn’t even tell if she was beautiful. Her hair was a rather ordinary dark blond, and with her blindfold tied securely around her neck, shoved up onto her forehead. But there was something about her that held him mesmerized. It was her smile, the shape of her eyes, the way she held herself and looked about the park as if she’d never seen a more glorious sight than the silly members of the Bridgerton children playing as if there were no faults in the universe.

Her beauty came from within. She shimmered. She glowed. She was utterly radiant, and Benedict suddenly realized that it was because she looked so damned happy. Happy to be where she was, happy to be who she was. Happy in a way Benedict could barely remember.

This woman knew joy. And Benedict had to know her.

“Who are you?” apparently dumbly blurting things out without so much as a how do you do was just how he operated now.

Sophie swallowed. Anthony had unnerved her with their meeting, but there was something more about this son that made Sophie anxious. There was something serious and intense about him. Not that he looked angry or stubborn, just something… something she couldn’t put her finger on.

It made her want to run away.

“Aw, Benedict!” Colin chastised as he and Daphne came racing up. “You made it so easy for her. There’s no fun in it if the blind man doesn’t have to chase you.”

“Are you our guest?” Benedict completely ignored his brother. He had to know this strange girl that drew him so strongly to him. It made him uneasy how desperate he was to know her.

She blushed but didn’t say anything.

“Of course she’s our guest,” Colin rolled his eyes.

“That’s Sophie,” Daphne helpfully supplied. “She’s going to be with us for a whole week! Can you believe it, Benedict?”

“Alright, alright,” Anthony approached the group. “There’s a little too much standing around and not enough playing. We don’t want our guest to be bored, do we? Ben, you’re up with the blindfold.”

Benedict frowned, “Why me?”

“Because you got caught,” Anthony grinned. “Sophie, help him with the blindfold. And everyone, again, be very careful with the lake.”

The other Bridgerton children scattered, quibbling amongst themselves as they left Sophie and Benedict behind alone.

“I’m sorry for just blurting things out,” Benedict blurted out. He winced at the irony but liked it when Sophie gave a little giggle. “I’m usually not this… this.”

Sophie smiled, “I’m sure you’re very serious and formal.”

“Well…” Benedict couldn’t help but grin, “maybe I am a little more this than that.”

God, was he even making remote sense? Apparently so as Sophie let out another giggle.

“Come on!” Colin yelled across the field. “Before we die of old age!”

They shook their heads in unison, but Benedict turned around for Sophie to blindfold him. He was so tall, he had to bend down for her. Sophie also blushed when she tied the blindfold around the back of his head and her fingers brushed along his dark hair. It was so soft.

“Blind Man!”

“Bluff!”

“BLUFF!”

“Bluff!”

“Bluff!”

The Bridgerton siblings plus Sophie minus Benedict seemed to be a bit too much for Benedict. It felt like he was stuck for ages in the dark racing around the lawn, trying to catch someone. Anyone.

“Give it up, Benedict!” Anthony’s voice came off to the right, taunting in the way only an older brother could. “You’re never going to catch us. You might as well give up.”

The voice was close. Very close.

Anthony always got on his high horse during games. Any opportunity to best his elder brother was a gift from God itself, and one that Benedict would grab with both hands. Benedict didn’t hesitate. He pounced.

But the feminine scream that came suggest it was not Anthony who was closest.

Sophie.

Benedict jerked back. It would not do to tackle a strange young girl, especially one who was about to spent six more days in his house.

But Benedict over corrected. When he yanked back, he went too far and himself went tumbling. Sophie must have thought she could save him, because suddenly he felt a grip on his wrists. But the force of falling was too strong and he yanked her right back with him…

Straight into the lake.

“Sophie!” Violet gasped, she and Edmund shot to their feet. They began to race forward, but stopped when they heard it.

Laughter.

Sophie and Benedict were soaked head to town, lying with mud stained clothes in the shallow end of the lake… and they were laughing.

It was the kind of joy and hilarity that brought two souls together. And there they sat in the lake, the tension of the strange feelings they had endured upon laying eyes upon each other finally severed. They were free to just enjoy the moment and each other’s company.

“Well then,” Violet smiled as Benedict gallantly helped Sophie to her feet and the other surrounded them to help and to tease, “I think this is the start of quite the beautiful friendship.”

“Indeed it does,” Edmund wrapped an arm around his wife as they admired Sophie among the children. “Indeed it does.”

But they never imagined that it was the start not just of a friendship but something that would in time prove to be so much more.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Two

If You Believe

Andrea Remanda

Once upon a time

I always did as I was told

And every day and night

I tried to make it on my own

But I had a secret

I needed someone there to tell

You said look inside yourself

You can break the spell

“I don’t like it! I don’t like it one bit!” Araminta’s voice rang out throughout Penwood Park. “Why should that girl be running around with the Bridgertons and my girls don’t even get an introduction?”

“You know very well why that’s happening!” the Earl’s voice shot back.

Sophie huddled into herself and covered her ears. The argument had been the same every day since she met the Bridgertons all those months ago. Frankly she much preferred the copy of her new friends than the torment she endured with Araminta, Rosamund, and Posy. True, Posy wasn’t too bad, but Sophie would take Anthony, Benedict, Colin, and Daphne any day over her.

Anthony was like the big brother she never had. He preened like a peacock every time Sophie asked him to explain something in what seemed his boundless banks of knowledge. One time Araminta had insisted on coming with the Earl to pick up Sophie from one of her weeklong visits with the Bridgertons, and Anthony acted every bit the guard dog. He made a gallant display of the fawning host, telling Araminta just how proud she should be to have such a fine young lady, and made a show of helping Sophie into the carriage. Anthony was such a warm center of safety that Sophie had felt the comfort to confess some of the things Araminta had let Rosamund get away with. If it were proper, he had said, he would sort Araminta right out.

Colin was her fun friend, always with a joke and a scheme. They bonded over books of adventure, swapping recommendations at every visit and discussing them extensively when they met again. It was Colin who showed Sophie all the secrets of Aubrey Hall, especially how to sneak snacks from the kitchen.

Daphne was Sophie’s special friend, bonding over their womanly training. The younger girl had absolute stars in her eyes for Sophie. They sewed and danced and Daphne eagerly taught Sophie her every pianoforte lesson. Daphne had natural talent on the instrument, but Violet thought Sophie was picking up her playing quite nicely. Sophie wasn’t allowed anywhere near the pianoforte in Penwood Park, but at Aubrey Hall, she was asked to perform her own concerts.

But it was Benedict that was Sophie’s favorite. He was so kind, so funny, so gentle. Together they rode and swam and played all manner of games, but it was the conversation that made the difference. They could talk for hours on end about anything and everything. Siblings, friends, hopes and dreams.

With Benedict things were just right.

The door slammed and Sophie quickly straightened as the Earl came into the foyer.

“Well, come on,” the Earl gruffly beckoned.

Sophie was only too quick to scamper after him.

They rode to Aubrey Hall in silent. At the beginning of the trips to the Bridgertons, Sophie had attempted to make conversation, but enough failed attempts had left Sophie unwilling to try anymore.

When they arrived, Sophie and her trunk were rather unceremoniously dropped off at the front. No one had come out to greet her besides Mrs. Wilson, the head housekeeper. She greeted Sophie was a “Ma’am” like a regular member of the family. Sophie supposed that made sense; she was just too frequent a figure in Aubrey Hall to stand on ceremony each and every time Sophie arrived.

Sounds of the pianoforte echoed down the hall as they approached. The doors to the sitting room were swung open and revealed an utter scene of domestic bliss. Eloise and Francesca were playing with stuffed horses on the floor. Colin was piling goodies from their teatime spread onto a porcelain plate. Benedict was reclining in the window seat with a pencil and stack of papers, looking far too anguished for his twelve years. And Violet and Edmund were sitting, watching Anthony and Daphne – who was far too short for the recently having had a growth spurt Anthony – dancing under the gaze of the dancing instructor.

“Sophie!” Colin beamed with a tart in his mouth. “She’s here!”

There was a happy cry from the residents of the room, and Sophie had barely set her bag down when two-year-old Eloise had toddled up for a hug with a shout of “Saffy!”

Sophie gave a happy moan and swept Eloise into a hug. When she set down the toddler, she found herself in the arms of Violet Bridgerton who did not hesitate to place a kiss on the forehead.

“My dear Sophie, you’re back,” Violet beamed as if Sophie had returned from war. Instantly she yanked off Sophie’s gloves and inspected the little girl for any sign of harm. “Well, it seems that awful woman understands my message.”

A few visits back, Sophie had made the mistake of letting Violet see her ungloved and revealed the bruises from Rosamund. When she had finally pried the confession out of Sophie – to Sophie’s credit, it took a few days – Violet had turned on her heel, marched directly into her writing room, and slammed the door. Sophie wasn’t entirely sure what Violet Bridgerton’s letter to Araminta had said, but rumor had it that three quills had been broken in the process. Whatever she said must have worked, because the next few times Rosamund harmed Sophie, Araminta herself gave Rosamund a harsh talking to and discipline. While the verbal and emotional harms by no means ceased, at least the physical ones did.

“Sophie,” Edmund greeted the girl with a hug. If you asked Sophie, Edmund Bridgerton gave the best hugs in the world. “I’m so glad to have you here again. Benedict is just over on the window.”

With a grin, Sophie raced over to the window sill and hopped right onto Benedict’s outstretched feet.

“Sophie,” he jokingly glared, pulling back his feet to make room.

“Benedict,” she shot back in the same tone, a grand grin on her face. “What are you drawing this time? Another fruit bowl?”

“A bee,” he jerked his head towards the windowpane. Sure enough on the other side of the glass a little fuzzy yellow and black body was trying to figure out how to reach the image it could see so clearly but was blocked from seeing by an odd forcefield. Benedict had always liked bees and often wore them on his clothing. In fact, he did it so much that Sophie thought of it as a bit of a motif for the Bridgertons.

As for Edmund however…

“Keep the damn thing away from me,” he scowled. “I swear I still have stings from that hive Anthony and I stumbled upon last year.”

Anthony shuddered as he remembered the angry stinging swarm that seemed convinced to take them down.

“Well you can’t avoid the bees,” Violet tutted. “Not with how many flowers we have around here. Sophie, did you see the hyacinths I just put in the front garden?”

“Yes, they’re so beautiful.”

“Ow! Daff!” Anthony leapt back suddenly. The pianoforte player broke off as the dance instructor scowled at the misbehavior of his pupils.

“Anthony, don’t overreact,” Violet chided.

“She stepped on my foot!”

“She’s only six. She’s learning.”

“Sorry, Anthony,” Daphne hung her head in shame.

Anthony sighed. He was unable to see his sister’s unhappy face for too long.

“Alright,” he tickled her sides. “I forgive you.”

Giggles filled the room under Anthony’s tickling assault, and Daphne jerked to the floor under the attack. Violet leapt to her feet to scold Anthony, but Edmund pulled her back down and told her to let the children play. As he did so, he scooped Francesca off the floor and began tickling her tummy. Francesca’s giggles joined Daphne’s and the room was filled with laughter.

Sophie smiled to herself, and just for a moment pretended what it would be like to be truly part of this scene; of this family. It was nothing but a dream, but it had been so terribly long since she’d let herself dream.

“You keep smiling,” Benedict said.

A little embarrassed, Sophie gave a non-committal shrug, “I like to smile.”

“I like to watch you smile,” his own lips upturned into a grin.

Maybe it was because it was so rare, Sophie thought to herself. But then again, with the Bridgertons it really wasn’t.

She glanced off to the side to see the dancing master getting Anthony and Daphne back into formation. Sophie couldn’t help but giggle when the first thing Daphne did was accidentally stomp right onto Anthony’s foot again.

“Careful,” Benedict warned. “Laugh too loudly and Mother may make you dance next.”

Sophie paled at the thought, “No, she wouldn’t.”

“Yes, she would.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“Yes, she would.” Benedict laughed. “What? Are you a bad dancer?”

She shook her head. “I do not dance.”

“Because you’re bad?”

“No!” she scolded. Sophie looked around the room nervously. “The truth is… I don’t know how.”

He looked at her with surprise. She moved with an inborn grace, and furthermore, what gently bred lady could reach her age without learning how to dance? True, he knew she was baseborn, but she was the daughter of an Earl, raised and instructed when her stepsisters.

“You jest,” Benedict stared at her.

Sophie hung her head, “I’m afraid I do not.  

“There is only one thing to do, then,” he stood and offered his hand. “I shall teach you.”

Her eyes widened, “What? Benedict. No!”

“Yes, Sophie,” he grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. “Let us dance. Master Toronto, Sophie and I shall take the floor next.”

Violet and Edmund exchanged a look that Benedict thought in the moment was something wary at Sophie not being able to dance. In ten years’ hindsight, Benedict would realise the look was something else entirely.

Anthony and Colin’s looks however were not secret in their meaning as they looked to Sophie and their brother in open mockery. However, Daphne was ecstatic in the way only a small child could be.

“Oh yes! Sophie do dance with Benedict!” Daphne clapped her hands together. “You will be so pretty. Just like a princess!”

Sophie felt like a princess—a reckless princess—and so when Benedict asked her again to dance, she put her hand in his. And even though she knew that this entire façade was a lie, that she was a nobleman’s bastard and a countess’s bane, that her dress was borrowed and her shoes practically stolen – the Earl had “mistakenly” had a pair of Rosamund’s shoes packed – none of that seemed to matter as their fingers twined.

“Shall we?” Benedict asked.

She smiled, “We shall.”

He led her in front of the pianoforte. Like a gentleman, Anthony gave a slight bow and backed away to clear the space for the pair. Daphne eagerly raced over to her mother and leapt into her lap, spilling her father’s tea all over his lap.

“Alright,” the dancing master, Master Toronto accepted his fate to tech Earl Gunningworth’s bastard daughter to dance. So long as it didn’t leave Aubrey Hall and jeopardize his reputation, he supposed it was alright. “Assume the position.”

Sophie didn’t move, just stood there as Benedict’s large hand came to rest at the small of her back. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and the air grew thick and hot.

What was wrong with her? Did she really have this many nerves over dancing?

Somehow it felt like it didn’t have anything to do with dancing.

“Right here on my shoulder,” Benedict instructed Sophie where to place her own hands. “No, just a touch lower. There you are.”

“You must think me the veriest ninny,” she said, “not knowing how to dance.”

“I think you’re very brave, actually, for admitting it.” His free hand found hers and slowly lifted it into the air. “Most women of my acquaintance would have feigned an injury or disinterest.”

“I’m sure Rosamund would know how to dance with you,” Sophie looked down at her feet.

He lifted her chin and her breath caught as he met her eyes, “If you were Rosamund, I wouldn’t want to do with you.”

Edmund and Violet traded that look again.

Benedict signalled for the pianoforte player they had hired to teach Daphne and accompany the dancing lessons. Mistress Regina nodded and began playing a lovely but simple tune.

“Listen to the music,” he instructed, his voice oddly hoarse. “Do you feel it rising and falling?”

Sophie shook her head, something hot and thick in her throat. Why did every nerve feel on fire?

“Listen harder,” he whispered. “One, two, three; one, two, three.”

Sophie closed her eyes and somehow filtered out the endless chatter of the Bridgerton children until all she heard was the soft swell of the music. Her breathing slowed, and she found herself swaying in time with the pianoforte, her head rocking back and forth with Benedict’s softly uttered numerical instructions.

“One, two, three; one two three.”

“I feel it,” she whispered.

He smiled. She wasn’t sure how she knew that; her eyes were still closed. But she felt the smile, heard it in the tenor of his breath.

“Good,” he said. “Now watch my feet and allow me to lead you.”

Sophie opened her eyes and looked down.

“One, two, three; one, two, three.”

Hesitantly, she stepped along with him – right onto his foot.

Daphne giggled.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Sophie blurted out.

“My sisters have done far worse,” he assured her, sending a wink towards Daphne who found it the funniest thing in the universe. “Don’t give up.”

She tried again, and suddenly her feet knew what to do.

“Oh!” she breathed in surprise. “This is wonderful!”

“You’re doing very well, My Dear,” Violet called, gently reminding the pair of her presence. Informal visit or not, there was still some propriety they had to perform with Sophie.

“Look up,” Benedict ordered gently.

Sophie scowled, “But I’ll stumble.”

“You won’t,” he promised. “I won’t let you. Look into my eyes.”

Sophie did as he asked, and the moment her eyes touched his, something inside her seemed to lock into place, and she could not look away. He twirled her in circles and spirals around the terrace, slowly at first, then picking up speed, until she was breathless and giddy. And all the while, her eyes remained locked on his.

“What do you feel?” he asked.

“Everything!” she said, laughing.

“What do you hear?”

“The music.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “I hear the music as I’ve never heard it before. Thank you, Benedict. This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”

He laughed, “Well, I’m sure that I can’t compete with some of the birthday presents the Earl has given you.”

“Oh, I’ve never had a birthday.”

Benedict stopped dead and Sophie slammed right into his chest.

“Ow! Benedict!”

“You’ve never had a birthday?” Benedict repeated stiffly.

“No,” she rubbed her sore cheek. “Of course not.”

“What do you mean, of course not?” Colin called out. “How could you not have a birthday?”

“Colin,” Edmund warned. The children didn’t realize the dangerous and embarrassing territory they were treading into. After all, no matter how much they treated Sophie as one of them, she was Gunningworth’s bastard daughter. Their lives were very different from Sophie’s.

“Did you forget your birthday?” Daphne asked naively. “Mine’s April 17^th. I got a pony for it.”

Edmund could barely look at Sophie.

“I just…” she looked to the ground, “…don’t know when I was born. The Earl never knew it and I sort of… forgot.”

Tears swam to her eyes as she remembered that rainy night her grandmother hid in the bushes and sent her to the front door of Penwood Park. Sophie knew knowing of her life before that moment.

Violet decided to take the lead, “Well, I think that’s enough dancing for today. Daphne, why don’t you show Sophie the progress you’ve made on your French lessons?”

Without the faintest notion of anything being wrong, Daphne grabbed Sophie by the had and pulled her towards the nursery to share her accomplishment.

Violet watched sadly as the girls disappeared through the door. Her heart ached for Sophie, a girl she already counted so dearly as one of her own. So when Benedict came up to her with a determined look on his face, she already knew what he was going to say.

“Yes, Benedict,” she watched the spot Sophie had been standing in. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Sophie always hated the last dinner before she had to leave the Bridgertons. It was always such a bittersweet moment of happiness that she knew would slip through her fingers the next morning. The final dinner always had a hint of moroseness to it, and Sophie almost decided this time to feign illness and miss it entirely.

Maybe if she was a good enough actress, she could stay with the Bridgertons even longer.

But Sophie was not an actress, so the maids changed her into a pretty silver dress and led her into the dining room.

“SURPRISE!” the entire Bridgerton clan cheered the moment she stepped foot into the room.

Laid on the table was all of Sophie’s favorite foods and a chocolate cake with ten candles on it. A pile of presents sat in the corner of the room and a paper banner with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” hung from the ceiling. Hydrangeas and peonies were in pots around the room and the table was set with the Bridgertons’ best server set. But best of all were the Bridgertons dressed up in finery, all wearing silly paper party hats.

“Happy birthday!” they chorused.

Sophie could do nothing but look around in shock, “What- What is going on?”

“It was Benedict’s idea,” Anthony explained. “Since you don’t have a birthday, we’ve decided to give you one. As of today, every May 17^th will be the birthday of Sophia Maria Beckett. Happy tenth birthday, Sophie.”

She couldn’t stop smiling, “Actually, it’s only my first birthday.”

“Then let’s make up for the other nine missed.” Violet came up and placed a purple and blue paper crown dotted with pale pink paper flowers on Sophie’s head like a crown, “A birthday hat for the birthday girl.”

“Just like a Ledger,” Edmund cheers Sophie with a glass of champagne.

“Like a Bridgerton,” Violet corrected. She pulled Sophie into a hug, “You are one of us, Sophie Dear. Now and forever.”

Sophie couldn’t hold the dam back anymore. She sobbed happy tears into the chest of the only mother she had known; the one who loved her so much.

“Let’s celebrate!” Colin cheered.

And so the Bridgertons partied, celebrating Sophie’s “birthday.”

Sure enough, Violet had meant it when she said they were making up for the nine that had been missed. When it came time for presents, Sophie was presented with ten packages – one for every year of her life.

The first present was from Benedict. She tore open the paper to find a fuzzy yellow and black stuffed toy bee the size of her head.

“To keep Sir Woofington company,” he winked. Ever since he learned the name of Sophie stuffed dog, he swore he would never let her live the name down. In her defense, Sophie still believed it a very dignified name that suited the scruffy brown puppy to a tee.

The next was Colin’s gift, a collection of fairy tales by Charles Perrault in the original French. While Sophie typically did languages with Daphne – sometimes speaking solely in German when they wanted to hide their speech and/or annoy the rest of the family – Colin also had a love of languages. He and Sophie had agreed that it was important to learn them for when they grew up and went on their adventures across the globe together.

Daphne’s gift – or rather the one with her name appended to it, being a six-year-old and not able to really come up with gifts yet – was a beautiful music box. Someone had worked witchcraft to find one that played the music Mistress Regina had performed for Sophie’s first dance. There were also two little figures – a small wooden couple – that spun around in a circle, dancing together. They both wore little masquerade masks, and the woman had blonde painted hair and a beautiful silver dress.

“You looked just like a Princess dancing with Ben,” Daphne gushed. “I wanted you to know what it looked like.”

Next were the gifts assigned being from Eloise and Francesca. “Eloise” gave Sophie a beautiful hand fan with a pair of swans facing each other so their heads were bowed to form a heart. While “Francesca” gave her a compact mirror with the image of lilies – Sophie’s favorite flower – painted on the top.

Sophie was most surprised by the next gift. It was a silver hair comb with roses, a beautiful but straightforward gift. It was who it was from that surprised her.

“Lady Danbury?” Sophie frowned. She had heard of the woman but never actually met her.

“What can I say?” Violet sipped at her drink, “The woman is an enigma.”

Of course, Violet would never confess that much like Gunningworth and Edmund making their arrangement about Sophie, Violet had then gone to her friend, Lady Danbury to make her own arrangements.

As for Violet, her gift was a pair of a little bit too large silver shoes. They were the nicest shoes that Sophie had ever seen and the tag rather than signed Violet were signed Your Fairy Godmother.

“They don’t fit,” Sophie frowned when they hung off her toes. She glanced at the book of fairy tales, and remembering the fate of the feet of Cinderella’s stepsisters, shuddered.

“Well then you’ll have to grow a little older,” Violet smiled. Just another part of her and Danbury’s plans.

While Danbury was the last person Sophie expected a present from, the person she got the next present from probably came in second place of most unexpected… Well, maybe fifth more unexpected. It went Araminta, Rosamund, the Queen, Lady Danbury, and then this person.

“The Earl?” Sophie frowned at the tag.

“We told him what we were doing and he decided to dig out a little something,” Violet explained. When reminded, Richard Gunningworth would show his daughter a little affection… a little.

Sophie opened the box and gasped. It was a pair of gloves with the Penwood Crest and the initials SLG embroidered on it.

Violet did not explain that those initials – and in turn the gloves – had belonged to Gunningworth’s mother, and thus Richard had given Sophie an heirloom from her paternal grandmother.

“The next one is from me,” Edmund handed her a small box. “We were originally going to give this to Daphne for her birthday, but we all thought it would fit you a bit better.”

Sophie gasped as she opened the blue velvet box to reveal a silver locket with an ornate engraving of a “B”.

“For Sophie Beckett,” Daphne chirped happily. “Besides, it fits your colouring a lot better than me. Pearl and gold fit my complexion best.”

Daphne may have only been six, but she was still Daphne Bridgerton.

“No. This is too much. I can’t accept this,” she shoved the velvet box back towards Edmund.

“Yes, you can,” Edmund gently pushed it back towards her. “We want you to have it. Please, take it.”

Sophie hesitantly smiled, but her finger trailed across the chain. “If I bring this home… if Araminta sees this-”

“We’ll keep it here,” Violet said gently. “It’s safe here… and so are you.”

Sophie pulled Violet into another hug.

“Alright, enough with the hugging,” Anthony eagerly grabbed the last – and largest – package. He threw it down on the table, maybe a bit too excited. “This is from me.”

She laughed and tore open the package. She frowned when she saw what it was: a battered old looking pink pall mall ball and mallet.

“What… is this?” Sophie asked.

“It’s the pink pair from our pall mall set,” Anthony explained. “Sophie Beckett, I present you with your very own ball and mallet and officially induct you into the Annual Bridgerton Pall Mall League. May God have mercy on your soul.”

There were a lot of hugs that day, but the one shared between Anthony and Sophie in that moment was the happiest and strongest. Sophie Beckett was now for all intents and purposes officially a member of the Bridgerton siblings.

“Alright, come on!” Colin called out. “Let’s do the cake! I’m starving.”

The candles were lit and the birthday song sung in a magical choir. Sophie was smiling was hard that day that her cheeks were starting to hurt. She just couldn’t’ believe she could ever be so happy.

“Make a wish,” Edmund beckoned.

Sophie didn’t even have to think before she blew out the candles.

“What did you wish for?” Colin asked as the servants began cutting and serving the cake.

“She can’t tell anyone what she wished for,” Anthony chastised. “Elsewise it won’t come true.”

But as Sophie looked around at the loving family around her, she knew it already had.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Three

Chances

Five For Fighting

Chances are when said and done

Who'll be the lucky ones who make it all the way?

Though you say I could be your answer

Nothing lasts forever no matter how it feels today

Chances are we'll find a new equation

Chances roll away from me

Chances are all they hope to be

Don't get me wrong I'd never say never

Cause though love can change the weather

No act of God can pull me away from you

I'm just a realistic man, a bottle filled with shells and sand

Afraid to love beyond what I can lose when it comes to you

And though I see us through, yeah

Chances are we'll find two destinations

Chances roll away from me

Still chances are more than expectations

The possibilities over me

One Year Later…

Dearest Kate,

The world is ending.

I knew this was coming. I’ve had a year of preparation, but it’s finally happening.

Benedict is leaving me to go to Eton.

Don’t get me wrong, this past year with the Bridgertons has been amazing. Anthony I’m used to being gone to school and I’ll still have the others. I love Colin, Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca. I adore Lady Violet and Viscount Edmund perhaps even more than my own “family” but a world without Benedict feels like a world not worth living. I haven’t felt this much despair since you left for India. Only the difference is that at least Benedict will be coming back.

How I do wish you would visit, but I imagine the trip from India to England or vice versa isn’t easy. What was it like when you left there?

Eloise and Francesca are growing up so fast. It feels like just yesterday that Francesca was taking her first steps towards Violet. Eloise has taken to me reading to her, but she hates romance novels. I swear her brain works a lot more intricately than anyone gives her credit for.

Do you read to Edwina? I can’t believe she’s already three years of age. Do your parents intend on her Coming Out when she’s old enough? Are you going to be Out? What is being Out in India like? Does it work the same as here? I wish I could Come Out. Daphne tells me all about the balls and parties she’ll get to go to, and I can’t lie, I sometimes get a little jealous.

Colin promised me that he would sneak me into a ball one time. Maybe a masquerade. How much fun it would be to take part in even one event.

Violet has promised that she’ll invite my family to her Hearts and Flowers ball. At eleven (according to my Bridgerton birthday) I’m too young to go to the ball itself, but there’s a whole week stay in the country. Benedict is trying to argue with Violet that I should act hostess with the rest of them since I practically live at Aubrey Hall.

How I wish you could come see Aubrey Hall. I know you would just love it. Especially the hunting grounds. Did your father really teach you to shoot? What did your mother, Lady Mary say?

Is it okay I call Lady Mary your mother? I know you two adore each other, but considering how Araminta treats me, it’s hard to imagine a nice stepmother. Colin’s fairy tales of wicked stepmothers don’t help.

You know he’s learning Greek? He wants to travel the world and start with the Temple of Zeus. Not that Zeus is his favorite God or anything. You would be amazed by Greek mythology. Have you read any? If not, I shall write to you all about them.

Benedict prefers Roman culture to Greek, but that may just be the art. He got so embarrassed the other day when I caught him ogling this picture of a blonde naked lady in an art textbook in the library. I wonder if he knows I’ve flipped through those images of men and women myself?

We’ve talked about going to the museums of France and Italy one day. It’s sad to actually think of that in reality. Colin and Benedict are going to have the freedom to actually go and see those sights. I’m lucky if I ever get to even see London.

Oh, Kate. What am I going to do? I ask this like it won’t take weeks for you to get my letter and then several more weeks for me to get your response.

I’ve pressed some flowers in this envelope for you. Though by the time you are reading this, I’m sure you’ll have figured that out by now. Violet loves gardening, though I guess that’s what you get when you name your daughter after a flower.

You know I met her father a few weeks back? He was visiting at the same time as me and Lord Ledger was so kindly. He greeted me by saying to Violet “so this is the seventh grandchildren I’ve heard so much about, Brain.” He calls her Brain as a nickname. I think it’s so sweet.

I love Violet Bridgerton. She’s everything one would ask for in a mother, and Edmund is much more a father than the Earl has ever been. If you’ll remember, your father as our clerk was more fatherly to me than the Earl was. Not that he’s been cruel. I can’t say that when Araminta is tormenting me.

Did I tell you that last season Violet and Araminta got into fight – or what the ladies of the ton would call a fight (can you imagine Violet actually causing a scene?) – at Lady Danbury’s ball last year? She demanded that Rosamund and Posy get the same privileges as me and Violet had none of that. One of these days they’re truly going to go head to head and it will be a sight to see.

Why do I picture you on the side taking bets?

Back to Benedict. What am I going to do about him leaving? Who am I going to ride with? Swim with? Talk to hours on end about life.

I’m worried he won’t want to be friends anymore. He’ll be with all the boys his age of the Ton and I’ll be left behind. He’s thirteen now. It’s time to set aside childish things. What if I’m one of those?

Sophie stared down at the letter on her writing desk. She tried not to let the tears fall as she thought of Benedict leaving her behind. He was so important to her, the best friend she had ever had. He alone out of the children had found the nerve to come visit Sophie (accompanied by Edmund of course) at Penwood Park. He had nearly gotten into a fist fight with the butcher’s boy making his deliveries when he had made a nasty comment about Sophie.

She would miss knowing what Benedict was thinking and how his day had been. If he would deign to write her letters, she would fill pages enough to contain the works of Shakespeare telling him all he had missed.

It’s not fair. Why did boys have to leave to get their education? Couldn’t they be like women and just get tutors?

Sophie almost wished she could go with him. In fact, she had confessed as much to him on her last trip to Aubrey Hall.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Benedict skipped a stone across the lake. The sky was painted with dazzling pinks and oranges as the sun slowly set in the background. “It’s going to be a lot of hard work.”

“Oh, and I can’t do hard work?” Sophie scowled as her stone plopped straight in the water without so much as a single leap.

“Rather the opposite. You do too much hard work,” Benedict chuckled. “Here, let me help you.”

Sophie felt her breath quicken when Benedict came up behind her and slid hand around her wrist.

“Throw like this,” his face was so close to her that his breath tickled her neck. “Hold the rock between your thumb and middle finger. Clench your middle finger, ring finger, and pinkie so you're making a partial fist. Set the rock on top of your middle finger and hold it firmly in place with your thumb. The hook is what gives it the spin. Now… throw.”

His arm guiding her swing, Sophie threw the stone. It skipped across the water once… twice… three times.

“Good job!” Benedict cheered.

Sophie turned and realized just how close their faces were. She started and took a step back.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s okay.” Benedict sighed and crouched down on the bank. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to go to Eton either.”

She sat down next to him, “Why?”

“Because of you,” he said. “I’m going to miss you. Life seems a little less fun when you’re not here.”

“It’s less fun when you’re not there either,” Sophie leaned her head against his neck. “You’re my best friend, Benedict.”

“And you are mine. Forever and for always.”

They just enjoyed the silence as they watched the sun go down together. They never even considered how right it was to sit there together. But there they sat, enjoying each and every second of that last summer day.

Sophie sniffled at the memory and wrote down on her letter to Kate.

I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him.

A knock came on the door.

“Sophie?” Posy stuck her head into the room. “Supper is ready.”

Sophie wiped her eyes quickly, “Coming, Posy. Just give me a minute.”

Posy paused at the door, “Are- Are the Bridgertons nice?”

Sophie, who had been setting the ink of her letter, paused and looked strangely at Posy, “Very nice. Why?”

She couldn’t meet Sophie’s eye, “You just seem so happy since you’ve been spending time with them. They must be great people.”

“They are.”

“Do you think I could meet them?”

Sophie just stared at Posy. Posy didn’t exactly have it easy around Penwood Park, especially since Sophie had been consorting with the Bridgertons. Without Sophie around, it was Posy who took the brunt of Araminta’s abuse.

Her initial instinct was to say yes to introducing Posy to the Bridgertons, but there was something in the way that Posy wouldn’t look at Sophie that set off alarm bells.

“Why do you want to meet the Bridgertons?”

Still Posy wouldn’t look at her, “I just thought if they were nice-”

Then Sophie understood, “Araminta put you up to this.”

Looking as guilty as Colin when he broke a window during Pall Mall (which Violet refused to let Sophie play last year because she needed to know what she was getting into) Posy shyly nodded.

Sophie clenched her jaw. No. Araminta would not take this from her. The Bridgertons were Sophie’s. They were her safe space.

“I’m not introducing Rosamund to the Bridgertons,” Sophie said firmly. “If you truly wanted to meet them… fine. But not Rosamund. It’s bad enough she met Benedict already. She’s not getting her claws into him, Anthony, or Colin. I’d rather die.”

“I understand,” Posy nodded. “I’m sorry. She made me ask.”

“Yes, I know, but the answer is still no. If she has any problem, she can take it up with the Earl.”

Sophie learned the next day that was the wrong thing. She was just coming out of the library, minding her own business when Araminta appeared from nowhere. Araminta’s face was bright red and she grabbed Sophie by the arm, wrenching her into a spare bedroom despite the protests of pain.

“Listen to me you little wretch!” Araminta got right up in the eleven-year-old’s face. “Ever since the Earl introduced you to the Bridgertons, you’ve thought yourself better than you are. You are not a Bridgerton! You are not even one of us! You are the bastard child of a whore! So don’t you dare waltz around these grounds with your head held high.”

Sophie slammed her eyes shut and tried to drown it all out. She wouldn’t put up with this, not after knowing the love of the Bridgertons. She was every bit as good as that family and better than this woman who felt the need to abuse a helpless child.

Why did Araminta hate her so much?

“You are unfit to mingle with polite society,” Araminta continued, “and yet you dared to pretend you are as good as the rest of us by consorting with the Bridgertons.”

“Yes, I dared,” Sophie cried out, well past caring that Araminta hated her. What could she do? Sophie had the protection of the Earl, and even better the Bridgertons. “I dared, and I’d dare again. My blood is just as blue as yours, and my heart far kinder, and-”

One minute Sophie was on her feet, screaming at Araminta, and the next she was on the floor, clutching her cheek, made red by Araminta’s palm.

“Don’t you ever compare yourself to me,” Araminta warned.

Sophie remained on the floor. How could her father have done this to her, leaving her in the care of a woman who so obviously detested her? Had he cared so little? Or had he simply been blind?

“Get up,” Araminta spat. “Get up and don’t you dare cry.”

With a trembling lip but determine concentration on not letting a tear fall, Sophie slowly rose to her feet.

“Nothing happened here today,” Araminta said firmly. “There’s nothing to tell the Earl and especially nothing to tell the Bridgertons. And if anything is told, I swear to you some much worse will happen. Am I understood?”

Sophie didn’t look her in the eye, just nodded.

So then Araminta spun on her heel and marched out of the room. It wasn’t until Sophie was sure she had gone that she let the tears fall.

She raced through the house and wrenched open the door to her room. Sophie threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow. Her howls were gasping and desperate.

How could she have fooled herself? All of this was nothing more than a dream. The Bridgertons couldn’t protect her from Araminta. Not completely.

And the Earl… well, his idea of taking care of the problem had been foisting her off to the Bridgertons rather than address the problems at home. He could do it, he could put his foot down and change everything. Yet he didn’t.

Sophie grabbed the stuffed bee – Sir Buzzington as Benedict had christened it – from her dresser and desperately hugged it as she cried.

Araminta was right. She wasn’t a Bridgerton and she never would be. She was just Sophie Beckett and she when she wasn’t visiting the Heaven of Aubrey Hall, she lived in Hell.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Four

Lonely Girl

P!nk

I can remember

The very first time I cried

How I wiped my eyes

And buried the pain inside

All of my memories

Good and bad, that's passed

Didn't even take the time

To realize

Staring at the cracks in the walls

Cause I'm waiting for it all

To come to an end

Still I curl up right under the bed

Cause it's taking over my head

All over again

Two Years Later…

“Why can’t Sophie just come live with us?” Eloise asked for what felt like the hundredth time. At five years old she was in her question phase… as she had been for the past three years. It seemed that Eloise might never stop questioning everything around her. “If she’s the Earl’s ward, why can’t she be ours?”

“Because the choice is not up to us,” Edmund dismissed the query. Eloise may be unusually smart for her age, but five was still too young to be explain the concept of bastards.

Besides, it felt like it was up to Sophie when she wanted to share that information with the younger children. Unfortunately, Daphne and Colin had learned when Araminta finally wiggled her way into an introduction for Rosamund and Posy to the Bridgertons. The first words out of Rosamund’s mouth after the how do you dos was So why do you like consorting with a bastard?

Poor Daphne didn’t even know what a bastard was at that point in time.

Sophie was so embarrassed.

“Is she here yet?” Francesca raced into the sitting room where the Bridgertons had assembled to have tea and greet the home comers.

“Not yet,” Violet said, idly sewing something with Daphne at her side.

“Fran, you really should be more graceful with your entrances,” Daphne chastised, embroidering a pair of gloves with the Bridgerton crest so she could have matching outfits with Sophie. At nine, she had suddenly decided herself as arbiter of grace and was more than happy to lecture her sisters on theirs.

“That’s alright, Francesca.” Edmund reminded, “Daphne, we’re just at home. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

“But we’re about to have a guest.”

“It’s just Sophie,” Colin tossed his book at his sister. “She doesn’t count.”

“Colin, don’t throw things at your sister,” Edmund chided.

“We’re home!” Benedict’s voice called, and he stepped into the room with Anthony.

The Bridgertons greeted the boys – some with a little more prying than others. The school term had just ended and the Bridgertons were summering at Aubrey Hall once more. The only difference was that this time it had been secured to have Sophie stay with them the entire summer before the Bridgertons returned to London for the Season in November.

Benedict was excited but nervous. Over the past two years he had seen less and less of Sophie. It wasn’t just schooling, but as Anthony and Benedict were nearly of age at seventeen and fifteen. Now it was only proper that Edmund took them to London to make appropriate acquaintances. Sophie had yet to make an appearance in London, but she was making her first appearance in society this summer. Violet had finally agreed to allow the thirteen-year-old to make a brief appearance at the Hearts and Flowers ball. Benedict and Anthony had already made a pact to ask for her first and last dances respectively, and they had bothered a few friends from school to ask for the rest.

Benedict had made the arrangements because he worried that no one would want to dance with her.

“Oh Sophie! There you are!”

Grinning, he turned to the door to greet his best friend and he stopped dead.

She stood before him in an absolute vision of green and blue. Her clothing under Violet’s supervision had become more stylish and properly fitted. She had grown a few inches and her chest and hips had developed. Her silhouette was stunning and her hair golden from prolonged exposure to the sun. The freckles that had speckled her nose as a child had faded and her complexion glowed.

Sophie was beautiful.

When had that happened?

“S-Sophie?” Benedict blinked at her.

“Benedict,” she grinned. She raced forward and threw her arms around him in a hug. “I’ve missed you so.”

He held her close and breathed in deeply in relief. As he did so, he noticed another thing that had changed.

“You smell good,” Benedict blurted out.

“Benedict!” Violet chastened.

But Sophie just laughed, “Do you like it? Your mother bought me the perfume for my birthday, which you missed this year.”

He knew there was no malice in the reprimand. It was because of his schooling that he had missed Sophie’s “birthday” this year. True, he had managed to return home the last few times, Anthony and Benedict sneaking home with the excuse that a sister was deathly ill. When they tried playing the card the third year in a row, the headmaster had none of it, so the boys had to stay the full term.

“How’s Eton been?” Sophie asked, though they both knew she knew very well how it had been. Not a week passed without a letter going between Eton and Penwood Park or vice versa. Frankly, Sophie might have known more about how Benedict was doing at Eton than Anthony who attended the very same school.

“Very well,” Benedict said. “Actually, I have some good news. The drawing master has asked me to devote my study periods with him next year to act as an assistant.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Benedict!” Violet kissed him on the forehead.

“Yes, well done, Son,” Edmund clapped him on the back. “That is very happy news… Actually, since we’re all here, I think your mother and I have another piece of good news.”

Suspicious looks shot throughout the room. A certain theory had been already going around Aubrey Hall for nearly a month now. The children buzzed among themselves as they settled on the couches to face their parents. Just the fact that there was something to announce was nearly a confirmation in itself.

“Children,” Violet beamed as she looked at all three of her sons and four of her daughters, “we have an announcement to make… you all are going to have another sibling.”

“Are we taking on another Sophie?” Colin asked.

Anthony smacked him upside the head.

“No,” Edmund laughed. “Your mother is having another baby.”

Everyone cheered and rose to their feet to hug and congratulate the pair. Instantly the room was naturally filled with one topic: what G name would the newest Bridgerton be? George? Ginny? Gerald? Guinevere?

But as everyone embraced and cheered on Violet, Sophie hung back.

“Sophie?” Benedict noticed. He crossed the room in a few less strides than Sophie expected. She hadn’t realized just how tall he had gotten… and strong. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she said shyly. She passed back a lock of her golden hair and Benedict had the odd feeling that he wished it could have been his hand instead. “I just feel like I shouldn’t be here in this moment. It’s such a private family moment.”

“But Sophie, you are family.” He offered her his hand, “Come on.”

She smiled and let him lead her into the fray.

The strange feeling Sophie felt that moment Benedict took those powerful strides came back to Sophie the next day when she happened upon Anthony and Benedict fencing. When she saw Anthony in his gear, so felt the same she always had. But when she saw Benedict…

He danced around Anthony, his blade so playfully swiping, proving he was the superior fencer to his brother with the skill and ease of which he did it. It was only when Anthony exploited that ease that he could find victory in their matches.

But Sophie couldn’t help think that there was something about Benedict that had changed. The smile was the same dashing too large for his cheeks grin, but he was stronger, leaner, faster. It was the way his red belt cinched the waist of his trousers, and the top of his shirt hung slightly open. Nothing improper but enough to make a fair lady’s heart flutter.

So why did she feel her own heart flutter?

“Is it true what was going around Eton?” Anthony swiped at his brother, only to be perfectly blocked.

“And what is that?” Benedict spun and hit his brother in the back, scoring his point.

Neither of them called to Sophie, so she suspected they must not have seen her. That was shortly confirmed by Anthony’s next words.

“You know,” Anthony grinned. “Your little secret.”

Secret? Benedict had a secret.

Now, truthfully, Sophie knew that Benedict of course had his secrets, and he was entitled to them. She had her secrets, mostly about how Araminta still found her ways to abuse her, but everyone was allowed to have things they kept to themselves. Sophie should just turn on her heel and walk away. Benedict deserved that respect.

…But it killed her to think there was something he hadn’t told her.

Quietly, Sophie crept closer to the trees where Benedict and Anthony were fencing. She pressed herself against one, and – feeling extremely guilty – listened in.

“I don’t have any secrets, Brother,” Benedict took the first swipe of the next set.

Sophie nearly snorted. She could name five secrets right off the bat that Benedict had, and at least four of them Anthony would be interested in knowing.

“Oh, I know you do,” Anthony parried. “A second by the name of Juliana Davenport.”

Juliana Davenport? Who was Juliana Davenport?

Benedict seemed to recognize the name because he lost the next point.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Benedict said.

“I think you do,” Anthony grinned. “I heard it both from Vincent Grovner and Guy Burberry. And if the Grovners and Burberrys are agreeing on something you know if has to be true. Their feud is quite legendary in the Ton.”

Benedict rolled his eyes, “And what exactly are Grovner and Burberry saying?”

“That Juliana Davenport has made my little brother a man.”

Made him a man? What did that mean, make him a- Oh.

Oh.

Sophie felt her breathing hitch. Benedict had been with a woman? But he was still so young. Just fifteen. Besides, it was Benedict. Her Benedict. Kind-hearted, gentle, loving Benedict.

…What woman wouldn’t want that, she realized.

From the silence that fell upon him, Benedict confirmed the news.

“Atta boy!” Anthony slapped him on the shoulder. “How was it? Is she pretty? She’s a bit too young for me but-”

Anthony’s words faded away. All Sophie could hear was the blood rushing to her ears.

Benedict had had sex. He had slept with a woman. Was he stupid? What if he had gotten Juliana Davenport pregnant? What if he had sired a bastard?

A twig snapped beneath her foot, and Sophie gasped. The brothers’ heads snapped in her direction and it was too late to move. Sophie had been seen.

“Sophie?” Anthony frowned. “What are you doing? Are you spying on us?”

But Benedict said nothing. His eyes met Sophie’s and all he saw were pools of pain.

“Sophie,” he whispered.

She took off like a shot.

“Sophie!” Benedict started after her.

Anthony was left behind with two fencing foils, completely abandoned and feeling very confused.

Benedict found her sitting underneath their tree. It was a massive oak on the eastern lawn, right on the bank of the lake that they had fallen in together the first day they met. Sophie’s skirt was mud stained and she sat with her knees pulled up to her chest.

He sighed and took a seat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you.”

Sophie wiped her eyes, “No. It’s nothing to apologize for. We’re growing up. There’s going to be things we can’t tell each other. Private things.”

“There’s no secret I can ever think of that I wouldn’t share with you.”

“What if you killed a man?”

“Who do you think would help me hide the body?”

Sophie laughed. The tension was broken and the smile he always put on her face broke her teary eyed frown.

“There’s a smile,” his own grin raised to his lips. “I like to watch you smile.”

“I know.”

Sophie sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Unconsciously Benedict leaned his head atop hers and they watched a duck bathe in the lake.

“I’m going to miss this,” Sophie said quietly.

“Miss what?” he asked in a soft voice. There was something about just sitting with Sophie under the oak that relaxed him.

“This. These moments we get to spend together. It’s not going to last forever, you know.”

“Nothing lasts forever.”

“But this is coming to an end.”

“It is?” he scowled at her. “Why?”

“We’re growing up,” Sophie explained. “I’m thirteen and you’re fifteen. Pretty soon we’ll be all grown up and getting married and then we won’t get to spend this time together.”

He lifted her chin, “I’ll always make time for you.”

But she shook her head, “And your wife? What will she think of us being together like this? What will my husband?”

Benedict was silent at that.

“But it’s okay,” Sophie sighed. “Because we’ll always have these memories.”

He shook his head, “And we’ll make new memories too. Different memories. You’re my best friend, Sophie. No matter what happens, you will always be my best friend.”

“Do you promise?”

He stood and fumbled for something in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sophie frowned.

“There you are,” he pulled out his pocketknife. “I’m making you a promise.”

Sophie frowned and watched as he walked over to the tree and began carving. She gasped when she saw the finished product.

SB

BB

“I promise you to always be there for you, Sophie,” Benedict vowed. “So long as this oak stands straight and proud, so shall our friendship.”

And she got to her feet and pulled him into a hug.

Sophie and Daphne were playing the pianoforte when they heard the laughter. Curious, the pair crept into the hall. There in a doorway were Violet and Edmund.

They were talking about something, but what the girls couldn’t make out. But then it become obvious when Edmund placed his hands over Violet’s small baby bump.

“Gregory or Grace,” Edmund’s voice drifted down the hallway. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Violet giggled. She leaned forward and kissed her husband.

It was simple but passionate, and Daphne sighed as she watched the display of pure love.

“I want what Mama and Papa have,” Daphne whispered. “A true love match. Don’t you, Sophie?”

She grinned, picturing some tall, dark, handsome man in a fencing jacket, “Yes, I do.”

Maybe her future husband would be a merchant or an artist or if she was extremely lucky, a Gentlemen. She could almost imagine the look on Araminta’s face when Sophie married into the ranks of the Landed Gentry. There all the Bridgertons would stand proudly by their sides and their reputation wouldn’t be damaged by her presence.

“I think I’m going to marry a Duke.”

Daphne’s words popped Sophie’s happiness like a balloon.

“A Duke?” Sophie dumbly echoed.

“Yes, a Duke. Or maybe a Marquess,” Daphne shrugged. “I think I would make a very good Duchess. Don’t you think?”

There Sophie was daydreaming about being lucky enough to make it into the lowest rank of the Gentry and there Daphne was daydreaming about the highest.

And the worst part was that Daphne’s daydream was more realistic.

What was she even thinking? A love match? A Gentleman? Sophie was a bastard. Whatever small dowry she was lucky enough to get – if she even got one – would be so small that she would have to take whatever offer she was given. She probably would only even get the one.

Sophie stared at the little redheaded girl next to her. Their worlds were oceans apart, as much as they tried to pretend otherwise. Daphne Bridgerton would be guaranteed to get her happily ever after.

What would Sophia Beckett get?

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Five

You Give Love a Bad Name

Bon Jovi

An angel's smile is what you sell

You promise me Heaven, then put me through hell

Chains of love got a hold on me

When passion's a prison, you can't break free

Oh, you're a loaded gun

Oh, there's nowhere to run

No one can save me

The damage is done

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name

I play my part and you play your game

You give love a bad name

The time had come. Violet Bridgerton had tried so hard to save Sophie from it. In fact, she figured she had done a rather good job of it. For three years she had stood by Sophie’s side and protected her from the cruelty of it. No matter how much Sophie protested the Bridgertons had given her the confidence and strength to attend to this duty, Violet had found some reason or another to shield her from this horror.

But now Sophie was thirteen and Violet was out of excuses. There was no way around it; she had to do it.

It was time for Sophie to play Pall-Mall.

“You do know that best friends are not, Pall-Mall is war,” Benedict grinned as the Bridgertons mingled about the Eastern Lawn, waiting for Edmund to return with the Pall-Mall equipment.

Sophie rolled her eyes, “Yes, Benedict. I have witnessed enough games over the years to know that all friendly feeling go straight out the window where Pall-Mall is concerned.”

“Just so long as you don’t cry when I destroy you.”

Anthony must have been listened, for he came up to Benedict and elbowed him in the ribs, “Or when I destroy all of you.”

“Don’t you think you ought to go easy on the children this year,” Sophie nodded to Daphne and Colin who were excited to play their first and second game of Pall-Mall respectively.

Anthony scowled, “Why in heavens would I ever go easy in Pall-Mall?”

Sophie just shook her head.

“Alright everyone,” Edmund called the crowd to attention. They turned to see his emerging from the games shed with a large wood case. “A little surprise for you all this year. Would you gather around?”

The children hurried forward with only Sophie electing to stay back and help Violet help the toddling Eloise and Francesca catch up to the group.

Edmund beamed proudly at the crowd clustered around and with a flourish unsnapped the latches of the wood box and flung it open.

“A brand new Pall-Mall set,” Edmund announced proudly. The wood was polished and the paint so fresh it still looked like it might be wet to the touch. “Since our family is growing, your mother and I thought it was time we upgraded our equipment so everyone will have their own mallet and ball. Eight sets for eight children.”

In all fairness they had previously had enough sets until in a fit of rage after losing to Benedict last year, Anthony broke his mallet over his knee.

“But what about you, Papa?” Daphne asked as they all eyed up what colours they wanted to snatch up.

“Well, the youngest of you three are still far too little to be playing yet,” Edmund grinned as he eyed Violet’s increasing baby bump. “I’ll just borrow little G Bridgerton’s mallet until then. By the time they’re old enough to play, I’m sure some of you will be off married with your own families and unable to attend.”

“Oh, I will always return for Pall-Mall,” Colin piped up. “No matter what happens.”

Sophie giggled to herself as she thought of Colin cutting his travels across the world short to return for a silly game of Pall-Mall.

Of course, it was thinking that Pall-Mall was just a silly game that proved Sophie was really not ready for what was about to unfold.

“Now, be careful,” Violet warned. “We do have some guests arriving for our country stay in a few hours. Please don’t turn this until another midnight long game.”

“We make no promises,” Edmund said dead seriously. He then bent down and picked up a velvet bag from the Pall-Mall set. “Now this bag has rocks in it numbered 1-8. We draw at random to pick our colors. Everyone reach in and take a stone.”

Sophie naturally drew the 8 stone. Because nothing in his life could be easy.

At first, they were going to honor the order, but the toddlers Eloise and Francesca didn’t really understand what entirely was going on. Edmund and Violet – to the annoyance of Anthony – decided it was best for the babies to pick first, and then Violet would take them to the shaded area that had been set up for them to watch while the others played.

“Which color would you like, My Sweets?” Violet asked.

“Green!” Francesca cried.

“Orange!” Eloise demanded.

And so they became Francesca and Eloise’s mallets, waiting for the day to come into play.

“Alright,” Edmund announced as Violet took the girls away, “Who is next?”

With a grin, Anthony revealed the stone numbered 1. His siblings groaned and tried to make objections of unfairness, but Anthony was only too eager to take first pick.

“Of course he takes Black,” Benedict rolled his eyes. “What, as some harbinger of death.”

“The Mallet of Death,” there was a gleam in Anthony’s eye. “I like that.”

Benedict slapped his forehead and Sophie laughed at his misery.

Daphne was next to pick and leapt straight at the red mallet. Colin was next and took yellow. Edmund was next, and rather than being a polite father and letting the children go next, he was a Bridgerton and aggressively snatched up the blue one.

That left purple and pink for Benedict to choose from.

Now, here was the thing, the pink mallet had always meant to be Sophie’s. Anthony had literally presented her with the pink mallet.

But it was also well known that Benedict hated the colour purple. He called it pompous and ugly and he would rather die than play with the purple mallet. It would be so easy to pick pink – a colour he much more enjoyed – and leave Sophie to the fate of the ugly mallet.

And if she were any other sibling but Sophie, he would do it.

“That settles the colours then,” Benedict gallantly offered the pink mallet to Sophie. “Shall we to the field of combat?”

Sophie smiled and accepted her mallet, “We shall.”

“You all are utter animals,” Sophie scowled at her pretty pick ball sinking into a puddle of mud.

Benedict just grinned, “That’s what you get for leaving your ball directly in front of Anthony’s.”

“At least Araminta doesn’t pretend to like me when she’s cruel to me.”

“A comparison to the Hag of Penwood. Truly a low blow.”

Cheering came from up field where Edmund, Daphne, Colin, and Anthony had left Benedict and Sophie lagging far behind. Colin had made his ball through yet another wicket it seemed.

“So,” Sophie said casually, “you’re going to be assisting the drawing master next year.”

Benedict reddened, “It’s nothing special.”

“Of course, it is. Maybe he’ll give you private lessons.” Sophie had heard Benedict’s dismissal of his skill for years and frankly was getting tired of it. He was good and he knew it. “How did this come about?”

“He caught me sketching something and asked me to see more of my work. I showed him a few pieces and he made me an offer.”

“That’s great. What did he see you sketching? It must have been very good.”

Benedict was oddly silent.

“Benedict?”

“It was you,” he said quietly.

“What?” that took her aback.

“That moment when we first danced,” Benedict answered shyly. “I just thought it looked so beautiful that image of you taking my hand, so I drew it.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence filled the air.

Finally Sophie dared to ask, “Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“The drawing. The one of our first dance.”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose… if you want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” Suddenly a thought occurred to her. “Benedict, have you made any other drawings of me?”

He shifted on the balls of his feet, “Well. Yes. A few.”

“Oh.”

The silence fell upon them again.

“Why do you draw me?” Sophie asked.

That genuinely seemed to surprise him, “Because you’re a beautiful woman and my best friend. Of course I would draw you.”

Sophie blushed, “You think me beautiful?”

“Without a doubt. The same way you find me handsome. You do think me handsome.”

“Of course you’re handsome. You’re a Bridgerton son.”

“And you’re a Bridgerton daughter.”

“Not by blood.”

“You’re right, you’re prettier than my sisters.”

She punched him in the arm, “Stop that.”

Benedict feigned a life-threatening wound, “The pain! Oh great Athena, you have the strength of your great armies!”

“Knock it off!” she punched him again.

But Benedict just laughed, “No, correct that. You have the beauty of Aphrodite, the grace of Artemis, the wisdom of Athena, the innocence of Persephone, and the temper of Hera.”

“I’m not sure that last one is a compliment.”

They laughed together.

“So,” Sophie gathered herself to ask the question that had been knocking around her brain for weeks, “Juliana Davenport…”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Benedict rubbed his face, “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very much so. Tall and blonde with the bluest of eyes.”

Sophie felt her hand reaching towards her green eyes but stopped herself.

Benedict continued, “About a year older than me. We flirted for a bit and then… well, it happened. But it was just a one time thing. I’m not about to bring her home to mother or anything.”

“You aren’t?”

“Of course not. Besides,” he gave a devilish grin, “when I do find my future bride, nothing is happening until I get the official seal of approval from one Miss Sophia Maria Beckett. That’s worth more than a hundred Violet Bridgertons.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. I fully intend of you vetting any potential wife of mine. Just like how your future husband will have to pass muster in my eyes.”

“Funny, I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“It’s part of our friendship contract. Section P, paragraph 8, line 4.”

“Serves me right for not reading the fine print.”

They laughed together.

“Benedict,” Sophie said softly, “listen, I-”

 Whatever she was going to say was lost to time as they were cut off by a loud shout.

“Sophie!” Anthony bellowed.

“Come on, Sophie!” Colin jeered from far up field. Neither Sophie nor Benedict had noticed that all the Bridgerton had turned their attention upon them. “It’s your turn!”

Sophie stared at the ball in the mud incredulously, “Do you all honestly expect me to climb into the mud to get this ball out?”

“Hurry up, Sophie!” Edmund yelled, the crazed look of Bridgerton competition in his eye. “You’re holding up the game!”

Benedict laughed, “There is no mercy upon this field today.”

“I suppose it’s too much to admit defeat and go join Violet in greeting the guests?” Sophie muttered.

Despite her warning, the game had dragged on long enough that a few guests had began arriving. Lady Danbury had happily joined the spectators with her four-year-old grandson, Gareth, who was playing in the grass with Francesca.

“Go on,” Benedict encouraged. “Take a wack. It can’t get any worse, can it?”

So Sophie sighed and take position as close to the puddle as possible without getting in. She swung back and hit it as hard as she could. The mud covered pink ball went sailing through the air.

And hit an incoming gentleman right in the arm.

Sophie gasped.

“I’m so sorry!” Sophie called, racing forward. “I didn’t mean to-”

Then she stopped.

Before her was a man. A handsome man. The pale skinned man had a friendly feel about him. His wavy, brown hair was very short and he had a neat moustache. He had small, meaningful brown eyes, tapered eyebrows, a round chin and slightly too large ears. His legs were muscular legs, his hands powerful, and hips angular. He wore clothes that were mostly black and well-fitting with a custom-made cloak emblazoned with the Harcourt family crest.

That was the moment Sophia Beckett first laid eyes on Emery Harcourt and her life changed forever.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Six

Unapologetically

Kelsea Ballerini

They're gonna say I fell too fast

They're gonna say it's never gonna last

And before it's too late I should just back away

Yeah, they're gonna say that

He ain't the kind to hold my hand

He ain't gonna try to understand

Nothing under the surface

He's just looking for a pretty face

But they got it all wrong

And I got it all right

They say they just don't see it

But I saw it at first sight

And I'm unapologetically in love

Aubrey Hall was bustling with arrivals, which made the perfect cover for Daphne and Sophie to spy on the most handsome members of the ton.

“Look, there’s Alexander Parr!” Daphne pointed to a young man around Sophie’s age who had pale skin, long curly brown hair, friendly brown eyes, and was quite petite for a man. “And that’s Vincent Grovner and Guy Burberry.”

They were a pair of ridiculously handsome men – one blonde fair and one raven haired and olive toned – clearly sizing each other up as the olive toned led away what must be a younger sister based on how similar they looked.

Daphne pointed out more handsome men of the ton: Patrick Huntley, Noel Fielding, and Isaac Saltersford, the last of which actually had the nerve to greet the very clearly spying girls. They blushed as Isaac in turn kissed a hand each.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Lady Danbury sent off Isaac. “There will be plenty of time for flirting later.”

The idea that a man had flirted with her made Sophie’s ears turn pink, while Daphne just looked pleased.

“I would be careful, you two,” Lady Danbury warned. “You may be growing into lovely young women, but you are not ready for the marriage market yet.”

Lady Danbury had been introduced to Sophie a few years back and she still could not tell you if Lady Danbury liked her or not. She supposed she did, but there was a ferociousness about her that was hard to penetrate to find the truth.

“Ah, there’s your victim, Miss Beckett,” she waved her cane towards the end of the hall where Emery Harcourt was talking to a tall, dark young man. “Would you perhaps like an introduction?”

Sophie’s eyes widened, “Oh, no, I couldn’t!”

“Oh, yes she would!” Daphne clapped her hands together. “Come on, Sophie. It would be so romantic!”

“What, saying hello to a man I nearly broke the arm of with a pall-mall ball?”

“Don’t be a spoil sport,” Daphne pouted.

“Daff, do think about this,” Sophie rubbed her temples. “I’m a bastard. I shouldn’t even be in proper company, let alone asking for introductions.”

“But you’re a Bridgerton. Doesn’t that supersede anything else?”

She had to admit, Daphne had a point.

“Oh, come on, Sophie,” Daphne pulled on her arm. “Do it for me? Please?”

Sophie sighed, “I suppose an introduction couldn’t hurt.”

Daphne squealed and started to race forward, but Lady Danbury suddenly grabbed her arm and quite improperly pulled her back roughly.

“Wait,” Agatha’s eyes were locked on the young man Emery was speaking to. “I want to wait until Phillip Cavender has cleared off.”

Trading a look with Sophie, Daphne frowned, “Who is Phillip Cavender?”

“A dastardly young man I want you both to stay as far away from as possible.”

She waited, stern eyes taking in every inch of Cavender, just watching. Agatha held Daphne tightly by the arm and her cane stood in front of Sophie, acting effectively as a block.

Then Cavender departed and Lady Danbury let out a breath. She beckoned the girls to follow, and they marched straight up to Emery Harcourt.

“Mister Harcourt,” Lady Danbury greeted. “How good to see you.”

For a second Emery had that panicked look of calculating the possibility of escape that came across everyone’s eyes when they were first sighted by Lady Danbury. Emery must have calculated it was too late to make a break for it for he gave a bow and kissed her hand.

“Lady Danbury, a pleasure,” Emery lied.

“Mister Harcourt, may I present you two of our hosts?” Lady Danbury gestured to the girls. “This is Miss Daphne Bridgerton and Miss Sophia Beckett.”

“How wonderful to make your acquaintance,” he gave a slight bow as the girls curtseyed. His brow furrowed as Lady Danbury’s words clicked in his head, “Forgive me, but I am not aware of a Beckett in the Bridgerton household. Are you a cousin?”

Sophie blanched, “Uh…”

“She’s a sister,” Daphne beamed, looping her arm around Sophie’s in a sororal fashion. “Of a sort. She’s the ward of the Earl of Penwood, but we take care of her for the most part.”

That horrid moment happened. The same that always happened when someone explained who Sophie was. That moment when recognition flashed across their eyes and they remembered the story about the bastard daughter of the Earl of Penwood.

Sophie waited for that next event in the chain of sequence: when the person would make a polite excuse to get away from her.

But Emery Harcourt didn’t.

“Well, it seems like there must be something about Aubrey Hall,” Harcourt grinned. “For it seems that even flowers from another soil appear to bloom most magnificently within its earth.”

Sophie blushed hard.

A faint smirk lifted the corner of Agatha’s mouth, “You know, tomorrow the Bridgertons have a few events set up for the young ladies and gentlemen to be entertained. I believe Miss Beckett will be taking part in the archery range. She is quite a good shot.”

“Is she now?” the sixteen-year-old Emery eyed the pretty blonde thirteen-year-old. “I would most like to see that.”

“Perhaps you shall join us on the field?” Sophie braved to ask.

“Indeed, I shall have to.”

“Emery!”

They turned to see a beautiful woman who looked a lot like Emery, trying to wave him over.

“My mother calls.” Emery gave a slight bow, “Ladies. Miss Beckett.”

Sophie blushed as he singled her out.

With that he took his leave.

And the second that he was out of earshot, Daphne squealed loudly.

“Well done, Miss Beckett,” Lady Danbury congratulated. “It may be a while before you are out on the marriage market, but it’s nice to start collecting prospects now.”

Sophie blushed even harder, if that was possible at the moment.

Across the room, Benedict Bridgerton frowned at the odd scene. Was Sophie… flirting? Why? And why Emery Harcourt? If she was going to flirt, shouldn’t it be with…

Benedict couldn’t think of where he was going with that.

“Mister Bridgerton.”

Benedict stiffened at the voice.

“Miss Reiling,” Slowly he turned around and gave a very short bow to the blonde. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, please, call me Rosamund, Benedict,” Rosamund chuckled. “Miss Reiling is far too formal for our families.”

Odd. Benedict didn’t remember giving Rosamund permission to call him by his Christian name.

“What can I help you with?” he repeated.

“I was wondering if you might be able to contribute to my dance card at the Ball? Mother is of course allowing Posy and I to attend. After all, if that girl gets to go, it’s only fair we do. I am the elder.”

And the ruder, Benedict thought to himself.

“I’m afraid I’m not available to escort you to the floor. I have already promised all my dances to other ladies,” Benedict lied.

“Oh,” Rosamund looked suspicious. “To whom, may I ask?”

Damn it.

“Just some sisters of friends from school,” Benedict tried to wave Rosamund’s query off. “I have quite a few friends who have sisters attending, so we made arrangements to trade dance with sister for dance with sister.”

“But you do not have a sister attending the ball.”

“Well, I have Sophie.” He lifted an eyebrow, “Although I suppose in fact she’s your sister, not mine.”

The air turned to ice.

And with that, Benedict made his excuses and departed. Fuming, Rosamund was left rejected, embarrassed, and worst of all, shown up by that bastard of a stepsister.

Then she got an idea.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Rosamund pulled Phillip Cavender aside. “Might I have a word?”

The bow released with a TWANG and the arrow sailed straight into the second outermost ring of the target.

“Good shot, Sophie!” one of the girls in the crowd, Emilia Sinclair cheered. The benefits of being associated with the Bridgertons meant that Sophie had been allowed to make a few other friends. Not many, but she had a couple.

Polite clapping and other exclamations came from the assorted crowd of young men, young women, and chaperones. For Sophie, her chaperone was Edmund Bridgerton. The Earl had not come to the Hearts and Flowers country visit, and Araminta refused to even look at Sophie that week.

Edmund was more than happy to act chaperone in Araminta’s stead. He was fairly certain that if Araminta did dare to try and chaperone Sophie, Violet would end up in a fist fight.

“Well done, Sophie!” Edmund cheered as she went to collect her arrows – all of which had been embedded in the target, but none getting closer than the third most ring. “Who is next?”

“I’d like to take a turn.”

The crowd turned to see Emery Harcourt crossing the lawn. He tipped his hat to the ladies and Edmund waved him over to take his turn.

Emery was an expert, hitting center shot after center shot, looking every bit a knight in shining armor while doing so.

Or at least Sophie thought so.

“Alright, Miss Sinclair, how about you take a turn?” Edmund suggested as Emery returned with his arrows.

Emery graciously presented the bow and arrows to Emilia Sinclair, and Edmund gallantly stepped forward to help the novice.

“You’re very good,” Sophie gathered the nerve to speak to Emery.

He preened at that, “Thank you. You are as well.”

“I’m decent but nothing compared to you. I’ve been at it for years now and I’ve stagnated.”

“Well, that won’t do. How about you go next and allow me to inspect your form?”

Sophie blushed.

“Er-” Emery realised his innuendo. “Archery form to be precise.”

Still, the pink did not fall from her cheeks, “I would enjoy that.”

“Alright,” Edmund called. “Who is next?”

Sophie’s hand shot straight up. Edmund bowed his head and offered her back the bow. But he was surprised when Emery Harcourt walked up with Sophie.

“Oh, Mister Harcourt,” Edmund said, “I believe it is Sophia’s turn, but you may take your chance after.”

“Forgive me,” Emery said, “Miss Beckett has agreed to let me show her a few pointers.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes but after a moment’s thought, allowed the pair to proceed.

“Just keep an appropriate distance,” Edmund muttered a warning to Harcourt. As the dutiful chaperone he signaled to Sophie to take her shot.

“What shall I do?” Sophie asked Emery.

“Take a shot first,” Emery answered. “Let me see what you do, and then I will correct it.”

So she took her shot. She hit the third most ring.

“Dang it,” Sophie muttered, embarrassed for such a shot in front of Emery. She was hoping by some miracle that she would have hit the bullseye.

“Alright, I think I see the problem,” Emery said. “You have too much tension in your bow hand. Relax it and you should hit a lot better.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Anthony had been telling her to relax her hand for years and never convinced her that a relaxed hand would help. She just didn’t get why a tense hand would cause poor aim. Wasn’t she supposed to aim with her bowhand?

“How am I supposed aim with a relaxed hand?” Sophie asked.

Emery chuckled, “When you tense your hand you cause little bits of tension in the palm. That results in torque and sight movement. If you relax your hand, you will shoot better. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Sophie wanted to impress Emery, so she followed his instructions… and hit the third most ring again.

“It didn’t work!” she exclaimed.

“Here, let me.”

Emery came up behind her. He touched her hand holding the bowstring – Sophie wisely knowing not to pull back until she was ready to let loose.

“I want you to tense this hand as much as possible,” he said.

Sophie frowned, “But didn’t you say-”

“Trust me,” he whispered.

She shuddered. How could she not obey? She was so close to her. Sophie felt everything in her body tighten naturally.

“Now,” he breathed in her ear, “release all that tension from your fist.”

Sophie did.

“Let your shot fly.”

And she hit the bullseye.

Benedict Bridgerton felt inspired to paint… he just didn’t know what to paint.

An artist doesn’t wait for inspiration to paint, his drawing master had told him. An artist paints and finds inspiration in the attempt.

So Benedict decided to find something to paint. He was always partial to the out of doors, so he decided to go to the private family sitting room. It had been restricted to their guests so Benedict wouldn’t have to worry about an audience, or worse, some young Lady finding out about the hobby and trying to use it to secure a match. He may only be fifteen, but matchmaking mamas were already on the hunt.

The private room had a large set of windows that overlooked the southern lawn, which was the one with a twin set of stairs leading to the back door. Through the window he could see the lake to the east and the woods to the west.

But it was the sight below him that caught his attention: the small crowd huddled around a set up of archery.

Fiddling with a paintbrush, Benedict leaned against the window and watched below.

Sophie was at the centre of it all, knocking an arrow to take her shot. Benedict smiled, remembering the hours upon hours that he and Anthony had taught Sophie how to shoot. She was getting better but still hadn’t managed to hit the centre of the target.

Then Emery Harcourt came up to Sophie and adjusted something. He was close. Too close.

Sophie released the arrow… and hit the bullseye.

Benedict’s paintbrush snapped.

“I did it! I did it!” Sophie cheered, turning around. “Mister Harcourt, I did-”

She stopped. He was so close to her. His breath on her neck, his eyes staring deep into hers.

“Emery,” he whispered. “Call me Emery.”

“Emery,” she spoke it as if a prayer on her lips.

He was so close. If she just leaned forward-

Edmund loudly cleared his throat.

The couple sprang apart.

Sophie’s ears filled with the sound of her heartbeat. She had no idea what had just happened. Was this the pull the Earl and her mother felt towards each other?

If it was, she finally understood why they couldn’t stay away from each other.

The thought ran Sophie’s blood cold. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to fall into that trap. She wouldn’t condemn her babe and birth a bastard. No matter how much the Bridgertons supported her, she was still just a bastard. Something to be stepped on and spat at.

…But the Bridgertons had changed things. She had opportunities and status. Maybe dreaming of a husband of upper rank wasn’t as out of her reach as she thought.

Maybe Emery Harcourt was just within her reach?

Benedict watched Emery Harcourt take his leave, but his eyes couldn’t leave Sophie.

Even from a story up, he could see the joy radiating off of her.

Edmund Bridgerton emerged from the crowd and said a few things to Sophie. She nodded and turned back to the target. She aimed, let loose, and hit the dead center again… and then again.

She was amazing.

You have the beauty of Aphrodite, the grace of Artemis, the wisdom of Athena, the innocence of Persephone, and the temper of Hera.

Inspiration struck.

So, as he watched Sophie down below send shot after shot with the bow, Benedict began to paint.

A painting of hunting Artemis that looked a little less Grecian and a lot more like Sophia Beckett.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Seven

Holding Out For a Hero

Ella Mae Bowen

Somewhere after midnight

In my wildest fantasy

Somewhere, just beyond my reach

There's someone reaching back for me

Racing on the thunder

And rising with the heat

It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast

And he's gotta be fresh from the fight

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light

He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon

And he's gotta be larger than life

The maids got Sophie ready for the ball as if she was a daughter of the house, which at this point she supposed she was. Violet had gotten her fitted for a dress, Sophie’s very first own custom dress.

They’d made an exquisite creation of shimmering silver, with a tight, pearl-encrusted bodice and the flared skirts that had been so popular during the previous century but Violet insisted that it would look stunning on Sophie. Sophie felt like a princess just touching it.

She’d been bathed and perfumed, her hair had been dressed, and one of the housemaids had even applied a touch of rouge to her lips.

Violet oversaw everything, doting on Sophie as if it were Daphne, Eloise, or Francesca getting ready for their very first ball.

“Come,” Violet beckoned Sophie to the full-length mirror. “Take a look at yourself.”

Sophie’s breath caught.

“Is that me?” she stared in disbelief at the silver creature of beauty in her reflection.

Violet nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“You look lovely, Darling,” she whispered.

Sophie’s hand moved slowly up to her hair.

“Don’t muss it!” one of the maids yelped.

“I won’t,” Sophie promised, her smile wobbling a bit as she fought back a tear. A touch of shimmery powder had been sprinkled onto her hair, so that she sparkled like a fairy princess. Her dark blond curls had been swept atop her head in a loose topknot, with one thick lock allowed to slide down the length of her neck. And her eyes, normally moss green, shone like emeralds. Although Sophie suspected that might have had more to do with her unshed tears than anything else.

“A few last touches,” Violet brought out a few familiar garments. The silver shoes that she had gifted Sophie for her “tenth birthday,” the monogramed gloves, Lady Danbury’s silver rose hair comb, and of course the silver B locket that Sophie still held so precious. They all matched so perfectly.

“There,” Violet took a step back to admire her work. “Oh Sophie, you look like… Oh Sophie!”

The tears finally fell from Violet, and she embraced the young girl she had raised these past three years into the young woman she was today. True, Sophie was still only thirteen, but she was blooming into the perfect young debutante.

A knock came at the door and dabbing her eyes, Violet instructed to the person to come in.

Sophie gasped as the Earl stepped into the room, “My Lord. What are you doing here?”

“Escorting my ward to her first-”

He stopped at the sight of her.

For a moment, Richard Gunningworth was lost in the haze of memory as he stared at his beautiful young daughter.

“You look just like her,” he whispered.

Sophie glanced over at Violet, who said nothing. The Earl had never said a thing about Sophie’s mother before. It surprised her on another level too. It was Sophie’s resemblance to the Earl that made everyone know she was his bastard daughter. To learn that she looked like her mother… Sophie couldn’t wait to tell Benedict.

Then the Earl shook himself out of it.

“Come,” he offered her his arm. “We have a ball to get to.”

They stepped out into the hall at the same time that Araminta did with Posy and Rosamund. At the sight of his bastard on her husband’s arm, Araminta’s blood turned to ice.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

The Earl approached like nothing was wrong, “I came to accompany my ward to her first ball. It is part of my duties as her guardian.”

That just inflamed Araminta more, “But what of my daughter. Your stepdaughters?”

Richard shrugged, “I suppose I have a second arm. Posy? Would you do me the honor?”

Posy froze in terror. She looked between her furious mother and her challenging stepfather. For a moment, Sophie thought the girl might expire on the spot. But Posy was a well-bred, well-trained girl. She did not say no to the arm of the Man of the House.

So Richard Gunningworth led Sophie and Posy down the hallway, but not before throwing his wife one more glance that said and what are you going to do about it? Then Violet Bridgerton – who had been watching the entire exchange from the door of Sophie’s room – also shot Araminta the same look, and strode down the hall like a queen.

Araminta’s face blazoned, “Why that little-”

Rosamund grabbed her mother by the arm, “Not to worry, Mama. I have it all sorted out for you. I promise.”

And Araminta smiled.

Benedict Bridgerton had a problem. A problem it seemed that only his mother could solve, and yet it felt like offering his neck to the gallows when doing so.

“I need you to introduce me to a bunch of young ladies.”

Anthony and Edmund stared at Benedict as if he had gone insane.

Violet however was thrilled, “Oh of course! I know many young ladies.”

They stood at the bottom of the stairs, greeting their guests as they entered the ballroom. The aptly named Hearts and Flowers ball was decorated enormously by side decorations to the point a future Lady Whistledown would call slightly tacky and Violet would have to scale down.

Violet asked, “Are you looking for conversation or prospects?”

“Or have you hit your head?” Anthony asked slightly teasingly but also slightly concerned.

“Dance partners,” Benedict clarified, ignoring his brother. “Rosamund Reiling asked me to add my name to her dance card, and I told her I already promised every dance away. Anthony, tell me, which of your friends have sister old enough to attend?”

“Alright, alright,” Edmund held up his hands. “I’m sure we can find enough partners for you. But I pity your feet in the morning. Violet, who do we know?”

“Well, there’s Charlotte Seabright and Hannah Wingfield.” Violet listed off. “Don’t forget Abigail Baynham.”

“Isn’t Sophie friends with Emilia Sinclair?” Edmund suggested.

“You could also dance with Posy if you really wanted to annoy Rosamund,” Anthony smirked.

“Anthony!” Edmund snapped. “…Good idea.”

Benedict snorted.

“Oh, and don’t forget Maria Burberry,” Violet said.

“No can do,” Benedict shook his head. “I’m friends with Vincent Grovner. I’m fairly certain dancing with a Burberry would be considered treason and we’d all be pulled into that Civil War to a degree we don’t want.”

“Well, so long as you save a few dances for Sophie,” Edmund reminded. He shot a look at Anthony, “Both of you.”

Anthony just frowned, “Of course I’m going to dance with Sophie. It’s her first ball. It would be my honour. Besides, I’ve already roped in a few of my friends to dance with her, so it would just be odd not to dance with her.”

“But I get to dance with her first,” Benedict said. “She’s my best friend. I have dibs.”

Violet and Edmund shared that look again. He really had to ask them about it one day.

Then the ballroom went quiet. Benedict looked up and had the breath knocked out of him.

Sophie.

She was an image in silver. Benedict hadn’t seen her when she’d first walked into the room, but he’d felt magic in the air, and when she’d appeared before him, it was like some beautiful princess from a children’s tale.

Every eye followed her as the Earl escorted Sophie and Posy down the ballroom steps. Benedict felt his throat go dry. His brain felt blank. He knew it was Sophie but this vision in silver was pure magic. Some amazement he had never seen before.

He had never so badly wished for his paints.

Sophie alighted down the final step and instantly she was swarmed by gentlemen offering dances and refreshments.

She did not act coy. Nor did she act as if she expected their compliments as her due. Nor was she shy, or tittering, or arch, or ironic, or any of those things one might expect from a woman. She just smiled. Beamed, actually. Benedict supposed that compliments were meant to bring a measure of happiness to the receiver, but never had he seen a woman react with such pure, unadulterated joy.

He stepped forward. He wanted that joy for himself.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but the lady has already promised this dance to me,” he lied.

Her eyes widened considerably, then crinkled with amusement. He held out his hand to her, silently daring her to call his bluff.

But she just smiled at him, a wide, radiant grin that pierced his skin and traveled straight to his soul. She put her hand in his, and it was only then that Benedict realized he’d been holding his breath.

Sophie noticed that when he moved, the other partygoers stepped out of his path. And when he’d lied so brazenly and claimed her for a dance, the other men had deferred and stepped away.

“Thank you, Benedict,” Sophie said as he led her to the floor. It seemed that every eye was on them in interest. She almost glowed as she saw the scowl on Araminta’s face and the smirk that Anthony shot to her stepmother. “I knew you were going to offer to dance with me, but-”

“Your first dance at your first ball,” Benedict said firmly. “I taught you to dance, therefore I am entitled to it.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“I am. Unless you have any challengers to that title?” he noticed Emery Harcourt in the crowd and swallowed.

Sophie’s eyes followed his, and she understood, “Ah.”

“If you want, I could-”

“I want to dance with you,” Sophie said firmly. “The same way we danced together that first time.”

“I suppose Prince Charming could have the next dance, though I’m fairly certain that Anthony will fight him for it.”

Sophie blushed, “I don’t think he’s going to ask me to dance.”

Benedict stared at her. For some reason he wanted to agree with her and dismiss those hopes of dancing with Harcourt. But even more powerful than… whatever was creeping in his chest at the though of Harcourt and Sophie together, was his desire to see her happy.

“Well, if he doesn’t ask you outright, I will convince him myself.”

His words made Sophie smiled brightly, but it also made Benedict want to punch himself in the face.

Or Emery Harcourt.

The musicians signalled that they had finished warming up their instruments, and the couples took to the floor. Sophie smiled when he saw Edmund take Violet to the floor but smiled even brighter when she saw Anthony accompany Posy of all people. The girl looked so giddy and kept looking around the audience to check that people saw her with one of the most eligible men in attendance (even if Anthony at that time was only 17.)

Benedict looked Sophie in the eyes and slid his hand around her waist. She shuddered. Something warm and liquid danced in her chest at his touch. The way it seemed to always do when dancing with Benedict, but never with Anthony.

The song began with a light pianoforte playing. It was soft and graceful like a swan dancing upon a lake. For a moment as Benedict glided her across the dancefloor, she felt like a ballerina playing the part of Odette with her Siegfred.

Then the strings came in, and Sophie breathed in. The song flowed around her like water as Benedict held her tight. Through lidded eyes, Sophie looked up at Benedict, her dance partner and best friend.

He was handsome and he was strong, and for this one dance, he was hers.

Sophie became lost in the music. Her memories unfolded before her like actors on a stage telling the story of her life.

Those fuzzy days before Penwood that were nearly lost to time.

The happy but distant days with the Earl.

Araminta coming into the picture and her world turning to despair and tragedy.

That day she met Violet and Edmund and for the first time felt true love and safety.

The darkness around her as she clasped the arm of Benedict in blind man’s bluff.

Falling into the lake and laughing with Benedict.

Benedict first showing her his art.

Benedict asking her to dance with him.

The birthday party where she received most of the pieces of the princess gown she wore.

Skipping rocks with Benedict across the lake.

Hugging him goodbye as he set off to Eton.

Writing letters back and forth, pouring their hearts out to each other.

The moment he came home and she realized just how handsome he had become.

Benedict carving their initials into the tree.

The music came to a pause, and the pianoforte sprinkled a few light notes.

Sophie glanced towards the audience and found Emery Harcourt staring at her with a smile.

The strings erupted with bravado, finishing the last stanzas with a grand flourish. Benedict spun and twirled her about the room, the pair moving in perfect harmony like a pair of trained dancers.

Sophie spun so her back was pressed against Benedict’s chest.

The pianoforte took another solo of light tinkling. Then the strings followed.

Her breath was caught in her throat. She stared up at his crystal blue eyes and felt herself drowning. Drowning yet safe, for she knew he would always keep her safe in his arms.

The music finished with a grand crescendo and the ballroom erupted into applause for the dancers.

Like a spell had been broken, Sophie jerked back. Coming towards her was a clapping Anthony and a gushing Posy.

“Well done, Sophie,” Anthony congratulated. “Benedict spun you around quite nicely.”

“Oh Sophie, you looked amazing,” Posy beamed. “You looked like a Princess with your first dance at a ball ever.”

“So did you,” Sophie lied. She hadn’t seen a moment of any of the other dancers on the floor. As the music had played, her world consisted of nothing but Benedict.

What were those strange stirrings she had felt? Was it like that when she danced with any man?

“Miss Beckett,” Emery Harcourt came through the crowd and gave a bow in greeting. “Might I have the honour of your next dance?”

Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Anthony.

“I’m afraid, I’ve already claimed her for her next dance,” he grabbed the dance card from her wrist and jotted down his name. “I think I’ll claim the ninth dance as well. I do like a good quadrille. Ben, you wanted the waltz, right? The fourth dance,”

Benedict reddened, “Well, I mean… if- if Sophie wants.”

For a minute, Sophie glanced at Emery. How wonderful would it be to dance her very first waltz with a Prince Charming?

But then she looked at Benedict and it only felt right that he have it. Almost like he had always been destined to be her first waltz.

“Benedict is fine for my waltz,” Sophie told Anthony.

Anthony jotted down Benedict’s name on the first dance slot and the fifth.

Emery summarily claimed the third dance, as well as the final dance of that night.

“That way I can send you off to slumberland with lovely visions,” he whispered as her kissed her hand.

Eventually Sophie’s dance card became quite full. Alexander Parr claimed the sixth dance and Noel Fielding the thirteenth dance. A few of Anthony’s friends filled her card, Gyles Shaw taking the tenth, Thomas Dorset the twelfth, and Matthew Ellenborough the nineteenth, which was second to last. Benedict’s friend, Vincent Grovner signed up for the fifteenth dance, which naturally meant Guy Burberry had to take the sixteenth dance.

But Sophie was popular in her own right. Isaac Saltersford jumped at the chance to take her seventh dance, and Patrick Huntley signed up for the eighth.

Anthony was a fine dancer, but it quite literally felt like dancing with one’s own brother. That confused Sophie. Why had Benedict’s dance been so different. He was like a brother too.

Wasn’t he?

The dance ended and now came the fairytale. Her dance with Emery.

…it was fine.

Not much to write to home (or Kate) about. Harcourt was a fine dancer, maybe even better than Benedict. But there was something missing, some feeling she had had with Benedict and not Emery.

Then came the waltz and every feeling flooded back into her body. That power, that strength, that warmth, that safety.

Why was dancing with Benedict so different?

Sophie was mulling on these thoughts as she watched Benedict dance with her friend, Emilia Sinclair. She was a pretty little brown skinned black haired girl with high cheekbones who clearly had eyes for Alexander Parr based on how she was shooting looks towards the youngster.

Anthony was off getting her a glass of lemonade when she heard the voice behind her.

“So you’re the famous bastard of Penwood,” Phillip Cavender drawled.

Sophie’s mouth went dry, and she wasn’t sure whether her heart started to beat double time or stopped altogether.

No one had ever dared to call her bastard to her face. But there was a look on his face… instinctually she knew the man was dangerous.

“A dastardly young man I want you both to stay as far away from as possible.” Lady Danbury’s words echoed in her head.

Her eyes scanned the ballroom, instinct tell her to find Viscount Edmund Bridgerton. She located him almost instantly. There must have been something on her face basically immediately Edmund excused himself from his conversation and began making his way across the room.

“Excuse me,” Sophie politely nodded to Cavender. She made to go to Edmund.

A yelp filled the ballroom as Cavender caught her by the arm.

“I don’t think so,” he said, turning her around so that she was forced to watch his lips stretch into a slippery smile. He turned his head to the side and called out, “Heasley! Fletcher! Look what I have here!”

A low rumbling filled the crowd around them, but no one moved to help Sophie. The whispers bastard echoed amongst the mutters. It was Sophie’s worst fear. The ton would move to help one of their own, but she wasn’t one of them.

She was just the bastard of Penwood.

“That will be quite enough of that!”

Sophie felt Cavender’s hand wrenched off her, and Anthony practically threw her behind him protectively.

Their friends closed ranks, Thomas Dorset and Patrick Huntley blocking the way. Lady Danbury gently moved Sophie behind her where Emilia Sinclair clutched Sophie’s arm.

Benedict shoved his way to the front of the commotion, settling beside Anthony like his second in a duel.

But Philip Cavender laughed, “What’s all this? Bastard got her buddies?”

“Don’t call her that,” Anthony growled.

“Back down, Cavender,” Benedict ordered.

“Oh, I’ve heard about how cozy you two have gotten,” Cavender laughed. “What, got a thing for maids?”

“Cavender,” Benedict warned.

“Miss Sophia Maria Beckett is an honored member of the Bridgerton family and honored Ward of Penwood,” Anthony said firmly. “To insult her is to insult any woman of the ton.”

“She doesn’t belong in the ton,” Cavender spat. “She doesn’t belong anywhere but the slum she was born.”

Lady Danbury’s cane slammed in front of Anthony’s legs, practically tripping him as her started forward.

“Sophie Beckett is a kind, gentle, caring young woman and worth ten of you,” Benedict said in a low, dangerous voice.

Cavender scoffed, “Oh please. She’s probably just a whore like her mother.”

That was when Benedict threw his punch and knocked Phillip Cavender straight to the floor.

A gasp filled the ballroom.

Sophie had to admit, her first ball would be something she was unlikely to forget any time soon.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Eight

Breaking the Habit

Linkin Park

I don't want to be the one

The battles always choose

Cause inside I realize

That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for

Or why I have to scream

I don't know why I instigate

And say what I don't mean

I don't know how I got this way

I know it's not alright

So, I'm breaking the habit

I'm breaking the habit tonight

To say the ball was a bit of a disaster after Benedict punched out Phillip Cavender was putting it mildly.

The Bridgertons instantly jumped into action. Edmund hauled off Anthony and Benedict while Violet swept off Sophie. To their credit, the Cavenders also collected their son and sent him off to bed for the evening. For a sense of fairness, both Phillip and Anthony’s sets of friends who had interceded were also sternly asked to retire for the night. Slowly, families one by one dropped out, busy chattering about the gossip, and the ballroom was empty well before the tenth dance, let alone the full planned twenty.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” Edmund lectured his eldest two sons in his office. Violet was seated in the opposite chair of the desk, and Sophie watched quietly from the corner. The large portrait of Edmund on the wall stared down at them all in disappointment.

“But Father,” Anthony objected, “they were harming and insulting Sophie. If it had been Daphne-”

“You should have left it to me!” Edmund snapped. He paused and sighed, “Anthony, listen to me. If you face every insult with violence, then how can we call ourselves civilized?”

“You’re right,” Anthony locked his jaw. “We should handle this civilly with a duel.”

Benedict’s eyes widened and Sophie gasped.

“Anthony!” Violet exclaimed.

“Absolutely not!” Edmund scolded. “Duels are only to be used for the utmost insults to honor.”

“Duels should not be used at all!” Violet cut in. “Edmund Bridgerton, do not encourage any thoughts of dueling. It’s extremely dangerous, not to mention illegal.”

Edmund glanced at his sons, not exactly jumping to his wife’s disapproval for duelling.  

The office door opened and the Bridgertons were surprised to see Lady Danbury enter.

“Well, that was an unpleasant conversation,” she announced.

Violet and Edmund traded a look.

“What conversation?” Edmund asked.

“Why, the smoothing over I did with the Cavenders on your behalf,” Lady Danbury said as if he had asked her the colour of the sky. “It was not easy, but I think I have saved your skin.”

At the last few words, she smacked Benedict in the shin with her cane.

Benedict cleared his throat, trying not to show the pain, “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I am most grateful.”

“Oh, don’t be too giddy. I’m sure your parents will have their own punishments for you.”

“Confinement to your room for one week,” Edmund said. “You’ll take dinner with us, but otherwise you will stay in your room and entertain yourself with its contents.”

Benedict tried not to smile. His room included books, his art supplies, and a nice large set of windows. Being confined to his room wouldn’t be much of a punishment.

“And no visitors,” Violet added. “Not even Sophie.”

Ah. There was the punishment.

“How did you manage to get Benedict out of trouble with the Cavenders?” Edmund asked.

“It was actually rather easy. Since the participants were young, it wasn’t particularly difficult to sweep it under the rug of the adage “boys will be boys.” For their credit, the Cavenders very much do not side with their son, but that may have been because everyone quickly agreed that Phillip was the one at fault.”

“It’s not his fault,” Sophie hung her head. “I should have known better. The ton will never accept me as one of them. I was just tricking myself.”

Violet crossed to the girl in two steps, “Dear Heart, no. You are very much one of us. Cavender had absolutely no right to do and say the things he did.”

“Didn’t he?” a voice came from the door.

Everyone turned to see Araminta storm into the room, her face as red as her scarlet dress.

Edmund instantly stepped between the woman and his wife.

“I told all of you no good would come of pretending that wretch is above her station,” Aramina jabbed a finger at Sophie. “What were you thinking? You flaunted around the ballroom as if you were the heiress of the house.”

Benedict couldn’t help cut in, “She for all intents and purposes is. Sophie is just as much the hostess as Anthony or I were hosts.”

Araminta whipped around, “Oh you. You are the worst of them all. Encouraging her fantasies and hovering around like a guard dog. What makes her so special?”

Tears pricked at Sophie’s eyes. She wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. It was too much. All this fighting over her.

She wasn’t worth it.

“Because she belongs to this house and family,” Benedict yelled. “You must be the blindest woman in the world if you can see how special this girl is!”

“Then why don’t you take her?” Araminta snapped.

“Fine! We will!”

“Absolutely,” Anthony agreed. “Sophie, have the maids assemble your things. We’ll move you in today.”

“Alright, that’s enough, Boys,” Edmund interjected. “Sophie’s not moving anywhere.”

“Why not?” Benedict shot. “You know her life is hell with that woman.”

“Benedict! Enough!” Edmund roared.

The room fell utter silent. Edmund Bridgerton never raised his voice like that. Frankly, it scared Benedict a bit.

Edmund took a deep breath, “It is pointless to argue about this. This is not the choice of anyone in this room. It is up to Earl Richard Gunningworth and him alone. And he says that Sophie belongs in society. He himself escorted Sophie to her first ball this evening.”

“Because she’s his bastard,” Araminta spat.

Lady Danbury narrowed her eyes.

“How preposterous,” Violet gave a false chuckle. “Sophie’s father was named Charles Beckett and he was a distant cousin of the earl’s, no?”

A heavy weight rested upon the room. Charles Beckett was a bylaw they all danced around, but Sophie knew the truth. Sophie knew what she was.

Violet continued, “And that makes her perfectly respectable to engage with the ton. Isn’t that right, Lady Danbury?”

Agatha nodded.

“I’m sure some members of the ton will consider her a bit shabby, since obviously nobody will be familiar with her family, but at least she will be respectable. After all.” she turned back around and flashed a wide smile at Araminta, “there is that connection with the Penwoods.”

Benedict and Anthony snorted as Araminta turned pure white.

“I will never present her to society,” Araminta vowed.

“Oh, that’s good news,” Lady Danbury said. “Because I was under the impression that Violet had planned to do that herself. Unless you would rather I step in, Lady Bridgerton?”   

Violet smiled, “I am most happy to take on Sophie’s seasons myself.”

Sophie’s tears stifled. What? Violet was actually going to present her as a viable option to suitors? She was actually going to have a season? Not just a ball here and there at Bridgerton House, but actually go to London, the modiste, go before Queen Charlotte, and make the rounds of society to find a husband?

“In fact, I believe I’ve already scouted out a few very strong possibilities for Sophie’s hand,” Violet smiled at Benedict.

Benedict had no idea why she looked at him. Shouldn’t she comfort Sophie with the thought.

Araminta huffed, “Fine! You deal with the chit! I don’t even want to so much as see her again. You can keep her in this ugly house until her wedding day for all I care.”

And with that, Araminta stormed out.

“House isn’t ugly,” Benedict muttered.

Edmund sighed.

“I think it’s time we all head to bed,” Lady Danbury leaned both hands on the top of her cane. “It has been a very trying day. Miss Beckett, let me escort you.”

“She’s right,” Violet said. “Anthony and Benedict, it’s time you retire to your rooms. For the week in your case, Benedict.”

Everyone exchanged goodnights and such gestures, then began filing out of the office.

“Wait one moment, Benedict,” Edmund ordered. “There’s one more thing.”

Benedict’s throat felt thick as he watched everyone depart. What last thing did his father want to say? Was it some further punishment? Maybe his art supplies would be taken.

But instead, Edmund looked out into the hall to make sure Violet wasn’t in earshot, and then told Benedict, “Good punch, Son.”

Benedict smirked. You could put a man in a place of responsibility, but you still couldn’t take the Bridgerton out of a Bridgerton.

Sophie was escorted to her room by Lady Danbury. She was about to enter her bedroom when they heard a voice.

“One moment, Miss Beckett, please!”

It was Emery Harcourt.

“Mister Harcourt,” Lady Danbury said in surprise. “How many we help you?”

“Lady Danbury,” he bowed his head. “Miss Beckett.”

He had a lovely smile beneath his neatly trimmed moustache, Sophie thought. And his kind brown eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight.

“Mister Harcourt,” Sophie nodded her head. “I apologize for the events of this evening.”

“You don’t need to pardon anything, Miss Beckett. I roomed with him at Eton and Phillip Cavender is a positive arse.” He then seemed to notice Lady Danbury was still standing there. “Apologies for the language, My Lady.”

“No need, Young Man,” Lady Danbury said. “I’ve uttered much worse in my time.”

Both Sophie and Emery looked surprised at that.

“I just wanted to say, Miss Beckett,” Emery turned back to Sophie, “that I regret not getting that second dance you promised me. I found our first dance most magical. Didn’t you?”

Not as magical as with Benedict.

“Absolutely, Mister Harcourt,” Sophie lied. “You truly made my first ball be memorable for all the right reasons.”

“Well, I know you are still fairly young, but when you are a bit older, please come see me in London. I would love to introduce you to my mother. And of course, take you to the dance floor again.”

Sophie turned rather pink.

“That sounds lovely, Mister Harcourt,” Sophie couldn’t stop the grin on her face. “I look forward to our next dance.”

“As do I,” he bowed and kissed her hand. “Sweet dreams, Miss Beckett. Until our next meeting.”

And with that, he left.

Sophie had never felt so giddy.

“Well done, Child,” Lady Danbury patted Sophie on the shoulder.

“I’ve never felt like this before, Lady Danbury. My mind is buzzing and heart is all fluttery.”

Lady Danbury chuckled, “It’s love, Dear. I remember the first time I felt that thrill.”

“With Lord Danbury?”

A very long pause followed.

“Sure,” said Agatha.

Richard Gunningworth was in the middle of writing a letter when a pounding came on his door. He hadn’t been sharing rooms with Araminta since she discovered the existence of Sophie, and he doubted after the night they had had that she was coming to visit for heir making.

But Gunningworth didn’t even had the chance to call out when Lady Danbury just barged into the room.

“We need to talk,” she strode in and stared at him expectantly.

He just stared at her, “Please Lady Danbury. Do come in.”

“The situation with Sophia has become untenable. You cannot continue to allow her to live in the same house as your wife.”

Richard narrowed his eyes, “Do not tell me how to raise my ward. Just because you’ve intimidated the Duke of Hastings into raising his son for him-”

“I know why you are doing this,” Lady Danbury snapped. “I know all about what happened and why you choose to keep the girl around. I know you cared for her, your- What did you call her?”

“Jewel,” he said quietly.

Agatha shook it off, “I know the promises you made Jewel and the care you had for her. I know you made a commitment to keep her child safe. But you cannot continue to put Sophia in danger of Araminta and everything the title as Your ward brings. For the sake of everyone, it is time to give her to the Bridgertons. Permanently.”

But Richard shook his head, “I made Jewel a promise, and I will keep it. I will raise Sophie as my child until my dying breath.”

“Then it’s time to think of the after.”

“What do you mean?”

“Richard… it is time you changed your will.”

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Nine

All I Want For Christmas

Mariah Carey

I won't ask for much this Christmas

I won't even wish for snow

I'm just gonna keep on waiting

Underneath the mistletoe

I won't make a list and send it

To the North Pole for Saint Nick

I won't even stay awake to

Hear those magic reindeer click

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is you

It was the first Christmas that Sophie was spending with the Bridgertons, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

But it wouldn’t just be a special Christmas for the Bridgertons because of Sophie. It was also the first Christmas for little Baby G Bridgerton, aka the brand-new Gregory Charles Bridgerton.

The middle name of Charles continued the family tradition of names of male family members for the sons’ middle names. Anthony was Anthony Edmund after Edmund of course, Benedict was Benedict Joseph after Edmund’s father, Colin was Colin Hugo after Edmund’s brother, and now Gregory was Gregory Charles after Violet’s father. The girls were of course named similarly: Daphne Ruth after Edmund’s mother, Eloise Billie after Edmund’s sister, and Francesca Georgiana after Edmund’s other sister.

No one knew what they would have given Gregory as a middle name if he was a girl because Violet had sworn never to name a child after her own mother, she didn’t want to use her own name, she had no siblings, and Edmund had no more sisters. Sophie supposed Edmund’s cousin, Poppy was a contender.

Thank goodness there wasn’t another Bridgerton girl to name.

“Sophie, you’re here!” Daphne practically tackled her in a hug as Sophie entered the sitting room. The family was as it always was: lounging about in their various preferred activities, but together. The only difference was the loud wails as Violet tried hushing Gregory. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Sophie laughed. She had to stoop because Sophie had had a bit of a growth spurt while Daphne still hadn’t hit her first one of puberty. “And don’t worry, I brought Christmas presents. The Earl allowed me a bit of a spending spree.”

After the events of the Hearts and Flowers ball, Richard Gunningworth had been particularly doting on Sophie, although the amount of affection had not changed in the slightest. What was the point of a bunch of gifts without the love behind it?

“Oh, we don’t need anything,” Daphne hugged her tight. “Having you here is the best present of all.”

Sophie knew that was a dirty lie and Daphne would elbow any of her siblings out of the way on Christmas morning.

Violet bounced the fussy Gregory whose screams still hadn’t yet ended, “Sophie, Dear, I would come hug you, but my hands are a bit full at the moment.”

She smiled and then glanced off to the side where Anthony was reading a book and Benedict was at his easel painting, “What? You two too good for me now?”

“Sorry Soph,” Anthony dutifully slapped his book closed and came over to give her a one-armed hug. “I was just fascinated by this new book my roommate at Oxford recommended.”

“Simon, right?” Sophie asked as if that wasn’t the only thing he had spoken about since starting university in the fall. “Or sorry, Basset as you men insist on calling each other, Bridgerton.”

Anthony laughed and kissed her forehead, then let her go.

Sophie then looked over at Benedict. He hadn’t moved an inch, just focused completely and utterly on his painting that Sophie suspected that he hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

“Benedict?” Edmund asked, “Are you going to greet Sophie?”

“Just one minute,” his brows knit together. “I’m just about got this. Give me a few more seconds.”

Sophie loved the way he looked so concentrated. They way his well chiseled jaw clenched and the darkness of brows knit above clear blue eyes.

But still, it was her best friend ignoring her. As a Bridgerton, Sophie knew she must make him pay.

“Well let’s see this great work of art,” Sophie casually walked up to Benedict. She looked at the painting sternly like she was assessing it, but she barely paid attention to it, watching Benedict out of the corner of her eye. “Oh yes, I see. There’s one spot that needs colour quite badly.”

Benedict scowled, “What? Where?”

“Here,” she scooped up a fingerful of paint from his palette and smeared it on his cheek.

“Sophie!”

The room laughed as Benedict practically dropped his supplies in shock. Sophie chuckled loudest of all and only just dodged a full paintbrush of oils aimed straight for her face.

“No! No! No!” Violet exclaimed. Sophie had never see her so uncomposed. “No throwing paint in the sitting room!”

Faces bright red from excitement and laughter, Benedict and Sophie innocently called and truce and embraced.

“Sorry for ignoring you,” Benedict breathed in deeply. She had a new perfume: jasmine and honeysuckle.

“That’s okay,” Sophie relaxed into his strong arms. He smelled of paint thinner but also sandalwood. Had Benedict too dabbled with cologne? It suited him well. “Your portrait does look fantastic.”

“It’s of Paris meeting Helen,” Benedict explained, releasing her to show off his work.

Sophie’s smile froze, “It looks… very good.”

Helen looked like her. The most beautiful woman in Greek Mythology, the face that launched a thousand ships… and he had modeled her after Sophie.

Her heart fluttered oddly in her chest.

Then the moment was broken by a particularly piercing scream from Gregory.

“Oh, my poor boy,” Edmund took Gregory from Violet. “Come now, what’s wrong?”

“He been at it long?” Sophie asked.

“We can’t figure out what’s wrong,” Violet ungracefully flopped down on the couch. “He’s been fed, changed, rocked, burped, played with, cuddled. I have no idea what he wants.”

“Perhaps we should call for the Nurse?” Edmund suggested.

Violet glared at him. The Bridgertons only very sparingly used their nurse as Violet and Edmund were determined to be hands on parents. To suggest Gregory wanted his nurse was like suggesting Edmund had only married Violet for her dowry.

“It’s worth a try,” Colin meekly pointed out.

“Fine,” Violet sighed. “I shall ring for Nurse St John.”

Violet exited the room with Mrs. Wilson to call for the Nurse and attend to a few other matters that had been waiting. Edmund bounced the wailing Gregory in his arms when his valet entered with news that there was an urgent matter to attend to.

“Of course. Uh,” Edmund eyed his children as to who would be brave enough to take the fussy baby.

When the older boys avoided their father’s eye, Sophie huffed.

“Oh, here,” she graciously took hold of Gregory. Softly she bounced the little wailing baby. “That’s a good boy. Come here to Sophie. Sophie will take care of you.”

Edmund smiled as he watched Sophie with the baby. She was so kind, so gentle, such a natural mother.

And the poor girl had been tormented with the idea that she might never get to be one.

“Come sit next to me,” Daphne scooted over on the couch and patted the spot next to her. “Maybe if we sung to him?”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Sophie sat down, eyeing Edmund as he left the room. “The usual?”

Daphne nodded. She and Sophie had a special song they would sing to the others when they were sick or scared and it usually helped.

So together they sung.

Lavenders blue, dilly, dilly

Lavender's green

When I am king, dilly, dilly

You shall be queen

Who told you so, dilly, dilly

Who told you so?

'Twas mine own heart, dilly, dilly

That told me so.

Then to everyone’s surprise, Gregory started to quiet down.

“Keep going,” Eloise urged.

Francesca decided to join in, and nudged Colin to accompany her.

So Sophie, Daphne, Colin, and Francesca sang.

Call up your men, dilly, dilly

Set them to work

Some to the plough, dilly, dilly

Some to the fork

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly

Some to reap corn

While you and I, dilly, dilly

Keep ourselves warm.

Gregory’s cries had nearly ebbed, but he still fussed in Sophie’s arms.

Anthony exchanged a look with Benedict and Eloise.

So all of the Bridgerton siblings – Anthony, Benedict, Sophie, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca – sang to Gregory.

Roses are red, dilly, dilly

Violets are blue

Because you love me, dilly, dilly

I will love you

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly

And the lambs play

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly

Out of harm's way

Lavenders blue, dilly, dilly

Lavender's green

When I am king, dilly, dilly

You shall be queen

Violet stepped back into the room and was amazed to find all of her children singing Lavender’s Blue in perfect harmony…

And Gregory fast asleep in Sophie’s arms.

It was the best Christmas morning Sophie had ever had, and not just because the decorations were grand and the presents were plentiful. It was the love that surrounded every moment, from Eloise and Francesca bursting into her room to jump on her bed to wake her up, to Anthony having already fixed up her cup of tea just the way she loved it, to the Merry Christmas hug Benedict gave her.

Not to say the presents weren’t plentiful.

Sophie had put a lot of effort into her gifts to the Bridgertons this year now that she got to actually see their reactions.

To Edmund she gave a wonderfully embroidered hunting satchel and to Violet she gave a necklace of three strands of pearls connecting to one large pearl in the center encircled by tiny pearls.

For Colin and Daphne, she got clothes, but ones she knew they would love. Colin got an adult male tan yellow traveling coat that Sophie called an adventurer’s coat. They would of course get it tailored when he grew big enough to actually wear it.

Daphne got a blue velvet hat with netting veil in front of face to wear while horseback riding. The girl absolutely squealed at the sight of it and started pestering her mother to get a whole riding outfit to match it.

Eloise was given a diary with a green tassel ribbon bookmark built in. Francesca was given a set of hair pins of white flowers. For Gregory, Sophie had sewed a small stuffed horse toy that she named Sir Clopington.

Anthony and Benedict got similar gifts. They had always admired Edmund’s pinky rings, so Sophie got them each one. Anthony’s ring with silver with a sapphire and Benedict’s pink ring was gold with a ruby. They absolutely loved it.

Sophie herself got quite the haul.

Colin went first and gave her books about Ancient Greece and Rome. Eloise gave her a new quill, ink, and parchment. She also had gotten Sophie her own wax seal stamp that said SB.

“For Bridgerton,” Eloise clarified. “Not Beckett.”

Everyone laughed. For some reason, Eloise seemed to find it a personal affront that Sophie had a different last name. As far as she was concerned, Sophie was a literal flesh and blood Bridgerton.

Francesca gave Sophie a music book of the pianoforte music they had been playing together. Like Daphne, Francesca was proving to be quite the prodigy.

“Mine next!” Daphne basically threw her gift at Sophie. “Open it! Open it!”

“Okay, okay,” Sophie laughed. She unwrapped the small box and opened it.

Sophie gasped.

The gift was a silver demi-mask that tied in the back with black ribbon.

It was beautiful.

“You looked just like a princess in your ball gown,” Daphne explained. “I wanted to make sure you could wear it again to a masquerade. I hear they’re going to be all the rage next season.”

Sophie pulled her into a hug, “Thank you, Daff. It’s perfect.”

“Mine next,” Anthony handed her a package. “Much like your gift to Colin this is for down the road, but I want you to have it now.”

Sophie unwrapped it and frowned, “Champagne?”

“Anthony Bridgerton!” Violet scolded. “Did you just give a fourteen-year-old alcohol?”

“It’s not for now!” he objected. “Listen, here’s the thing: it’s for your wedding.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Benedict asked blankly.

“Are you proposing to Sophie?” Eloise asked, excited. “Does that mean Sophie’s going to be our sister for real.”

“What? No!” Anthony looked horrified at the thought. “That is disgusting! She’s my sister!”

Benedict personally didn’t know why it would be that disgusting of a thought to marry Sophie. It wasn’t like she was a flesh and blood relative.

“No, this is for your future wedding,” Anthony explained. “When you get married, all of us will pop this champagne and drink to your happiness. What do you think?”

“That’s very kind of you, Anthony,” Sophie said politely, though she wasn’t entirely thrilled by the gift. She never imagined herself a big drinker and the idea of toasting her wedding didn’t really excite her.

Though she supposed she would share many toasts with Benedict and the other Bridgertons at her wedding.

…Why had she singled out Benedict in that thought?

“My turn,” Benedict gift was a rather large square. “I’ve been so excited to show you this.”

Sophie gasped at the unveiling. It was a framed painting of Sophie as the Goddess Artemis on a hunt. The painting was absolutely gorgeous and dreamlike. She was about to object, citing the large cost of a painting of that quality when she noticed the artist’s signature in the corner.

“You painted this?” Sophie had known Benedict was good, but she never dreamed he was this good. “Benedict, I don’t know what to say… Thank you.”

Benedict gave a pleased but slightly embarrassed smile as his family heaped praise on him.

“It’s not that good,” he tried to wave off.

“Are you joking?” Daphne admired the painting. “This belongs in a museum. Oh, Sophie, where are you going to put it?”

“I’m not sure,” Sophie said.

Violet and Edmund exchanged a look.

“I have an idea,” Violet said, gently bouncing Gregory in her arms. “Sophie, grab that small purple box. The one from Gregory.”

It was the smallest present under the tree and when Sophie opened it, she found a battered old key.

“A key?” Sophie frowned.

“To your very own room at Bridgerton House,” Edmund explained. “The Earl has agreed to let us take you to London for the season.”

Sophie gasped, “No!”

“Which means you will need these,” Violet presented her with a gift.

Inside was a silver and emerald necklace, earring, and tiara set.

“No, Violet, please,” Sophie pushed the box away. “This is too much.”

“Every debutante needs her own jewels,” Violet firmly pushed the box back into Sophie’s hands. “You will need them for the events you attend this year.”

“And then the year after next,” Edmund presented her with the final gift.

It was the hair piece of a long white feather.

But wait, this was the hair piece worn when… No.

No.

“We will present you to Queen Charlotte when you are sixteen,” Edmund finished.

Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. They were really going to do it. They were really giving her a season.

She looked over to Daphne and remembered their once upon a time conversation about marrying a Duke.

Maybe Sophia Maria Beckett would get a happily ever after after all.

As it was Sophie’s first Christmas with the Bridgertons, Violet made sure to ask her what Christmas traditions they did at Penwood that she wanted to do in Aubrey Hall.

“Well, it’s not really a family tradition, but the cooks liked to bring me down to the kitchen when they make their Christmas baking and they had me decorate the gingerbread men and sugar cookies.”

So, despite none of the Bridgertons knowing how to warm milk, Violet herded all the children and her husband into the kitchen on Christmas Day to decorate cookies. At first the family was creative, playing with icing and candies to make fancy looking cookies. However, when Benedict started getting a little too artistic, Edmund decided it was best to shove his son face first into a bowl of flour. This led into a grand food fight of flour, sugar, cookie dough, icing, and in Violet’s case, one blackberry pie.

“And that Edmund Bridgerton,” Violet smirked as all the children laughed at their berry stained father, “is revenge for the flour bomb in my hair when we were children.”

“Here I thought revenge was best served cold,” Edmund wiped off the hot blue goo from his face. “Now come here and give me a kiss.”

Violet deftly dodged a blackberry kiss and Edmund chased her around the kitchen to their children’s delight with Edmund trying to smear blackberry goo all over her.

With the pie in play, all bets were off. Any food – except for the Christmas feast Mrs. Wilson sternly chased Eloise away from the turkey – was fair game. Soon sauces and produce was flying through the air.

“Come on,” Benedict grabbed Sophie by the hand, and they escaped through the door.

They raced down the hall, laughing as the sounds of joy and war faded in the distance. Reaching a landing, Benedict skidded them to a halt. They panted and laughed as they tried to catch their breath.

Then Sophie said, “Benedict, look up.”

He did. Hanging from the roof directly above them was mistletoe.

They looked at each other and suddenly the lightness of the world faded away. Something thick and hot simmered through the air. A tension pulling them together, something that had always been there but Benedict had never noticed before.

He stared at Sophie. Those joyous eyes. That carefree grin.

Those pink lips.

Benedict had never really noticed Sophie’s lips before. The shape and size were perfect. He bet they would be soft like the rest of her. Soft and sweet.

He lost all sense. Her lips. He had to kiss those lips.

But, no. He couldn’t. They were Sophie’s lips.

But they were Sophie’s lips.

Then he saw it, Sophie leaned forward. His breath hitched and his eyes softly closed as his head moved forward to meet her lips with his own.

She kissed his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Benedict.”

Then she turned around and made back for the kitchen.

And as Sophie left Benedict standing under the mistletoe with her kiss burning on his cheek, he had never felt more confused in his life.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Ten

Only the Lonely Survive

Marianas Trench

I don’t know how you feel yourself

But I’d rather hurt here than be happy

Somewhere else

No one will scar me like you do

But no one will ever be compared

Compared to you

Benedict crumpled up the drawing and threw it into the overflowing wastebin. He felt like he was losing his mind. It was March, three whole months since that almost kiss under the mistletoe, and still Benedict couldn’t get it out of his mind. Next month he had be joining his family for the Season in Bridgerton House and he had no idea how he was going to face Sophie.

And the worst part is that Sophie didn’t even think anything was wrong.

Her letters had been the same as always: encouragement over his drawings, news of how Kate was doing (not that he had ever even so much as penned a letter to Sophie’s friend), updates on the Bridgerton family (such as how Gregory’s first word had been Sofy, though that had been when he was babbling nonsense, so it was likely a coincidence), of the little tyrant Eloise was becoming, of riding with Daphne, French lessons with Colin, pianoforte concerts with Francesca, pranks with Edmund (Sophie was never the mastermind, only the henchman), embroidery with Violet, her letters with Anthony, how Araminta made her life difficult, and how her father ignored her.

Absolutely none of her letters ever brough up the fact “Hey, did you try to kiss me on Christmas?”

Benedict suspected she hadn’t even noticed. But how could she not? Didn’t she feel that magnetic pull to each other that he had? Didn’t she understand how in that moment something had shifted? His world had been turned upside down and yet somehow things were starting to finally make sense.

Not that he knew what that sense was.

She was his best friend; that was an undeniable fact. He had always pictured that somehow, they would be in each other’s lives together. But could they maybe have a life together?

No, that was nonsense. She was his best friend. Nothing more. Sophie didn’t want anything more. Benedict didn’t want anything more.

Then why had he wanted to kiss her?

“Another victim of the brooding artist’s melancholy musings?”

Benedict looked up to see Vincent Grovner enter their dorm. If Benedict had to admit it, it was quite the sight waiting for Vincent. Benedict was lounging on the windowsill, staring up at the full moon in the clear night sky, a low number of candles flickering in the lowlight, charcoal staining his hands, and a wastebasket spilling crumbled sketches.

And of course, on Benedict’s sketchbook was a half-drawn image of Sophie that he hadn’t even realized he had been etching.

To be fair, in the three years they had been sharing rooms, it was far from the worst thing Vincent had walked in on Benedict doing.

“You, my friend, have it bad,” Vincent tossed his jacket on his bed.

Benedict sighed, “I don’t have anything, I’m just… confused.”

“Uh huh,” Vincent said flatly. He flipped through a stack of letters, “Grabbed you mail for you while I was down there. Letter from your parents, your older brother, and The Muse.”

The Muse. Sophie’s nickname had always been referred to by Vincent with the definite article.

“Oh, sod off, it’s not what you think,” he chucked his pencil at his roommate’s head.

Vincent easily ducked it, and, laughing, threw his pocket watch at Benedict in return.

“Sure it isn’t,” Vincent went to his wardrobe. “Want a nip?”

“Can’t hurt,” Benedict shrugged as he tore the drawing of Sophie out of his book and tossed it in the waste basket.

Being sixteen-year-old boys away at boarding school, Vincent and Benedict weren’t exactly saints. The first year they had cut a hole in the bottom of Vincent’s wardrobe and used it as a stash for contraband. But they were clever scoundrels, and – aided at the time by Anthony – had fashioned a false bottom with enough resemblance to the true bottom of the wardrobe that they had always passed room inspection.

Of course, being sixteen-year-old boys, their stash wasn’t much to be admired. Cheap cigarettes, dirty playing cards, and whatever alcohol they could get their hands on.

“Do you want the grain alcohol or the low percentage wine?” Vincent squinted at the label, “Actually I think it’s just grape juice.”

“Grain alcohol.”

Vincent poured two cups and came over to sit on the windowsill with his friend.

“Fag?” he offered a cigarette.

“Sure,” Benedict lit a match.

For a while they didn’t say anything. They just sat on the windowsill, smoked, and drank as they read their mail.

Vincent exhaled a long drag, “So, The Muse still on you about smoking?”

Benedict chuckled, remembering the day she caught him behind the goat barn puffing away on a cigarette.

“Says she doesn’t trust it,” Benedict just shrugged and took another drag. He noticed Vincent staring at one letter quite intensely, “Something good?”

Vincent startled like he had been zapped by electricity.

“Nothing,” he quickly shoved the letter in his pocket. “Just… a friend.”

Benedict chuckled.

“What about you?” Vincent asked. “The Muse have any exciting news?”

He squinted at Sophie’s letter, “I guess the Hag of Penwood found out about Sophie coming to stay in Bridgerton House for the Season and threw a fit.”

“And in other surprising news.”

“I guess the Earl gave in and the Reilings will be staying in the Penwood London House. Not that they’ve ever taken Sophie there before, and of course Sophie will be at Bridgerton House.”

“I don’t get that woman’s hard on for hating Sophie,” Vincent shook his head, tobacco smoke coming out in short staccato bursts. “Having The Muse away for the whole Season should be a dream come true, instead the Hag is dragging at her heels.”

“It’s not fair to my daughters,” Benedict made an exaggerated and quite nasally impression of Araminta. “You’d think by now she’d realise that the world isn’t fair.”

Such profound philosophical theories were common in a dorm of sixteen-year-old artists.

“How’s your pencil work going?” Benedict asked.

Vincent sighed, “It’s going, but I’m not sure if I should bother with much more effort.”

“Why not?”

“You know my father wants me to focus on preparing to take on his title.” Vincent was the firstborn son of the Earl of Ruxdon, and his life goals were two simple things: 1. Be an Earl after his father’s death. And 2. Take the piss out of the Burberry Family whenever given half a chance.

Benedict took another drag of his cigarette. One of these days he was going to sit Vincent down and get the full story of the rivalry of Burberry vs Grovner. Apparently, it had started sometime back during the War of the Roses when a marriage was to be arranged but then one family backed the Lancasters and one the York and they just never made up.

“So what has got the great artist brooding?” Vincent asked.

Benedict sighed, “Sophie. Something happened during Christmas and now I’m all confused.”

“What happened?”

He explained the incident under the mistletoe.

“Ah,” Vincent exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “So the boy becomes a man.”

Benedict aimed a kick at his friend, “I’m already a man.”

“Then when is the last time you’ve- How should I put it? Dipped your brush into a nice wet palette.”

“You are a disgusting man.”

“I’m not just around for my pretty looks.”

Benedict sighed, “I’ll admit, it has been a while.”

“Then get your mind off your friend and get on top of someone else,” Vincent raised his glass in a cheers.

Benedict shook his head, “I don’t think that’s it.”

Vincent lowered his glass, “Then what is it?”

“It’s just… do you ever think about marriage?”

“I’m flattered, Ben, but you’re not really my type.”

“Not you, you git!” Benedict threw a playful punch that Vincent blocked. “I meant in general. The idea of being married someday.”

“Of course,” Vincent said. “I’m going to be an Earl. I’ll have to marry eventually.”

“But have you ever thought about who you’ll marry?”

Vincent’s eyes got very serious.

“Not really,” he push back his blonde hair. There was something odd in his voice. “Have you?”

“No,” Benedict admitted. “But… I do think of Sophie.”

“What? As a wife?”

“No, of course not,” he casually dismissed. “She’s my best friend. I just think about how she will fit into my life when we’re married to other people. It will be odd. I think I’m subconsciously conflating it all and then getting confused with those feelings and putting them towards Sophie.”

“Hmm,” Vincent simply said.

There was nothing more to say. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell that Benedict was head over heels for Sophia Beckett. In fact, Vincent had a pool with a few of their friends over just when Benedict would realize his feelings.

But Vincent was still two years out on his selected dates, so there was no reason to push things if it was starting to progress naturally.

He could practically hear the coins jingling in his pocket already.

“Well, Ben,” Vincent drained his glass. “I know you, and I know that you Bridgertons are obsessed with love matches. I’m sure whomever you marry will have plenty of room in their heart for your relationship with The Muse.”

Considering it would be Sophie.

Benedict smiled, “Thanks. You ever think of a love match?”

“Again, I’ll flattered, but-”

“Your future marriage. Are you going to go for love?”

Vincent gave a non-committal shrug, “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.”

Friends or not, Benedict didn’t need to know his plans.

“As for you,” Vincent said, “I just suggest that you sit with your feelings a while longer. You’re only sixteen, after all. You still have plenty of life ahead of you still.”

“I suppose.” Benedict smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Now, come on,” Vincent stubbed out his cigarette. “Alexander Parr and Patrick Huntley are sneaking out to a party, and we’ve been invited.”

“Alright, I’m coming.”

Benedict stubbed out his cigarette as Vincent began to change for the party. He looked down at the drawing of Sophie, and then up at the full moon.

He wondered if she was looking up at that same moon right now and was thinking of him.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Eleven

Tattoo

Ava Max

The kind of lover that stays on your mind

See me wherever you go, yeah

You want forever after just tonight

You'll never leave it alone, yeah

A permanent mark that won't fade away

Boy, you can't erase me

I'm like a tattoo

That's over your heart

Cause once I put this love on you, it never comes off

I'm like a tattoo

That's under your skin

So write my name in cursive cause you'll never forget

Sophie didn’t like London. But it wasn’t London itself; Bridgerton House was as beautiful as had always been described to her. The creeping purple wisteria, the red brick, and bright white windows. And the interior: the high valeted ceilings and the opulent decorations. Yet somehow it still felt cozy.

When she first stepped foot in Bridgerton House, she knew she was home.

Or at least her home in London. Aubrey Hall would always feel like her true home as that was where everything had changed and she found love and friendship.

No, it was how odd things were in London. Particularly Benedict. Although it didn’t seem fair to blame that on London; he had been acting odd ever since Christmas. But it was difficult to explain what she meant by that. He wasn’t mean or short or ignoring her, he had just been… odd.

It seemed that Sophie wasn’t the only one who felt it because one day at tea, Edmund Bridgerton threw down his newspaper and yelled at his son, “What is wrong with you?”

Benedict, not expecting the question, nearly choked on the biscuit he was half a bite into.

Sophie looked up from her sampler where she was stitching two swans swimming together. Edmund Bridgerton was very informal with his family, but it was still something to be surprised about.

“Edmund!” Violet scolded.

She had been quite enjoying a nice quiet tea with her husband, Sophie, and Benedict. The house – for once – was practically empty, though not necessarily for good reasons as Colin was laid up with fever. Daphne, Francesca, and Eloise had been sent on a playdate to their neighbors, the Featheringtons as the youngest Featherington, Penelope had gotten along with Eloise like a house on fire.

“Come on,” Edmund scoffed from his lounging position on the couch, his legs stacked up on pillows. “The boy has been odd since Christmas. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Benedict objected. “Just… you know. Growing up. Things are odd. Getting new friends.”

“Well, Sophie has been practically attached at the hip to Emilia Sinclair and you don’t see her all quiet and sulking.”

Benedict grinned at Sophie, “I don’t think it’s in her power to be quiet.”

She threw a biscuit at him. He caught it one handed, took a bite out of it, and winked.

“Now that’s more like it,” Edmund turned back to his newspaper.

Seeing her opening, Sophie set down her sampler and scurried over to the chair where Benedict was busily sketching.

“What are you drawing?” she leaned against the back of the chair to peer over his shoulder.

She didn’t notice how Benedict teased when he felt her breath on his neck.

“It’s nothing,” he tried to shut his sketch pad, but Sophie was faster. Benedict had made the mistake of using his sketch pad rather than his sketchbook, so she was able to pluck the loose page up before he could close it.

Sophie stopped. It was pencil drawing – a very good one – of her bent over her sampler, sewing away.

“Benedict, this is amazing,” she gasped. Sophie lifted up the sketch so the others could see, “Would you look at that?”

“It’s wonderful,” Violet took the page from Sophie. “Benedict, you truly have a great talent.”

“Come on, it’s not that good,” He made a grab at it, but Edmund snatched it up first.

“It is,” Edmund studied the drawing. “I think I ought to hire you a drawing master for the summer.”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“Yes, it is. You can’t get talent like this go to waste.” Edmund handed the drawing back to his son, “I think you have a very different life ahead of you than the military or the cloth.”

Benedict blushed. Most younger sons had one of two options: military or priesthood. He was a bit too devilish for the cloth and though good at fencing and shooting, he had too soft a heart for the battlefield.

“I’ve been telling him that for years. But does he listen to me? No.” Sophie bent down and pecked him on the cheek. “And you don’t need to be so secretive about your drawings. You know I’ll pose for you anytime.”

She didn’t notice the way his fingers lifted up to ghost over the kiss on his cheek.

But Violet and Edmund certainly did.

Violet raised an eyebrow to her husband. Edmund just shrugged and went back to his newspaper. She didn’t have a chance to pursue the topic because at that moment, the butler entered with a single sheet of folded paper.

She frowned as she read over the news, “Oh Dear, Sophie. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Her spine tightened.

“What is it?” Sophie asked in a panic. “Has the Earl changed his mind? Does he want me to spend the season back in Penwood Park? Or worse? Am I to stay with Araminta in Penwood House?”

The thought of spending what was to be her perfect first year in London with Araminta…

“Oh, nothing of the sort,” Violet was quick to relax the girl. “No, your dancing master, Master Edmonton is sick with fever and cannot come today for practice. Poor Master Edmonton, he must have caught it from Colin.”

But the news did not calm Sophie any measure, “What am I supposed to do? Lady Danbury’s waltz party is tomorrow and I’m nowhere near ready!”

Everyone traded looks. They knew exactly why Sophie was panicked.

As a treat to Sophie, Lady Danbury had brought in a waltz instructor from Austria to teach for an afternoon for a selection of young, not entirely out people of the ton for their preparation. The usual lot of youngsters had been invited: Sophie’s friend, Emilia Sinclair, Benedict’s friend, Alexander Parr, and of course Guy Burberry, Maria Burberry, and Vincent Grovner just for the sparks to fly. (Though Lady Danbury wouldn’t stand for actual blows to come. She just wanted to see the angry look on Guy’s face when she used her status to make Maria and Vincent dance together.)

But the truth of the shindig was it was an elaborate excuse to bring Sophie and Emery Harcourt together. The pair weren’t yet properly invited to balls, so Lady Danbury like playing with toy army men had arranged to bring the pair together.

Benedict, though invited, was not thrilled. But he had already promised Lady Danbury not to allow things between Vincent and Guy get so heated that any duels were demanded, so he would be busy.

“I have to be perfect for tomorrow!” Sophie exclaimed. “What if I’m awful? What if I forget the steps?”

“Isn’t that why there’s a dancing instructor present?” Edmund asked.

Violet swatted at him with a murmur of, “Enough, you.”

“How am I going to practice if Master Edmonton isn’t here today?” Sophie panicked. “We already don’t have Mistress Victoria here to play the pianoforte and Daphne and Francesca aren’t here.”

“I already told you,” Violet kindly cut in, “I will play for you. It may be eighteen years since I was out, but I still know how to play.”

“Not well,” Edmund murmured, earning himself another swat. He had always likened Violet’s playing to a cat walking across the keys.

“But who will I dance with?” Sophie asked. “Anthony is off spending two weeks in Clyvedon with that Duke’s son, and Edmund… well…”

Violet shot a fiery look to Edmund’s broken leg propped up on the stack of pillows.

It was no one’s fault but his own. He had decided to repay his son’s sour mood but pulling a prank. He had put glue in Benedict’s shoes. When his furious son came storming out to find his father on the stair landing, Edmund laughed hysterically, took a step back, and promptly fell down two sets of stairs, breaking his leg. Violet had been happy that he had managed not to break his neck, and that she had the fortitude not to do it herself.

“Well, the answer is quite obvious,” Violet said. “Benedict, you shall dance with Sophie.”

He frowned, “Pardon?”

“Come on,” she crossed the room and practically pulled him to his feet. “You’ve danced with Sophie a thousand times before. I don’t see why now should be any different.”

But it was different, Benedict thought as he assumed the position with Sophie. His hand on her waist, the touch of her ungloved hand, the way he looked down into her eyes as his growth spurt made him tower over her.

She had started to become a lovely little creature and one who knew how to give a good cheek kiss. He felt her eyes burning on him and couldn’t stand it any longer. Benedict couldn’t help it; he looked down at his feet.

The music began to play – not very good music, Benedict was afraid to admit – and Violet instructed them with posture and step corrections as she tinkled away at the pianoforte.

“One, two, three; one, two, three,” Edmund helped them keep time.

“Look up,” Sophie ordered gently.

Benedict’s heart leapt. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk it.

“But I’ll stumble,” he lied.

She laughed lightly and it sounded like music to Benedict’s ears.

“You won’t,” she promised. “I won’t let you. Look into my eyes.”

He took a deep breath, and looked up.

Clear blue met moss green, and everything changed. All that had tightened in him dissipated and his fears cleared away.

His best friend was standing in front of him.

What was Benedict so worried about? It was Sophie. Not some phantom or crazed debutante. It was Sophie. Gentle, loving, but slightly sharp mouthed Sophie. She hadn’t changed, and neither had he. It was a kiss on the cheek, the same she would have given Anthony or he would have given Daphne.

What had he been so afraid of?

Feeling ten tons lighter, he swept Sophie across the floor in an elaborate and exaggerated waltz. Her peals of laughter filled the room, soon to be followed by his. They danced and played fairy tale the same way they had done a thousand times.

Nothing had changed. Nothing was different. They were Sophie and Benedict, the same way they had always been.

The music eventually came to an end, and they finished with extravagant bows to each other.

“Want to go again?” Benedict grinned.

“Oh, I feel so alive,” Sophie laughed. “I feel like I could go run laps the length of Mayfair and back.”

“Well, if you two are so energized after your dance, why don’t you go walk the garden of the square?” Edmund suggested the large lush mini park in the middle of Grosvenor Square.

“Miss Beckett?” Benedict in an over the top, gallant manor offered his arm, “Would you do me the honour of escorting me for a promenade?”

“It would be my pleasure, Mister Bridgerton,” she curtsied like a Princess meeting Prince Charming at a ball.

And with their laughter echoing through the halls, they exited the sitting room.

“So…” Violet said quietly when they were sure that the children were gone. “How much longer do you think it will be before those two realize they’re meant for each other? A year? Two?”

Edmund didn’t even look up from his newspaper, “I’d give it six months and not a moment more.”

“Hmm.”

Benedict and Sophie were nearly out the door with Mrs. Wilson as an escort, when the Footman called out, “Miss Beckett! A letter for you.”

Sophie frowned as the footman delivered the aforementioned letter and she quickly tore it open.

Her heart dropped.

“I’ve been summoned to tea at Penwood House tomorrow,” Sophie announced.

Benedict’s own spirits dropped at her words. Not invited. Summoned.

“Any hint of bad news?” Benedict looked over her shoulder at the letter.

“No,” her eyes trailed over her father’s handwriting. “The Earl just says that it’s been a month since I came to Bridgerton House and he wants to see how I’m doing. Besides, last week was my so called birthday, so he wanted to celebrate himself.”

“Funny, he didn’t seem that interested in celebrating before we Bridgertons got involved.”

“Benedict.”

“Sophie,” Benedict said in the same tone. “I’m just worried. I hate it while you’re in the company of the Hag. I don’t like you facing Araminta alone.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Sophie said. “Because the Earl has instructed me to bring a friend along with me. I suppose he probably meant Emilia or Daphne, but I don’t see any true reason to reject you from his doorstep.”

“So much as I adore you, the last thing I want is to have Rosamund shoved in my face again by Araminta has a potential bride.”

“Well, I could always invite Emery Harcourt,” Sophie teased. Though she didn’t know why, she had noticed that her flirtation with the young man seemed to drive Benedict mad with fury.

It worked, “Alright, what time are we going?”

“Right after the end of Lady Danbury’s party. Don’t worry, Benedict. It’s just a simple tea with my- The Earl. He just wants to see how I’m doing. We’ll be in and out in no time and then forget it ever happened. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, not realizing just how life changing and unforgettable that tea would be.

Because by that time tomorrow, the Earl, Sophie’s father, would be dead.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twelve

For the Love of a Daughter

Demi Lovato

With my back to the door

All I could hear was the family war

Your selfish hands

Always expecting more

Am I your child?

Or just a charity award?

You have a hollowed out heart

But it's heavy in your chest

Yah, I tried so hard to fight it

But it's hopeless, hopeless

You're hopeless

Oh, father

Please, father

I'd love to leave you alone

But I can't let you go

Richard Gunningworth didn’t know he would die on the day he died. He just woke up like normal to a large empty bed and in laughter free house. Sophie – the only light in the house – was spending the season with the Bridgertons, so the Earl was trapped with his quarrelsome wife and annoying stepdaughters.

The truth was he hated Rosamund, the mirror image of her mother. She was one of those women who knew they were beautiful and thought it some free pass for cruelty. As for Posy, well the girl was quiet and spineless. There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with her, but there really wasn’t any reason to bother.

Sophie was the only worthwhile thing to come from that household. With every passing day she looked more like Jewel. For just the briefest moments, he considered how life would have been for the three of them if things had gone right. If society had allowed for him to show the love and affection he held for his two bright spots. Jewel would have made a magnificent Countess, and Sophie deserved far more than he had ever been able to give her.

Perhaps it was time to give in and acknowledge her. If he bestowed a high enough dowry on her, then he wouldn’t have to worry about being shunned by society.

But no, she wasn’t shunned by society; she was welcomed in. True, not by his doing but by the Bridgertons and Lady Danbury.

Richard Gunningworth sighed. There was an odd tightness in his chest. Was this regret or love?

Medically speaking, it was the warning signs of a heart attack, but being young and healthy no one would have even considered it being what it truly was.

He decided, if Sophie didn’t have any offers her first season, then he would increase her dowry for the second. If that didn’t work, he would use his connections to make an arrangement among the sons of his friends.

Worse came to worse, he would talk Edmund Bridgerton into marrying Sophie off to Benedict or Colin. He knew a bastard would never be able to snag Anthony, a future Viscount, but one of the younger sons surely would take her on. Benedict would probably be the easier of the two, besides, Sophie got on well with the boy. Though rumors did swirl that he aimed for the life of an artist and that did worry him.

Richard sat up in bed and instantly had to lay back down. He felt so lightheaded that he needed a moment.

Yes, he thought as he reviewed the plans he had for Sophie. The ink was barely even dry on the latest copy of his will, but he had sorted things out. He doubted Araminta would be happy with the terms, but what did he care? He’d be dead. He didn’t have to listen to her anymore.

He just worried that his will wouldn’t result in… other revelations.

A knock came from the door and Richard could hear his valet call, “My Lord?”

Richard sighed. He supposed there was no putting it off; it was time to face the rest of the day.

Though, as he massaged the pain in his left arm, he wondered vaguely if he should call for the doctor?

“I see you keep looking at her.”

Benedict was jerked back into reality by his dancing partner, the petite brunette Emilia Sinclair who had on a way too knowing smile.

It had been Sophie’s suggestion the pair of them dance, her two closest friends getting to know each other, she had put it. Of course, Benedict knew it was just a way to get Emery Harcourt free so they could have the last waltz together.

Alexander Parr was dancing with Lydia Carhart (a rather disagreeable young lady who quite looked down at Sophie, and Benedict was certain had been invited for the sake of drama alone.) Meanwhile, Vincent Grovner had only been too happy to ask Maria Burberry to dance right in front of her brother, Guy. Maria of course had only accepted because she would not be so disrespectful to turn down a dance. But her societal graces weren’t so refined that she was above correcting him when he called her “Maria” like the Spanish version of Mary and not the proper pronunciation of “Mariah” like Sophie’s middle name.

Emery Harcourt spun Sophie around the floor quite magnificently. Her laughter echoed off the walls, and no one could resist a smile at the happy sight of the two of them.

No one but Benedict of course.

Benedict didn’t trust Harcourt. He was certain that no matter how much flattery and praised he heaped on Sophie, the man still didn’t understand just how special she was. The way the birds would stop singing because her laugh was so magical they would not risk tweeting an inferior song. The way the sun dared not shine unless her smile had already brought forth the warmth of the world. How kind and clever and understanding she was.

How could he possibly understand just how special Sophie Maria Beckett was?

But Benedict supposed that maybe Emery Harcourt did know. After all, it had only taken Benedict one look at her all those years ago to know in an instant.

The final note of the song sang out and the gathered youngsters politely applauded the small string quartet Lady Danbury had hired for the occasion. Lady Danbury thanked them all for coming and gave a few words about the Austrian instructor that had been helping them that day. Slowly, goodbyes were said and the guests began to depart.

“The carriage from Penwood House is here for Sophie and yourself,” Lady Danbury informed Benedict. The Bridgerton carriage had dropped them off, but the Earl of Penwood would use his resources to take care of Sophie for the rest of the afternoon.

Benedict nodded and went forward to collect Sophie. They had no chaperone for the ride over, and no one thought a thing about it. Sophie was considered so much a Bridgerton by the ton that being alone in a carriage with one of the brothers was just an everyday thing not to worry about. She might as well as been riding with Daphne for all the damage to Sophie’s reputation.

He found her talking with Emery Harcourt and frowned. Benedict kept a respectful distance away, but he had no objections to listening it. After all, who else was to act as Sophie’s chaperone in the moment.

“I had a wonderful time today,” Emery said.

Sophie smiled, “As did I. You were a most wonderful dancer.”

“I was only as good as my partner.”

She blushed, “Shall I see you at the Trowbridge Ball tomorrow night?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid that my family is actually leaving town for the rest of the Season. You see, my grandfather is feeling poorly and might not make it to next year. We have decided to spend as much of her last hours with her as possible.”

Sophie’s face fell, “I’m so sorry to hear that. You must be going through a difficult time. I couldn’t imagine anything happening to the Earl or Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Both are strong, healthy men. I’m sure they will be around for ages to watch over you.” Emery sighed, “It is a pity that I should leave behind the season this year and all of its beauties.”

Her blush became even redder.

“That said,” he smiled, “I’m sure that the gardens of the ton will be just as beautiful as they are this year. Perhaps even more rapturous.”

Sophie pushed back a lock of hair that definitely had not fallen out of her exquisitely manicured updo. She would be fifteen next year, not old enough to marry, but old enough to start courting.

“Would you promise to save a dance for me at Lady Danbury’s ball next season?” Emery asked.

She smiled brightly, “I would be honored.”

“No, Miss Beckett,” he took her hand and kissed it, “the honor is all mine.”

He left her with a smile.

And Benedict with a frown.

“Well, he laid it on rather thick, don’t you think?” Benedict grumbled.

“Oh, hush you,” she swatted at him. “It’s not like you Bridgerton boys have offered me any such compliments.”

“Because we have dignity.” He sighed and offered his arm, “The carriage is here. Shall we away?”

“Let me just say goodbye to our host.” Sophie led them to Lady Danbury, “Thank you again for putting this all together.”

“My pleasure,” Lady Danbury stood straight and proud. She glanced conspiratorially towards the exiting Emery Harcourt, “And did Mister Harcourt prove to be a gentleman?”

“I believe the future is quite bright,” Sophie admitted. “Come, let me thank you. Join Benedict and I at Penwood House for tea.”

“As much as I enjoy getting my teeth into Lady Araminta, I’m afraid I must decline your invitation.” She thumped her knees with her cane, “The arthritis is acting up and the doctor will be by shortly to look over things. But next time, Miss Beckett.”

With that, they said their goodbyes and departed for Penwood House.

Penwood House seemed much bigger than they expected. It loomed over them, making them feel more like they were staring up at the cathedral of Notre Dame than a regular mansion of Mayfair.

“How long do we have to stay before it wouldn’t be rude to leave?” Benedict asked as they tried to gain courage to knock on the door.

“I think an hour should do it,” Sophie answered.

Benedict groaned, “Can we not pretend we caught Colin’s fever and avoid this mess?”

His answer was silence.

“Sophie?”

“I’m thinking.”

But before they could finalize their escape plan, the door swung open and the Penwood House staff ushered her inside. They were mostly the same staff as Penwood Park, so they were grateful to see Sophie and Benedict, but they still didn’t grudge the pair for what was in store.

“Feels like sending you off into the Lions’ Den,” Mrs. Gibbons led Sophie and Benedict to the sitting room.

The rest of the family was already gathered.

“Sophie!” Posy cheered at the sight of the girl, only to be hushed with a glare from her mother.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Araminta greeted, making it clear that she was ignoring Sophie. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Anything for Sophie,” He flashed a smile. Benedict loved to see the way Araminta’s (false) smile fell off. He then turned to the Earl, “My Lord. Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

“Of course,” the Earl nodded. A wave of pain coursed through him, and it felt like every muscle in his chest clenched.

“My Lord?” Sophie asked, concerned by the look of pain on his face.

“It’s nothing,” the Earl waved away. He felt as if he was about to retch, but he certainly wasn’t going to show any sign of weakness in front of a Bridgerton and the women.

Araminta showed not the slightest bit of concern, “Mister Bridgerton, you remember you daughters. Rosamund Reiling… and Posy.”

The girls beamed up at him from their seats on the sofa.

Benedict hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Sophie’s step sisters, and there was a reason.

One of them – Rosamund – was blonde and icy, and besides, she held herself with a prissy, rather affected manner. There was no joy in her aspect, no mischief in her smile. The other – Posy – looked friendly enough, but she to her mother’s dismay was chubby, and her hair was too dark.

Benedict did his best not to look disappointed at having to associate with the girls. He smiled during the introductions and gallantly kissed each of their hands, murmuring some nonsense about how delighted he was to meet them. He made a point of fawning over Posy, if only because her mother so obviously preferred Rosamund.

They settled on the couch near the Earl, both because the looks of pain on the Earl’s face made Sophie concerned, but also because it was the seat furthest away from Araminta.

“Only an hour,” Sophie whispered to Benedict as Rosamund tried fluttering a fan in what someone might imagine to be a seductive manner.

An hour. He would do only an hour because that was all Sophie said he had to do. Besides, if he spent much more time in the company of the hard and brittle Countess of Penwood, he might retch.

A maid entered with an ornate silver tea service, then set it down on a table at Lady Penwood’s nod.

Before the maid could depart, however, the countess said (somewhat sharply, in Benedict’s opinion), “Where are the Penwood spoons?”

Earl Gunningworth rolled his eyes.

The maid bobbed a rather panicked curtsy, then replied, “Iris was polishing the silver in the dining room, my lady, but she had to go upstairs when you-”

“Silence!” Lady Penwood cut in, even though she’d been the one to ask about the spoons in the first place. “I’m sure Mister Bridgerton is not so high in the instep that he needs monogrammed spoons for his tea.”

“Of course not,” Benedict murmured, thinking that Lady Penwood must be a bit too high in the instep herself if she even thought to bring it up.

“Go! Go!” the countess ordered the maid, waving her briskly away. “Begone.”

The maid hurried out.

The countess turned back to him, explaining, “Our better silver is engraved with the Penwood crest.”

“I guarantee you, Araminta,” the Earl moaned, “the boy does not care.”

Araminta turned on her husband, “Of course he cares. He’s a Bridgerton. They care about the finer things in life.”

“Although they do seem to have a fondness for trash,” Rosamund shot a look at Sophie.

Benedict almost shot to his feet, but a firm hand on the arm from Sophie pulled him down.

Posy tried to change the subject by motioning to the teapot, and saying, “I imagine it’s well steeped by now.”

The Earl however, wasn’t ready to let it go, “Rosamund, one more word like that out of you and I will be removing any contribution towards your dowry.”

“My Lord! You can’t!” Araminta screeched.

Whatever happened next, Richard Gunningworth didn’t know. The pain had become too much, and to everyone’s surprise, he clutched a hand over his heart and fell hard, face first onto the floor.

Screams and shouts filled the room, and someone yelled to call for the doctor.

But there was nothing they could do: Earl Richard Gunningworth was dead.

And the last word Sophie ever heard from her father was the whispered name, “Jewel.”

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Thirteen

It’s Not My Time

3 Doors Down

Looking back at the beginning of this

And how life was

Just you and me and love and all of our friends

Living life like an ocean

But now the currents slowly pulling me down

It's getting harder to breath

It won't be too long and I'll be going under

Can you save me from this

Cause it's not my time,

I'm not going

There's a fear in me

It's not showing

This could be the end of me

And everything I know

Regency society was very particular; the rules of propriety were strict. You couldn’t be alone with a friend of the opposite sex if you were unmarried. Women had to go to their marriage beds completely in the dark of what was to come. Different ranks required different addresses. A woman going without gloves was scandalous, and the rituals of calling on your friends were very particular.

So when the doorman of Bridgerton House heard the frantic slamming of a fist against the front door, he knew something was wrong.

He opened the door, “What on earth is-”

“It’s Earl Gunningworth,” the Penwood carriage driver stood before him. “He collapsed. They’re saying he’s dead.”

The doorman needed no more explanation, instantly the servants sprang into action. It wasn’t five minutes before Viscount Edmund Bridgerton and his wife, Violet were racing down the staircase, pulling on their coats and shouting orders.

“I want an appointment with my solicitor first thing tomorrow morning,” Edmund commanded his valet, Randall. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his broken leg on every step, but there was no time to waste. “Send world to Anthony to come home immediately. Also, send some of our people to Penwood Park. I want them to move all of Sophie’s possessions to Aubrey Hall before that woman can get her hands on them. Particularly any jewelry or heirlooms.”

“Send Sophie’s latest measurements to the modiste,” Violet instructed Mrs. Wilson. “Tell her I want a full range of mourning outfits for Sophie to be made immediately. Shoes and jewelry as well. Sophie is to act in mourning exactly like a daughter. Pull our own mourning attire from storage and have anything missing purchased. Tell Nanny to keep the other children away from Sophie for now. They’ll have a lot of questions and it’s not fair to Sophie to have to deal with that.”

“Do we know anything about who the next Earl of Penwood is?” Edmund asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Randall raced after his master with his hat. “My Lord, please wait!”

“We don’t have time to dawdle,” Edmund hobbled along on his crutch. Worst time ever to have a broken leg.

The servants though took care of everything. The carriage of Penwood House was waiting for them in the front and the driver graciously helped both Violet and Edmund into the back. It was only once they were seated that they could take a breath.

But that didn’t mean that the trouble was over.

“Edmund, what do we do?” Violet asked as the carriage lurched forward, going a lot faster than was probably safe.

Edmund looked like he had aged ten years. He thought of that scared little girl and the things that had been said during their first meeting.

“Just for a few days,” he said kindly. “You won’t be making a home here.”

“Promise?” Sophie whispered.

“Promise,” Edmund smiled.

Edmund sighed, “We break a promise.”

The servants were waiting for them when they pulled up to Penwood House. That didn’t surprise them, but what did was that Lady Danbury’s carriage arrived at the same time. The Doctor exited the carriage, but sure enough, he turned and helped out the Countess in all of her finery.

“He was tending to me when word came about Gunningworth,” Lady Danbury explained as they were all bustled into the Manor. “I thought Miss Beckett could use another hand in her corner.”

Sophie’s crying and Araminta’s exclamations rang off the walls as they entered the sitting room. The Earl hadn’t been moved into his bedroom yet, but had been at least laid down behind the couch face up. A few servants were tending to him while a few others were tending to the hysterical Araminta, who was shouting about how she could be with child.

Rosamund, like her mother didn’t seem to be too devastated over the death but more the loss itself, asking anyone who would listen “What will happen to us now? Will Mama have to remarry again?”

Posy, to her credit, was crying in the corner, tended to by Mrs. Gibbons the housekeeper and her daughter, Rose. She and the Earl were never particularly close, but he was the father she had known for four years and he had shown her kindnesses more than other mother. Plus, she had the basic human trait of empathy, which her mother and sister seemed to lack.

But their eyes went to Sophie, sitting on a chair in the corner, sobbing. She had lost her father, the only parent she had ever had. Their relationship was not what it should have been, but he was her father and guardian of eleven years, as long as she could remember.

Knelt down at her feet was Benedict holding her and consoling her. His back was directly to Araminta, acting a wall as guardian and protector. All knew the danger and fight looming, about to explode, and he was her guard dog, poised to attack.

“Oh, Dear Sophia!” Violet raced over to Sophie and instantly took her into her arms in that warm motherly way she had perfected. Sophie instantly melted into her arms, and Violet could feel the tension release from the girl’s shoulders. She could barely imagine how the girl was feeling – having not yet lost her own father – but she would do anything to guide and protect Sophie from the tragedy unfolding. “It’s okay, we have you.”

Edmund however, was ready to leap into action.

“Rose,” he murmured to Mrs. Gibbons’ sixteen year old daughter, “I want you to go to Sophia’s room and immediately gather all of her valuables.”

She nodded, then gathered her skirts, and attempted to creep out of the room. Unfortunately, with the London House spending so many years unused, the floors weren’t in greatest shape. Rose stepped on a floorboard, and it squeaked.

Instantly Araminta’s head snapped up.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” she snapped.

“I, uh-” Rose looked between Edmund Bridgerton and Araminta. “I was just going to collect Miss Sophie’s possessions.”

Araminta’s eyes turned black, “That girl is staying here.”

The proclamation surprised and confused everyone present.

“But Mama,” Rosamund spoke, “the Earl’s gone. We don’t have to put up with her anymore.”

“Hush!” Araminta snapped. “I will not have the girl leaving this house.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow, “So you intend to provide for your stepdaughter?”

“Don’t you ever,” she warned, “call her my stepdaughter. She is nothing to me. Nothing!”

Sophie flinched.

“She’s a hell of a lot more than you deserve!” Benedict shot to his feet, quite ready to seemingly box the woman.

But Edmund just gestured for his son to back off, “Countess Gunningworth, let us be frank here. You have no desire to care for Sophia. We will gladly take her off your hands for you.”

“Absolutely not!” Araminta snarled. “I hate the chit, but I would rather die than let you take her.”

The Bridgertons taking Sophie was her worst nightmare. They would raise her with love and respect, and when it was time for Rosamund to come out, so would Sophie but with more station in the eyes of the ton. Sophie would be a Bridgerton, and no matter how much beauty and grace Rosamund had, a Bridgerton would always be better. Even worse, what if one of the Bridgerton boys tried to marry Sophie? Then her standing would be even higher.

A bastard better than her own daughter. Araminta would not let it happen.

No, she would hold on to Sophie for as short a time as possible, and then at the first chance, she would send her off to the country where the Bridgertons would never see her again. Perhaps she would get Sophie married to a Frenchman or German, and she could send Sophie far away.

Sophie didn’t need to hear Araminta’s plans to know the danger she was in. Instinctually she clutched onto Benedict.

“Don’t let her take me away,” Sophie whispered.

“Never,” Benedict vowed, his eyes locked on the open doorway. In his mind, he frantically made the calculations of just how fast he would have to move to grab Sophie by the hand, race out the room, jump into a carriage, and just ride as fast and as far away as possible. If he had to go all the way to India and seek refuge with Sophie’s friend, Kate, no one would tear him apart from Sophie.

Edmund just sighed, “Alright. Name your number.”

“What?” Araminta blurted out as confused looks shot across the room.

“How much will this take to go away? Twenty-five thousand?”

Sophie’s jaw dropped open. The Viscount was fond of her, but to pay for her, especially that much.

“I can go as high as you want,” Edmund began rummaging through his coat for his bank book. “Name your price.”

But hate was stronger.

“Keep your money!” Araminta spat. “The girl isn’t leaving this house. Thomson! Grab Sophie and put her in the attic until I say so.”

Edmund grabbed the arm of the butler; his grip was crushing and his eyes black.

“I do not recommend laying a hand on that girl,” Edmund warned.

Violet couldn’t hold back a smile at the impression display of her husband, “Sophie, go upstairs and get your things. You’ll be coming home with us.”

“I am a countess!” Araminta hissed. As a countess, Araminta outranked everyone, but at the same time, she was only one Penwood against three Bridgertons.

“And I am more popular,” Violet Bridgerton returned, the snide words so out of character that both Benedict’s and Sophie’s mouths dropped open.

A loud cane thump silenced the room.

“That will be quite enough of that,” Lady Danbury said as if she had the final word. “Let us leave behind of passion for the moment and think logically. Legally, the Earl was Miss Beckett’s guardian. As of right now, without knowing the contents of Gunningworth’s will, her new guardian is the next Earl of Penwood. My understanding is that the title is currently up in the air.”

“I could be with child!” Araminta objected.

“Exactly,” Lady Danbury said. “Therefore, no one in this room has the legally authority to forbid or permit Miss Beckett’s movement until that question is answered. As a result, we must go to the highest-ranking individual to take guardianship until the matter is settled.”

“Which is me.”

“Actually,” Lady Danbury gave a sly smile, “that would be myself.”

The room was quiet.

“What?” Benedict blurted out.

Sophie frowned. She knew that Lady Danbury was friendly, but to stick her neck out for her like this was completely out of left field.

But Araminta wasn’t convinced, “I am the widowed wife of an Earl.”

“As am I,” Lady Danbury pointed out. “Except the difference between you and I is that I am a Lady-in-Waiting to Her Majesty, the Queen. Tell me, when was the last time you conversed with our beloved Queen Charlotte?”

Araminta was stonily quiet. She had barely ever looked at the Queen, much less attended to her. Rumor said that Lady Danbury had even harbored Queen Charlotte from the King during her first pregnancy. Araminta was nothing compared to Lady Danbury.

“Therefore,” Lady Danbury smiled like a Cheshire cat, “I will be taking Miss Beckett home with me until this matter is settled. Miss Gibson, please gather Miss Beckett’s possessions. We will be leaving shortly.”

Sophie had never seen Araminta so red in the face.

“This is not over,” Araminta warned.

“Of course not,” Lady Danbury said. “Where would be the fun in that?”

Sophie’s possessions were gathered quickly and soon enough the Bridgertons, Sophie, and Lady Danbury were outside at the carriages getting ready to go.

“Oh my Dear,” Mrs. Gibbons gave Sophie a hug goodbye. A few of the servants had gathered to bid goodbye to the little girl they had helped raise since age three. “You will be missed.”

“Thank you for everything,” Sophie held tight. “You and Rose have been so wonderful. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that, Dear. I don’t get to leave the house much these days.”

“If you were ever looking for a new situation,” Violet cut in, “Bridgerton is always looking for a few extra hands. We’re of course quite happy with Mrs. Wilson as head housekeeper, but perhaps the travel between Aubrey Hall and Bridgerton House might start to tax. Perhaps we could use a Housekeeper for each home, or one to run the other in the off-season. We’re also looking for a lady’s maid for the girls. Perhaps your Rose might fit the position?”

Mrs. Gibbons was quite thrilled by the idea.

Meanwhile, Benedict and Sophie were saying their goodbyes.

“I’m going to miss you,” she held him as if he were her lifeline.

Benedict in turn hugged her like his was daring God himself to try and take her away, “I’ll visit you tomorrow. I promise.”

But Lady Danbury cut in, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I think it’s best if Sophia keeps some distance between both the Reilings and the Bridgertons until this all gets sorted out.”

He opened his mouth to object, but Edmund just patted him on the shoulder.

“I think that is very wise,” Edmund agreed. He pulled Sophie in for a hug, “Just for a few days, Sophie, Darling. You will be making a home here with us.”

“Promise?” Sophie whispered.

“Promise,” Edmund smiled.

Things were quiet in the grand house of Danbury when Sophie arrived. Instantly, she was taken under the wing of Lady Danbury’s ladies maid, Coral.

“She gives a great bath,” Agatha couldn’t help shoot Coral a wink.

Sophie was bathed, scrubbed, shampooed, and put in some ill-fitting mourning clothing that had been scrounged up from some old trunk in the attic. Who originally wore the clothes and for what death no one seemed to remember.

They had a quiet dinner, and Sophie went up to bed almost instantly afterward.

When the door latched behind her, the tears finally fell again.

Grief is an odd thing. It doesn’t just hit you once and then you survive and are done with it. It’s like a wave lapping at the shore, hitting you over and over. Sometimes the waves are small and the tears are just glitters in your eyes, and other times they threaten to swallow you whole. Just when you think it’s over, something else will remind you of the one you lost and it starts all over again.

Sophie slunk down against the door and bawled.

He was gone. Her father was dead.

True, they had never had a close relationship, but he was her father. He had supported her and cared about her enough that he brought the Bridgertons into her life. But he was gone.

A knock came at the door.

Sophie sniffled and found the courage to move from the door, less she be whacked in the head.

“Come in,” she stood patiently with her hands folded. Still, no one could deny the red eyes and runny nose.

Lady Danbury entered the room and immediately her heart softened.

“I am so sorry, My Dear,” Agatha didn’t hug the girl, but she hobbled her way to the desk where Sophie’s little stuffed puppy and bee had been unpacked. “Are these from him?”

Sophie wiped her eyes, “The bee is from Benedict. The puppy… I actually don’t know. I think… I think my mother might have given it to me.”

Agatha gently petted the puppy, “I met her once, you know?”

That surprised Sophie, “You… What?”

“I was visiting your aunt and when I went down a hallway, I found the pair in an embrace. Never saw her before or since, but the way he looked at her… I remember that he called her Jewel.”

“That was the last thing he said.”

“I think if he could have been with her, he would have. You weren’t an obligation; you were a way of honouring her.”

But Sophie shook her head, the anger she had pushed back for many years swelling in her chest, “He never loved me.”

“He clothed you; he fed you.”

“That wasn’t love,” Sophie said. “That was guilt. If he loved me he wouldn’t have left me with Araminta.”

“But he left you with the Bridgertons, didn’t he?”

Sophie clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms as she fought the rage inside.

“If he loved me,” Sophie continued, “he might have taken the time to talk to me. He might have asked me how my day went, or what I was studying, or did I enjoy my breakfast. But he didn’t. He never considered me for a moment beyond what use I had for him.”

Agatha was quiet, lost in the fog of her past with a man she also had so much anger and intimacy for.

The tears fell again, “So why do I mourn him so much?”

For a moment, Sophie wished Violet was there. Violet would take her into her arms and hold Sophie tight until everything was okay. But Lady Danbury was not Violet Bridgerton, she just looked upon Sophie kindly as the girl sat on the bed and cried.

“My husband,” Agatha began, “was not a kind man. He was not hateful or violent, but our relationship…”

She thought of all those times she was ignored, the victories that were claimed as his own, all those baths from the unwanted… She remembered the pain.

“When he died, I was glad,” Agatha confessed.

Sophie looked up sharply.

“I thought I was free,” Agatha continued. “Free to live without the confines he put upon me. I suspect you may have felt the same sort of relief, thinking you could finally be fully with the Bridgertons.”

Guiltily, Sophie cast her eyes to the ground.

“But as time went by, I saw other relationships. I saw the love between the King and the Queen. I saw the love of Edmund and Violet.”

She had felt the love for Lord Charles Ledger.

“So I began to mourn,” Agatha said, her voice suggesting to Sophie that Lady Danbury had forgotten Sophie was even in the room. “Not for Lord Danbury, but for the relationship I wish I could have had with him.”

The words struck a chord with Sophie.

Carefully, Agatha Danbury hobbled across the room, and lifted Sophie’s chin.

“So mourn, My Dear,” Lady Danbury instructed. “Mourn whatever it is you have to mourn, and know that you have an army of love around you to protect you from whatever comes next.”

Sophie nodded, “Thank you.”

Agatha smiled, “And perhaps we could invite a few of the Bridgertons over for tea in a few days.”

“I would like that.” Sophie glanced at the desk. “May I get some writing supplies? I will like to inform the Sharmas of what has happened.”

“Of course. Oh, and send Lady Mary my regards.”

Sophie stamped the wax on her letter and sighed. It had been so long since she wrote a letter and didn’t seal it with the seal Eloise had gotten her. She wondered how Eloise was taking the absence of Sophie? Eloise would always throw an absolute fit when Sophie had to leave.

She looked up at the stuffed bee, Sir Buzzington and sighed. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. What would she give to have just Benedict by her side?

A tap hit her window.

Sophie frowned but shook it off. She must have been hearing things.

Another tap came.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, so she went to investigate. She was just at her window when a rock smacked into it. Sophie wrenched open the window and stuck her head out.

“BENEDICT!”

Sure enough, Benedict was standing below on the lawn, throwing honest to god rocks at her window like some scene from a novel.

“Shh,” he lifted his finger to his lips. His clothing was dark, his voice hushed, and hair messy. Clearly no one knew he was there. “Come down.”

Sophie just stared at him, “What are you talking about! What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you. Come on.”

“Benedict, how am I supposed to get out there? This is not my house. I don’t know how to sneak out.”

He pointed to the tree propped right against her window.

“You have actually gone insane.”

Benedict shrugged, “Either you come down or I come up.”

Sophie weighed her options. She wasn’t exactly the best climber and very much could fall out and break a leg. Then again, being caught alone in her bedroom with a young man while as a guest in the house of Lady Danbury would be so scandalous and make everything so much more complicated that she would rather wish she had a broken leg.

“I can’t believe the things you talk me into,” Sophie grumbled as she clambered onto the sturdiest looking branch.

“Like it took much talking to get you to agree,” Benedict smirked, watching her carefully, ready to catch her if she should fall.

Thankfully, Sophie made it onto the ground without any broken bones. The second she alighted onto the ground, Benedict pulled her into his arms. She stiffened, then relaxed, letting the tears fall again.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Benedict whispered. “I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost my father.”

“Shh, don’t say things like that,” Sophie rested her head on his chest. “Thank you for coming.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone tonight.”

“I know, it’s just nice having you here.”

Benedict vowed, “I will always be there for you.”

They just held each other quietly, revelling in the warmth of their embrace. Together they knew everything would be alright.

“I can’t believe how much this hurts,” Sophie murmured. “Oh, Benedict, what’s going to happen to me?”

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised. “You’ll be safe.”

“I thought today would be a happy day. I would just dance with a handsome gentleman and go to bed all happy.”

Benedict thought for a moment, “Well, just because today took a turn doesn’t mean it has to be the only thing that happened today.”

“How am I supposed to think about dancing after this?”

“Dance with me.”

Sophie blinked, “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated. “Right here and now. I may not be able to offer a handsome gentleman, but I can send you to bed happy.”

She shook her head, “You are a handsome gentleman, Benedict.”

“I know, I just didn’t want to brag.”

Sophie swatted at his chest.

“Well?” Benedict laughed. “Will you do me the honour of a dance?”

“But there’s no music.”

“Of course there’s music. Don’t you hear it?” Benedict began to hum a few bars of Lavender’s Blue, the song Sophie and Daphne would sing to comfort their siblings.

Sophie smiled, “Yes, I think I might hear it.”

“Then dance with me,” Benedict bowed and offered his hand.

“It would be my honour,” she curtsied and assumed the position with him.

So, together they began to dance as Benedict sung to her.

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender's green

When I am King, dilly dilly,

You shall be Queen.”

Sophie took a deep breath and rested her head on his chest, listening to the soothing sounds of his heartbeat.

“Who told you so, dilly dilly,

Who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,

That told me so.”

Despite the sadness of the moment, there was a calm and warmth Benedict felt as he gently swayed with Sophie. He wanted to hold tight and never let go.

“Call up your friends, dilly, dilly

Set them to work

Some to the plough, dilly dilly,

Some to the fork. 

Some to the hay, dilly dilly,

Some to thresh corn

Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,

Keep ourselves warm.”

Not far off, a bird felt inspired by the music and began to tweet its own little beautiful song.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly,

Lavender’s blue

If you love me, dilly dilly,

I will love you.”

Benedict didn’t know why his voice hitched on that last phrase.

“Let the birds sing, dilly dilly,

And the lambs play.

We shall be safe, dilly dilly,

Out of harm’s way.”

He would never let her go. No matter what Araminta tried, he would keep her safe.

Relaxed by the music and the warmth of Benedict’s embrace, Sophie couldn’t help but take the next verse.

“I love to dance, dilly dilly

I love to sing.

When I am Queen, dilly dilly,

You shall be King.”

They smiled at each other and sang together.

“Who told me so, dilly dilly,

Who told me so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,

That told me so.”

As the song came to an end, they still swayed, this time to the music of the bird tweeting not far off.

And as Lady Danbury watched the pair from her bedroom window above, she smiled.

Chapter Text

So, not that anyone cares about them yet, but the characters of Emilia Sinclair and Alexander Parr do become important later on, so I found a couple of Bridgerton extras that I have “cast” them as. As such, I have gone back and edited their descriptions to suit their new appearances better. If you don’t want to go back and read, this is what they look like.

Congratulations random Bridgerton extras. You’re characters now.

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Fourteen

Eyes Closed

Ed Sheeran

It's been a while, my dear

Dealing with the cards life dealt

I'm still holding back these tears

While my friends are somewhere else

I pictured this year a little bit different when it hit February

I step in the bar, it hit me so hard, oh, how can it be this heavy?

Every song reminds me you're gone and I feel the lump form in my throat

Cause I'm here alone

Just dancing with my eyes closed

Cause everywhere I look, I still see you

And time is moving' so slow

And I don't know what else that I can do

Three days of secluded mourning at Lady Danbury’s manor and Sophie was damn near ready to break a window and make a run for it.

No Bridgertons. No Emilia. No visitors whatsoever. Just Sophie and Agatha Danbury and the slowest ticking grandfather clock on earth.

It was bad enough to suffer through grief, but the ever-stretching boredom and uncertainty. What was to happen to her? Would she go to the new Earl? To the Bridgertons? Araminta?

Thankfully, Lady Danbury seemed to sense the imminent property damage because she finally extended an invitation for tea on the third day.

“Miss Sinclair,” the butler announced.

Sophie gasped and threw down her needlework, “Emmy!”

She raced across the room and her friend pulled her into a deep hug.

“I’m so sorry, Sophie,” Emilia whispered as the other girl clutched at some of her only physical contact in days. “I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose my father.”

Emilia Sinclair was probably the one person in society who never shied away from calling the Earl Sophie’s father. She was the kind of person that had an eternal innocence about her – so small and dainty – that she could practically get away with murder and people would be more concerned if she got blood on her dress.

On that day, she wore a pretty pink one with matching hand fan. Emmy was the easiest person in the world to give a gift to: toss her a nice fan and she would be your best friend for months.

“I brought the fan with lilies,” Emmy flicked open her fan to reveal the beautiful embroidered flowers.  “Mama says they’re a mourning flower. She thought I should have worn black when I visited you, but I told her no, all this black will be driving Sophie mad. The last thing she wants is me in dark drab colors. It’s a pity that blue or green aren’t mourning colors. You look so nice in those. How long are you in black any way?”

“Six months, I think,” Sophie smiled at Emmy’s casual tone. Emilia hadn’t even lost so much as a grandparent, so she truly had no way to act to a mourning friend, and frankly, Sophie was glad. People had been walking as if around nails in her presence, their eyes sad and voices mournful. Tea with Emmy was like opening a window in a dusty library to let the sunshine and fresh air in. “I’m not sure how it works when you’re a ward.”

“Oh, pish,” Emilia waved off. “Everyone knows you’re a daughter. You may as well act as one. You think Rosamund is going to get to mourn Earl Gunningwood more than you? Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Sophie couldn’t help but laugh. Emmy tried to act as if she had the might and strength of a Lady Danbury when the truth was Sophie knew feathers that were a more deadly weapon than Emilia Sinclair.

“There we go,” Emilia led Sophie to settle on the couch together. “You know you have far too pretty of a smile to keep it hidden away.”

“You spoil me with compliments,” Sophie nodded to the maid who laid down the tea tray on the table in front of them.

“Oh, it’s not my compliment,” Emilia began piling the usual five sugar cubes into her tea. “Benedict was the one who said it some months back.”

Sophie shook her head as Emilia practically poured the entire saucer of milk into her cup. Frankly, Sophie thought Emmy was less into a nice hot cup of tea and much preferred hot sugared milk. For a moment, Sophie thought about taking a small bit of comfort by replicating her tea like Emmy’s, but someone needed to save on the Danbury sugar bill, so she replicated how Benedict took his tea: milk, no sugar.

She nearly gagged on the bitter tea when she took a sip, and resolutely dropped in two cubes of sugar.

“Better,” Sophie smiled.

Then she paused.

Just a few days ago she was sitting with her father, having tea. They were practically ignoring each other, neither trying to make conversation with the other. What would she have done if she had known that was her last chance to speak to him? What would she have said? Yelled at him for his neglect? Thanked him for the Bridgertons? Demanded answers about her mother?

Jewel.

She had never given half a thought to her parents’ relationship, thinking that he likely never gave half a thought to her mother. But his last words upon his lips had been her mother.

Who had Jewel been? What had happened to lead to the birth of Sophie? Did her own mother care about her?

And now she would never know.

“It’s alright to cry if you want,” Emilia suddenly spoke. “I don’t mind.”

Sophie hadn’t realized how quiet she had gone. She must have been quite the sight, staring blankly into her brown cup of tea with tears brimming at her eyes.

“No,” Sophie wiped away the tea. “I’m just going through a lot of thoughts. Thoughts I never thought I would think… Oh, now I’m not making any sense.”

“Mama said you might be like that,” Emilia nodded sagely. “She said it was very hard for her when her grandmother died. Though that was from prolonged illness, but then again, they were apparently very close so maybe that evens things out.”

In that moment, Sophie was so grateful to have someone so simple as Emmy around. Her life was nothing but worries, confusion, and questions, and to have someone who treated the day like any other was surprisingly comforting.

She had to give Lady Danbury points for the selection. As much as Sophie loved the Bridgertons, they were just too heavy a presence to have at the moment.

“Mister Parr sends his condolences too,” Emilia sipped at her tea. “He said that his family sent flowers for you at Penwood House, but they were rejected. Should I tell him to send them here instead? Mama and Papa sent ours here.”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile, “So Alexander came for tea again?”

Emilia didn’t so much as flush, “He says he’ll come again next week. I’m not out yet, so he’s not really supposed to come visiting I think, but since our Mamas are such good friends, we sort of get around things.”

“Do you think your Papas will make an arrangement when the time comes?”

That query was the first time in a long while that Sophie saw a sour look on Emmy’s face.

“I don’t know,” Emilia confessed. “My dowry isn’t very high and you know the mess the Parr brothers left.”

Alexander Parr’s father, Joseph was a second son, and it was famous around the Ton that the Parr brothers never got along. Unfortunately, their father had died in a horse racing accident when the twins were very young. Joseph’s brother, Judah has always flaunted his title to the younger brother, but then when he was nineteen had lost his ability to have children in a hunting accident. Even worse was that two years later, Judah developed tuberculous. So rather than just rolling over and giving the wealth and title to his younger brother, Judah had intentionally beggared the family.

Joseph was a smart man, but not great with finances, so it was well known that his son Alexander would have to make a great match to save the family. Unfortunately, Alexander – while a very jolly boy – wasn’t exactly the most handsome of the Ton and he tended to get tongue tied by pretty women. Emilia Sinclair had never held it against him and in fact found him extremely charming. Unfortunately, her dowry was only about half of what the family needed, so despite Mrs. Parr and Mrs. Sinclair being bosom friends from their meeting during their first season, everyone was hoping that the romance between Alexander and Emilia was a childhood fling and nothing more.

Everyone except Alexander and Emilia themselves.

“What about you?” Emilia asked. “Do you think the Earl made you any arrangements in his will? Personally, I think he might have tried marrying you off to a Bridgerton.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, “I doubt that notion would barely get off the ground. Anthony, Benedict, and Colin are my brothers through and through. And I’m basically second mother to Gregory with how attached he is to my hip. Frankly, I think Violet might be getting a little jealous.”

“Have you seen any of them yet?” Emmy asked. “Lady Danbury said I would be your first guest since your Papa died, but that can’t be right. I would have imagined that Anthony and Benedict would be breaking down the back door by now.”

“Anthony’s out of town,” Sophie quickly changed the subject. Benedict had made a visit every night since her arrival and Emmy was the last person to keep something like that a secret. “I imagine that Edmund and Violet are holding off the rest.”

“Shame. Say, the most thrilling thing happened at the Macready’s house party last week. It was an intimate affair, only about fifty people and there was this great mess of people pairing up on carriages and then leaving at different times. And Guy Burberry was sick so he didn’t come, but then his mother took ill at the party and had to leave early. Then the Radcliffes left without realizing that they were supposed to take Maria Burberry home, and there was only one carriage left. Of course, the gentlemen couldn’t really say no to taking her, but of course it was the worst person to pair up with. Long story short, Maria ended up going home in the same carriage as Vincent Grovner.”

“No!”

“Yes! They had to get one of the footmen to sit in the carriage with them as chaperone and referee to make sure they wouldn’t tear each other to shreds. Poor Miss Burberry. Although Mister Grovner is a friend of Benedict’s, isn’t he? So, I suppose we have to side with Mister Grovner, but you know Miss Maria Burberry is really a wonderful young Miss. It’s a shame the three of us can’t be friends.”

And on the chatter went with idle gossip and all the topics good friends liked to visit. And though Sophie greatly missed the Bridgertons, she was truly thankful that her first visit was from Emmy.

“We have a bit of a problem,” Edmund entered the drawing room without so much as a Hello.

Violet scowled as her husband and son as they didn’t consider their audience. Anthony must have realized this because he shot her a guilty grin.

Anthony had returned home that morning and was promptly pulled out the door by his father for an appointment with their solicitor. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask how Sophie was doing before being sat down in a meeting to secure her guardianship with the Bridgertons. Then again, he wasn’t that surprised: his father had been including him on the duties of a Viscount lately so Anthony would be well trained for the role, even if that was some forty years away.

“What’s wrong?” Benedict looked up from his sketch pad. Colin and Daphne were crowded on either side of him, watching him as he sketched on the couch. “Is it Sophie?”

“She’s ours,” Eloise said firmly. She was on the carpet playing marbles with Francesca and Penelope Featherington – a presence so frequent in the house by now, no one even thought to ask why the six-year-old was there or if her parents even knew she was in Bridgerton House. “The Hag can’t have her!”

“Eloise!” Violet scolded. “We don’t call Araminta Gunningworth names!”

“At least not in front of guests,” Colin gestured to Penelope.

“Colin Bridgerton!”

Edmund rolled his eyes, “Alright, everyone under the age of thirteen out.”

Instantly nine-year-old Daphne and eleven-year-old Colin objected.

“Under thirteen and that’s final,” Edmund stood firm.

Slowly – and with a great deal of grumbling – the children except for Benedict and Anthony left. But Edmund Bridgerton wasn’t a fool, and he waited a good three minutes before swinging open the door and sternly shooing away Daphne and Colin from their eavesdrop attempt.

“There,” he locked the door with a firm click. “Now we can speak.”

“So, what is the problem, Edmund?” Violet asked, keeping an eye on Benedict and Anthony as the elder settled on the couch next to the younger. She was surprised when Benedict set aside the sketchbook. He was clearly taking it seriously. “What did the solicitor say?”

“He said that we can’t adopt Sophie.” Edmund answered.

“What?” Benedict objected. “Why not?”

“Because apparently adoption isn’t actually a thing,” Anthony played his superior older brother card.

“What are you talking about?” Benedict frowned. “Of course, it’s a thing!”

“Apparently not on the law books,” Edmund explained. “There’s no actual legal process of adoption, just informal agreements. Sophie’s status is entirely dependant on what Richard’s will says, and even then that gets a little unsure.”

“Why is that?” Violet asked.

“Because it’s unclear whether legally she’s considered a ward or an illegitimate child. There’s three types of guardians: guardians of nurture, testamentary guardians, and guardians by socage. Guardians of nurture are natural parents: like how your mother and I are guardians to you boys. If Sophie had a mother, guardianship goes to her, but as she doesn’t-”

“Wouldn’t Araminta count?” Benedict asked fearfully.

Thankfully Edmund shook his head, “Stepmothers have no rights to guardianship, and even if they did, she would have had to petition the Court of Chancery to make that legal. Since she didn’t, we don’t have to worry about that… at least at this point.”

“So, what?” Benedict frowned. “Does she go to the new Earl?”

“Actually, possibly not,” Edmund said. “If she doesn’t have a natural mother or father, the Court of Chancery steps in and a guardian by socage gets selected. Typically they choose the nearest male relative who is not in a position to inherit from the child. However, Sophie doesn’t have that, so it’s kind of up in the air who they would pick. The Earl could petition to be her guardian, but so could we, or Araminta.”

“Who are they most likely to pick?” Violet asked.

Edmund sighed, “Araminta. But I am prepared to spend whatever it takes to have our lawyers put forward a hell of a case for our guardianship. Not to mention, we could always try to appeal the ruling.”

“And there’s Sophie’s input too,” Anthony was eager to show off the knowledge he had gained from the meeting. “Since she’s fourteen, she can petition to Court to choose her own guardian.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Violet said. “Why don’t we do that?”

“Because that’s not a certainty of what will happen,” Edmund said. “If Araminta pushes the angle that Sophie is a bastard… well, legally Sophie would be considered as belonging to no one. Richard would have had no natural guardianship over her, and if he didn’t pursue any legal proofs of why she was his ward-”

“What kind of proofs?” Benedict frowned, not entirely following.

Edmund sighed, “Araminta could petition the court for proof that Sophie was legally given to Richard. If there’s no will from a Charles Beckett stating that Sophie was his natural daughter and he was leaving her to his cousin, Richard… well, look. It’s not going to be pretty. She basically becomes the problem of the Court and is very likely to get hauled off to God knows where and we’ll never see her again.”

Benedict and Anthony glanced at each other. Their eyes met and they secretly agreed to figuring out some way on throwing Sophie on the back of one of their horses and taking her away where the government couldn’t find her. Where in the world that was, how long they would have to hide her, and what they would do with her in the meantime was a question that did not occur to the teenagers.

“Well, that is not going to happen,” Violet said firmly. “I don’t care if I have to hire her as a lady’s maid to keep her close, we are not letting Sophie go, and certainly not leaving her to Araminta.”

“It’s alright, My Love,” Edmund smiled, “I have the lawyers already working on it. Besides, there is another glimmer of hope: there is a third guardianship we haven’t talked about. A testamentary guardian.”

“What exactly is that?”

“It’s a guardian appointed by the current guardian’s will,” Edmund explained. “If Richard laid out in his will that Sophie goes to anyone in particular, that supersedes anything. True, it could be challenged in Court, but testamentary guardianship supersedes even a natural mother.”

“But wouldn’t that mean if Earl Gunningwood says all of his property goes to the new Earl, wouldn’t he get Sophie?” Benedict tried wrapping his head around things. This conversation was definitely making it clear that if the whole artist career didn’t pan out, the law was not on the cards for him.

Edmund shook his head, “Guardianship is not inheritable. If your mother and I were to drop dead today, you children wouldn’t go automatically to Anthony unless I have that laid out in my will. Anthony would have to petition the Court and might not actually succeed.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes, “Am I named guardian in your will?”

Edmund grinned, “Better hope I don’t drop dead anytime soon or you’ll have a lot of fatherhood on your hands.”

“Edmund Bridgerton!” Violet scolded. “Don’t even joke about something like that!”

He just shrugged.

But poor Benedict was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on, “So, are we taking in Sophie or not?”

“If Richard didn’t have guardianship laid out in his will, then we’ll apply to the Court to take her in,” Edmund explained. “If he did and it was to Araminta or the Earl, we’ll petition the Court for an appeal. Sophie can also petition to choose her own guardian. But if Araminta tries to push the illegitimacy angle, then our lawyers will do whatever it takes to help Sophie. Understand?”

Benedict just blinked.

“Basically, we’ll leave it to the lawyers,” Anthony said. “But yes, we’re getting Sophie.”

“Oh… good.”

Edmund chuckled, “Anthony, why don’t you take your brother out and fence? It looks like his head is about to explode.”

The boys agreed and made their way out of the room, no doubt about to be pounced on by four other Bridgertons (one-year-old Gregory was a bit beyond the concept of legal guardianship) and one Featherington to explain what was going to happen with Sophie.

“You know,” Violet said when her sons had left, “I suppose it’s a good thing that legal adoption is not a thing.”

“And why’s that?” Edmund smiled lovingly at her.

“Because when Benedict and Sophie do eventually get married, we don’t have to worry about untangling some complicated legal mess to make them no longer legally brother and sister.”

Edmund just laughed.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Fifteen

September

Daughtry

Of all the things I still remember

Summer's never looked the same

The years go by and time just seems to fly

But the memories remain

In the middle of September we'd still play out in the rain

Nothing to lose but everything to gain

Reflecting now on how things could've been

It was worth it in the end

Sophie was not expecting any guests for dinner, so she was greatly surprised to find what had to be one of the most handsome men she had ever met sitting at the dining table laid for three.

“Uh, hello?” Sophie wasn’t sure how to greet the man.

He hadn’t bothered to rise at the entrance of a woman, and he seemed just as surprised to see her when he arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow at her.

There was something imposing about his presence. He was the kind of man who knew he was grander than everything else in the room and expected his due. When he looked at Sophie, his eyes assessed her, deciding whether or not she was worth his time. Dark eyes nearly made her breath catch and something liquid swirled in her stomach. He didn’t make her feel the way Emery Harcourt did, but more like when she interacted with Benedict’s handsome friend, Vincent Grovner. Just the knowledge this man could sweep her off her feet if he chose to. She didn’t need it, but she wouldn’t exactly say no either.

She suddenly wished she had one of Emilia’s hand fans to flutter and catch her breath.

“Hello,” the young man said simply. Not explanation of who he was or why he was lounging about Agatha Danbury’s dinner table.

“Hello,” Sophie said again, then winced as she remembered she had repeated herself. “Um, I mean… Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled. There was some devilish glint in his eyes as he took in her form. She and the young man weren’t exactly of an age, but Sophie had gotten used to Benedict and Anthony’s friends admiring her more with each passing month.

“I’m Ward. Guest! Er- Lady Danbury’s guest.”

Sophie seriously considered throwing herself in the fireplace the next room over.

The young man just smiled, “As am I.”

She took a deep breath and told her to relax. Lady Danbury wouldn’t just throw some random guest at her in her time of mourning. Clearly the young man was here for a reason.

“I’m sorry for being so tongue tied,” Sophie took on her Violet Bridgerton hostess persona. “I’m So-”

“Well don’t pay any mind on my behalf!” Lady Danbury barked as she plowed into the room.

The young man jumped up from the seat as if it were made of hot coals.

“Lady Danbury,” the young man gave a courteous bow. “Thank you for welcoming me to your home.”

“Oh, enough of that. Proper young gentleman or not, you’ve already firmly established your cad nature to me,” Lady Danbury harrumphed. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your wandering eye with my guest.”

The young man gave a guiltless shrug.

“You wouldn’t have that attitude if you knew who she is.” Lady Danbury said to Sophie, “May I have the misfortune of introducing the pair of you?”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Sophie smiled at the tall, dark young man. “I’m Lady Danbury’s er guest.”

“Yes, you mentioned,” the young man smoothly pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. “Though I am sure the pleasure will be all mine, Miss-”

“Sophia Beckett,” Lady Danbury loudly supplied.

Instantly something white flashed across his face and he dropped her hand like a stone.

“S-S-Sophie?” he stuttered.

At the fumble of words, something softened in Lady Danbury’s face.

“L- Like Anthony’s Sophie?” the young man looked like he had just upset Queen Charlotte herself.

Sophie frowned, “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Lady Danbury smiled, “Miss Beckett, meet my godson, Simon Bassett, Earl of Clyvedon.”

In a moment it flashed over Sophie. Simon Bassett, Lady Danbury’s godson, heir to a Dukedom, and Anthony’s best friend.

Then she burst into giggles.

Simon instantly scowled.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie tried catching her breath. “I know I should be all differential and formal, but I can’t stop thinking of you and Anthony wrestling that poor goat out of your dorms.”

Of course Anthony had shared that story. Simon wanted to be mad that Miss Beckett had the gall to mock him straight to his face – no matter how innocent she sounded – but Anthony was right, the girl had a laugh too infectious not to laugh along with.

“Go on, laugh at my misery,” Simon grinned, “but don’t think that I haven’t heard your fair share of embarrassing stories from Anthony as well. If I recall, you and Colin had your own misadventures with goats last year?”

Sophie straightened up, “Anthony? Is he here?”

She peered towards the door as if Anthony was on the other side waiting to be cued for his stage entrance.

“No,” Simon shook his head. “His father worked some witchcraft to find us on our way into London. Practically threw Anthony into his carriage and carted him off to jail. Haven’t seen him since we got in last night.”

“I did notice you seemed to find other accommodations last night,” Lady Danbury narrowed her eyes.

Simon looked almost proud, no doubt mind flashing through remembrances of whomever he spent the night with.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Simon flashed that debonair smile.

It was odd, Sophie thought. The second she heard that Simon was Anthony’s bosom friend, all sort of sensuality seemed to be stripped from his presence for her. The thought of swooning in his arms seemed as distasteful as passionately kissing any of the Bridgerton brothers. Anthony, Colin, and Gregory were creatures so removed from sexuality for her.

Why did she feel like she was forgetting something?

“And you’ll be on your best behavior with Miss Beckett is here. The girl is going through a very difficult time,” Lady Danbury said as the servants finally moved to help seat the trio and begin the meal.

“Ah yes, the late Earl,” Simon nodded as a servant filled his glass with wine. “Condolences for your loss and all of that.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said flatly, not letting him go unchecked with such insincere words. “He’s a great loss to us all.”

“I’m sure,” he sipped at his wine. Simon knew more than enough about Sophie’s situation from Anthony to buy a surface level of grief from her. “You must miss him terribly.”

“Honestly I think I miss the Bridgertons more,” Sophie sadly confessed. She felt that complicated well of emotions rising to the surface again and pushed them back down. “Have you lost your father?”

“Unfortunately not, but one can dream.” Simon paused, wondering if maybe that was a smidge too bitter to say to the face of a girl who just lost her own parent. “Sorry, I-”

“You don’t have to pretend. I understand that not everyone is like the Bridgertons.”

“Oh, I’m sure they have problems of their own.”

“Of course they do. I could probably rattle off twelve without having to think about it that hard. But you have to admit they do have it rather easy. I can’t imagine any shred of disharmony in that home.”

Lady Danbury snorted, “Clearly you’ve never been present when Vivian Ledger visits her daughter. Horrid woman. Never will understand how someone so wonderful as Violet came from her.”

“Oh, I’m sure Lord Ledger has something to do with that.” Simon smirked knowingly, “You two have always gotten along quite well.”

Lady Danbury scowled. She didn’t know how the boy had done it, but somehow last summer he had gotten the story of her affair from her. In her defense, burgundy had been involved. A lot of burgundy. So much so, she had no memory of actually sharing the story with Simon.

But the boy – though liable to tease her from time to time – knew just how much secrecy was important to her when Danbury had threatened to reveal his former stutter if he ever revealed her affair. And Agatha Danbury was usually like a black bear around anyone finding out about Simon’s stutter.

Sophie knew that dangerous look of chastening from enough tense dinners between the Earl and Araminta that she knew not to press.

“So, how is Miss Sinclair?” Lady Danbury asked Sophie. “Did you have a nice visit?”

“Miss Sinclair?” Simon frowned. “I didn’t know Anne had a daughter.”

“Sinclair not St. Clair,” Lady Danbury corrected. Her daughter, Anne had married Baron Richard St. Clair, a move she made no secret had been a horrible mistake, and if divorce had been a realistic option, she would have jumped at the chance. “Miss Beckett is friends with John Sinclair’s daughter.”

“Right, Anne just has the two, doesn’t she? George and uh… something else with a G.”

“Gareth,” Lady Danbury reminded.

“Right. You know, I was thinking maybe I should try visiting them from time to time. You know, take them under my wing like you did me. I hear the Baron St. Clair is something of a similar kind to my father.”

“You’ll keep well away from George and Gareth,” Lady Danbury said calmly but firmly. “And the rest of my grandchildren, thank you very much.”

Soon enough, Simon and Lady Danbury were deep into conversation about some other people Sophie had never heard of. Probably said grandchildren. The conversation was friendly, intimate, and comfortable.

Sophie couldn’t help but smile. There was something about the presence of Lady Danbury and her godson together that just felt so cozy. Not like the Bridgertons by any means, but in their own way, they were their own family. And she could understand why Lady Danbury brought Simon in.

But as much as she tried, Sophie couldn’t stop missing her own family.

She waited under the tree at ten o’clock like she had done every night. But tonight was different. The minutes ticked by and there was no sign of Benedict.

“You look cold.”

The voice made Sophie jump to her feet. The night seemed darker than usual, and Sophie was defenseless in her dressing clothes, alone in the garden. To her surprise, a slightly glazed eyed Simon came wandering out of the dark. In one hand was a bottle of some sort of alcohol and in the other was a letter.

“My Lord,” Sophie started at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Simon shot her a knowing look. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was just getting some air.”

“Uh huh.” He held out the letter, “This just came for you. It’s from Benedict.”

A little too eagerly, Sophie snatched it up and tore it open. Her eyes scanned the text and her face fell.

“What’s it say?” Simon asked.

Sophie hesitated. She really didn’t know this man and it certainly was not appropriate to be alone in a garden with him. But she knew she was safe. It only take a moment of seeing Simon and Lady Danbury together to understand how much he respected her. Plus he was Anthony’s friend, and he would never associate with someone he considered a danger to his sisters.

“Come on,” Simon grinned. “If you’re trying to hide your secret rendezvous, it’s a bit late for that.”

“It’s not a rendezvous!” The words burst from Sophie’s list. Then she paused, “Well… I guess technically it is. I just don’t like the term because it implies like we’re lovers or something.”

There was a strange, strained smile on Simon’s face, like he was holding back a laugh.

“So?” Simon prompted, gesturing to the letter.

Sophie sighed, “He got caught trying to sneak out and was confined to his room. He’s not coming tonight, nor I suspect any time soon.”

“Pity. Anthony told me how close you and Benedict are. Must be difficult.”

There was something strange and disingenuous in Simon’s voice. Sophie was not one to take it lying down.

“Is there something wrong, My Lord?” she asked archly.

Simon shook his head, “I just don’t get it. The Earl treated you like nothing all your life and now he’s gone, what? You mourn him?”

Her back tightened, “You don’t know anything about my relationship with the Earl. How could you possibly judge-”

“He calls you a Ward when everyone knows you’re a daughter. He barely interacted with you. He married that woman Anthony calls ‘The Hag’ and let her torment you. Rather than addressing the issues, he just shoved you off into the care of the Bridgertons. And yet you act like he was a real father to you. Why would you want to put yourself through something like that?”

Sophie glared as Simon took a swig from his bottle.

“What would you know about what I’ve gone through?” Sophie shot. “You’re the firstborn son of a Duke. You have everything. You’ll always have everything. I have nothing. No legitimacy. No status. No mother-”

“I don’t have a mother,” Simon cut her off.

She blinked, “What?”

“Mine died the day I was born,” Simon’s easy confession was probably aided by whatever alcohol was in that bottle. “So before you go off lecturing me on our differences, why don’t you realize that you don’t know anything of what I’ve gone through either.”

That made Sophie quiet. He was right; she was judging him without knowing anything about his past. Just because he had privilege beyond imagining didn’t mean that he was without problems.

Noticing how grave the girl had turned, Simon sighed.

“Here,” he offered her the bottle, “have a drink.”

Her eyes went wide, “What?”

“It’s whiskey. A rather good one. Go on, give it a try.”

Hesitantly, she reached for it. Being fourteen, Sophie knew Violet would hit the roof if she knew someone offered Sophie a drink, but Sophie was sad and lonely and curious.

Carefully, she lifted the bottle to her lips. It smelled nice, but the second the liquid touched her tongue she spat it right out. Coughing and sputtering, Sophie desperately tried to rid the taste of fire from her throat.

Simon could barely contain his laughter, “First drink, huh?”

“Yes,” she gasped for air.

“Funny, I thought Anthony would have snuck you drinks before this.”

“Clearly you’ve never been under the watchful eye of Violet Bridgerton,” Sophie practically threw the bottle back at Simon. “Oh, that was vile. How can anyone enjoy drinking that?”

Simon shrugged and took a seat next to her, “It’s an acquired taste. Personally, I love this vintage. I plan to send all my closest friends a bottle of it in celebration when my father dies.”

She lifted an eyebrow, “He’s that bad?”

“You have no idea,” he muttered. He lifted the bottle to his lips for another drink.

Sophie hesitated. Simon didn’t seem like the type to open up easily, but Sophie couldn’t help it. Benedict and Emilia had such loving parents, they could never understand the complication in her heart. Considering the whiskey had loosened Simon’s tongue, it might be her only chance to ask.

“Did he make you feel like the Earl made me feel?” she asked.

“And how did he make you feel?”

“Like I'm not good enough.”

He was quiet.

“…Yes,” Simon took another drink.

“You know, I can’t stop thinking of all the time that has been lost,” Sophie confessed. “I keep thinking that maybe if there was just a little more time, we could have resolved this. Worked things out. He could have been that affectionate father that I-”

“If he had wanted that, he could have changed that in the time you did have together,” Simon said sternly. “There was nothing in the world stopping him from treating you like a beloved daughter he respected, and he chose not to.”

His words stabbed at her heart; he was right. The Earl had every opportunity to make it right and what did he do? He shoved her off to another family to give her the love and attention he refused to provide her.

Simon watched her carefully, “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

Sophie sniffed back a tear she hadn’t realized she’d produced. Mutely she nodded her head.

“I know it hurts,” Simon said. “To lose him so suddenly with so much unresolved. I know when my father dies, I’m going to make sure I have the last word.”

She rubbed her eyes, “I wish I could speak to him just once more. Brought him to account.”

“Then take it.”

“What?”

“The last word. Say it, right here, right now. What would you say if he were here?”

Sophie took a deep breath. The final word. What would she say if she had just one more chance to speak to the man who refused to act like the father he was?

“Damn you, Papa,” she said, looking up at the skies. Pinpricks of star dotted the vast cobalt ocean of night sky. “There. I’ve called you Papa. You never let me do that. You never wanted to be that.”

Simon offered her the whiskey again and she found the courage to drink it down.

She gasped convulsively, using the back of her hand to wipe at her nose, “I’ve called you Papa. How does it feel?”

But there was no sudden clap of thunder, no gray cloud appearing out of nowhere to cover up the moon. Her father would never know how angry she was with him for leaving her with Araminta and keeping her at arm’s length all those years.

Most likely, he wouldn’t have cared.

She felt rather weary, and she leaned against the tree, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

“You gave me a taste of another life,” she whispered, “and then left me in the wind. It would have been so much easier if I’d been abandoned like the penniless bastard I am. I wouldn’t have wanted so much. It would have been easier.”

Sophie broke down. Sobbing, she tucked her knees into her chest and pulled herself into a ball. To her surprise, a hand rested on her back and rubbed soothingly.

“It’s alright,” Simon said softly. “You’ll be fine. Lady Danbury and the Bridgertons will make sure of it.”

She sniffled, “Are you certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile, “Thank you.”

“It’s no big secret.”

“No, for helping me with my grief. It’s nice to have someone around who understands just how… well, who understands.”

Simon nodded. In the brief interlude of that night, Simon understood just how the Bridgertons could so easily come to care for the girl. But it was more than that; it was a kindred spirit in paternal inadequacy.

Maybe he would add another name to his whiskey list.

The funeral was small, but not out of the desire for an intimate ceremony. Earl Richard Gunningworth just didn’t have that many mourners. Still there was a fair crowd – mostly people that Sophie didn’t know.

It passed in a blur. She was aware that at some point Edmund, Violet, Anthony, and Benedict were present and that the younger were left at home because they couldn’t be trusted to keep their distance from Sophie. Brief words of assurance were exchanged and Sophie vaguely remembered Edmund squeezing her hand.

In general, people avoided Sophie like the plague. Araminta refused to let Sophie take her rightful place among the mourning family, so those only tangentially connected to the Earl didn’t even recognize her. When they did, they fled like cowards. Sophie would never forget the look of fear on the face of Miss Abnegale – an old friend of the Earl’s sister – when Lady Danbury introduced her to Sophie. The woman disappeared in an absolute blink of the eye.

Araminta struggled to maintain control as the mourning widow. She bristled when the new earl, a rather dissolute young man who was more often drunk than not, made an appearance. No one would escape a conversation with Araminta without her crowing about how she could be with child.

But she wasn’t with child, and when the earl’s will was read one month later (the solicitors had wanted to be sure to give the countess enough time to know for sure if she was pregnant) Araminta was forced to sit next to the new earl and Edmund Bridgerton.

Edmund had arrived with his lawyer, Livingston to ensure that the will was dispensed correctly in regards to Sophie and to find out what guardianship arrangements needed to be made. Araminta argued that Edmund was intruding, but when the argument was turned to the assumed heir of the will to decide, the new earl shrugged and allowed Edmund to stay. It was decided, however that Livingston would wait in the next room and only allowed to examine the wording of the will once everything had been announced.

Most of the earl’s wishes were standard fare. He left bequests to loyal servants. He continued the small income to Miss Abnegale, his late sister’s loyal friend who had taken care of her in her last years of life. He dictated that a small gift of funds be sent to Mahesh Sharma as a thanks for his loyal service when he was in Richard’s employ.

Richard also left small sums to each of the Bridgerton family members as a thank you for caring for Sophie throughout the years. That even included a small extra amount for up to three additional children that, if unused, would go to Violet and Edmund if ten years passed without another child. The will also said this money would go to Violet and Edmund before the ten years if Violet submitted to the lawyer a doctor’s signed attestation that she had begun menopause, at which Edmund lost it for the violation and audacity of even suggesting Violet debase herself like that for a few hundred pounds.

But it was when they came to the dowries that the true picture of Richard’s ultimate plan started to unfold.

Sophie was left a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds. Not much in the eyes of the Ton, but an appropriate amount for a Ward and certainly enough to secure her some measure of husband. Araminta tried to object, but the lawyer was quick to point out that Richard had every right to distribute his money however he saw fit. She was even further infuriated when she heard that Richard had left an additional amount of funds for the sole purpose of paying for a single London season for Sophie upon her eighteenth year.

Edmund did notice that Richard had used the term “year” instead of birthday because despite the continue gifting of presents, Richard had never actually officially recognized a birth date for Sophie.

He also tightened when he heard that this season fund would be overseen by Sophie’s legal guardian. It apparently was worth every penny to have Livingston literally standing outside the door.

“My stepdaughters Rosamund and Posy will also be left dowries.” The lawyer read out. “As their natural father has settled on them funds in his own will, their portions from me will not be as substantial as Sophia’s dowry, nor will there any separate funds for a season. It is my wish that Posy be endowed with a dowry of ten thousand. As for Rosamund, she has demonstrated how little regard she holds for the kinship of myself and Sophie, and will be treated accordingly. Rosamund is to be left the small sum of three thousand towards her dowry.”

“What?” Araminta shrieked. “He can’t do this!”

What ensued was a half hour fight where the lawyer had to pull in Livingston as a Hail Mary support to assure Araminta that yes Richard Gunningworth could legally snub Rosamund like that.

It was a fight that Araminta eventually had to concede. Thankfully her first husband had left Rosamund plenty for her dowry, but when the Ton heard of Rosamund’s subbing… well, perhaps they didn’t have to actually give Sophie her dowry.

But if Araminta thought that the snub to Rosamund was bad, she didn’t realize that it was about to get worse.

“Additionally,” the lawyer hesitated to read, “as further thanking Mahesh Sharma for his loyal service, I choose to leave his two daughters Kathani and Edwina five thousand each for their dowries.”

Araminta hit the damn roof.

A clerk’s daughters were being left with dowries from her husband’s will, and even worse, they were more than Rosamund’s dowry left by Richard. This was no thank you present to a loyal clerk, this was an intentional slight to Araminta. Ugly pettiness.

Like hell she was actually letting these dowries be paid out.

But Richard had even thought of that.

“To ensure these doweries are paid properly, I name Edmund Bridgerton in charge of dispensing Sophia, Kathani, and Edwina’s funds. My lawyer, Jonathan Rockingham shall dispense the dowries of Posy and Rosamund.”

It took every ounce of Edmund’s breeding and proper rearing not to laugh out loud at Araminta’s expression.

On the will reading went, Araminta visibly stewing as she turned redder and redder in each passing second. Edmund felt something inside of him both tighten and relax. It was a good sign that he was named in charge of the dowries that Sophie likely would be appropriately taken care of when it came to guardianship. But if Araminta did get guardianship, well, he feared what Araminta would try to do to Sophie.

And then the solicitor reached Araminta’s name.

“To my wife, Araminta Gunningworth, Countess of Penwood, I leave a yearly income of two thousand pounds.”

“That’s all?” Araminta cried out.

“Unless she agrees to shelter and care for my ward, Miss Sophia Maria Beckett, until the latter reaches the age of twenty, in which case her yearly income shall be trebled to six thousand pounds.”

Edmund’s heart dropped.

“No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” the gleam of victory was in Araminta’s eye. “She’s mine, Viscount.”

“You don’t want her,” Edmund shot. “You don’t have to take her. You can-”

“Live on a measly two thousand a year?” she snapped. “I don’t think so. I’ll take her.”

Edmund shot to his feet, “You cannot do this! I’ll challenge this in court. I will throw all of my resources at fighting this. You will not lay a hand on her!”

Araminta wasn’t too scared to rise to her own feet, “Now listen here, Bridgerton-”

The lawyer cleared his throat.

They both looked to him.

“I’m sorry,” the lawyer said awkwardly, “but I wasn’t entirely finished.”

They frowned at him but neither would dignify the other with sharing a look of confusion.

The new earl took a swig from a flask, not caring one whit.

“My wife Araminta shall be Sophia’s guardian,” the lawyer read, “only if the first selected guardian declines the responsibility. Right of first refusal goes to Viscount Edmund Bridgerton. If Viscount Bridgerton accepts Sophia for guardianship, a yearly income of three thousand will be given to the Viscount for care of my ward, and my wife Araminta shall receive an income of three thousand.”

“YES!” Edmund practically jumped in the air. He then cleared his throat, smoothed down his clothes and said, “I mean. Yes, we will be happy to take on Sophia.”

“No!” Araminta cried out. “No! You can’t do this!”

“I think you’ll find I can,” Edmund grinned. He looked to the lawyer, “Is there anything else I am required for?”

The lawyer shook his head, “I’ll converse with Livingston over the details and send the paperwork over this evening.”

“Very good.” He beamed at Araminta, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a daughter to go find.”

In the receiving room, Sophie fiddled with her silver B locket. She held on to in like the final link to love and safety as she awaited her fate. Any moment now, the door would open and her life would change. A mystery with the new earl. A misery with Araminta. A masterpiece with Edmund. Sophie could do nothing but sit and await her fate.

Then the door opened… and Edmund stepped in.

“Come on, Sophie. Let’s go.”

And for the first time in her life, Sophie knew she was home.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Sixteen

Fallin For You

Colbie Caillat

As I'm standing here

And you hold my hand

Pull me towards you

And we start to dance

All around us

I see nobody

Here in silence

It's just you and me

I am trying not to tell you

But I want to

I'm scared of what you'll say

And so I'm hiding what I'm feeling

But I'm tired of holding this inside my head

I've been spending all my time

Just thinking about ya

I don't know what to do

I think I'm falling for you

Since Sophie’s mourning meant that she couldn’t attend parties, the Bridgertons decided the rest of the season was a wash and returned to Aubrey Hall. Eloise was torn; she adored her new sister, Sophie, but she also adored her new London friend, Penelope. It was only Sophie’s promise to help her write letters to Penelope that convinced Eloise to leave without a fuss.

Sophie settled into Aubrey Hall easily. It was like the servants had just been waiting for the day she would come home to them forever. She already had her own room that had been permanently dubbed the Sophie room from how often she used it. To her pleasant surprise, Rose Gibson decided to accept a job offer with the Bridgertons and acted as ladies maid for the female Bridgerton children, though it quickly became apparent that Daphne and Rose got on best.

The summer passed quickly. Violet that year decided not to host her annual Hearts and Flowers ball so that she wasn’t excluding Sophie. She did, however, invite various friends throughout the summer to spend time with the family, including the Featheringtons to Eloise’s delight and everyone else’s chagrin.

Emilia Sinclair dared to make a week’s visit, but threatened to leave if they tried to make her play Pall-Mall.

It was inappropriate for a single man to send letters to a young woman, so naturally Simon began writing to Sophie. He even came to visit to hunt with Edmund, Anthony, and Benedict, which Sophie wouldn’t forget in a hurry because Daphne had a head cold, missed meeting the Duke’s son, and then complained about it for three weeks.

Emery Harcourt was too much a gentleman to write Sophie, but his family did send flowers as condolences for her loss when she did move to Aubrey Hall. Eloise wanted to put up with none of it and sharply pointed out that he had taken his sweet time in sending them. It was nearly two months since the death of the Earl before the lilies arrived.

Even Violet had to admit the six-year-old had a point.

It was a lovely summer, filled with childhood memories that would linger in the mind forever. But soon it turned to fall and Benedict and Anthony were headed back to school. Twelve-year-old Colin moaned about how much he wanted to go and how he couldn’t wait a whole other year to go. Of course, that just led to an argument with Eloise who was sharp to remind him he got to go.

There was one person who was not happy with the new arrangement and that was Violet’s mother, Vivian Ledger. She was horrified by the idea of her daughter raising a bastard and refused to ever count Sophie as one of her grandchildren. Charles Ledger, however, embraced Sophie has his eldest granddaughter. When the couple did come stay at Aubrey Hall for two weeks, the Bridgerton family practically iced out Vivian until she deigned to make pleasantries with Sophie one afternoon.

The family tutor – a bit of an upstart – then chose to educate the children on the rivalry of Marie Antoinette and Madame du Berry, and the phrase “There are a lot of people at Aubrey Hall today” became a common refrain.

Fall became winter and winter turned to spring. Before Sophie knew it, it was the beginning of the season and they were back in London, ready to give Sophie’s practice year another chance.

Simon unfortunately decided to travel that summer, but Sophie had plenty of friends by her side. Emilia was also being given a practice run at a season. It had become even more apparent over the year that the match of Emmy and Alexander wasn’t going to be allowed by their parents, so the Sinclairs wanted to get Emilia familiar with more members of the Ton.

But the thing that excited Sophie the most was that Emery Harcourt had returned for the season. In fact, the morning after they arrived, the “Harcourts” sent a bouquet of flowers to “Violet” as a welcome back gift. The card was signed by Emery, saying “I look forward to the pleasure of your family’s company this year.”

Sophie may have stolen the card and pinned it to her wall.

The day of Lady Danbury’s ball came quickly. Daphne was horribly jealous of her older brothers (Anthony and Benedict were now at the age where it was expected of them to attend functions) and sister getting to go without her. But she was happy to sit on the bed with Francesca watching and babbling on as Rose Gibson dressed Sophie for her very first official ball.

Since Sophie was a bastard, there was no chance of her actually getting introduced in court. It was just too offense a gesture to put her in front of the Queen and lie about her parentage. This was a fact that Rosamund had flaunted to Sophie that Rosamund would get to do, and in fact had done a few days previous. At sixteen, Rosamund was of marriageable age and would be Sophie’s competition. It consoled Sophie slightly when word came around that after Rosamund was dismissed, the Queen had been said to mutter to Brimsley, “I’ve had ice statues that gave off more warmth than that girl.”

But since Sophie wouldn’t get a proper introduction in court, Violet had decided that Sophie’s dress for her first ball would be similar to what she would have worn to a presentation. It was a beautiful cream empire gown. There was a slight layered effect in the skirt, though still A-line cut. Embellished lace tied to her long white gloves so that the skirt wouldn’t drag while dancing. Her shoulders were slightly immodest with straps rather than a puffed design, but a sheer gauze offered coverage in the traditional shrug design. She wore a simple tiara with only the touch of pearls here and there, and two small perfect pearls hung from her ears. Naturally, her necklace was her silver B locket, now officially standing for Bridgerton as much as Beckett.

“You look like a Princess,” Daphne cooed as Rose painted Sophie’s makeup on. “I can hardly dream to look as beautiful at my first ball.”

Sophie laughed, then apologized to Rose for messing up the makeup.

“I’m sure you’ll look absolutely stunning,” Violet assured Daphne. “You’ll be a diamond of the first water.”

Daphne frowned, “What does that mean?”

“A diamond’s brilliance is measure in something called waters,” Violet explained. “A diamond of the first water means the most brilliant diamond possible.”

“Oh,” Daphne’s eyes widened. She beamed at Sophie, “Then Sophie is a first water diamond too!”

“Maybe an emerald,” Sophie fussed with her tiara.

Violet gently steadied her hand. Sophie couldn’t help but relax.

“You will do fine, My Dear,” Violet assured her.

Sophie smiled weakly, “Do you really think so?”

Violet turned Sophie towards the full length mirror, “Look at yourself. You’re beautiful.”

And for a moment, Sophie just stared at her reflection. She was beautiful, like a princess out of a fairy tale. Tears gathered in her eyes. This was really happening, she was a Bridgerton and about to attend her first ball. No matter what Araminta had done to her in her life, no matter what Rosamund said, or Phillip Cavender tried, she had defeated them all. No were no snakes left in the grass to avoid.

She was free.

And she was happy.

“Do I really have to go to this?” Benedict complained as he waited in the foyer with his father and brother. “I am only seventeen. I’m years off from marrying.”

“Yes, Benedict,” Edmund said firmly. “We’re all going to support Sophie. Besides, you never know when fate will deal its hand. I was only twenty when I married your mother.”

“Madness,” Anthony shot.

“I don’t hear you or Anthony complain for existing,” Edmund chuckled. “Can you imagine if I had waited and then Colin was the eldest child?”

Anthony shuddered at that.

Suddenly there was a rumbling on the stairs and Daphne and Francesca came running down the stairs.

“They’re coming!” Francesca announced.

Benedict glanced casually towards the stairs. Then his breath stopped.

An angel glided down the staircase. A vision of white, blonde, lace, and green eyes approached them. It took a minute for Benedict brain to even process the fact it was Sophie.

It couldn’t be Sophie. This creature was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

But the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes, and the grace of her steps were familiar. It was Sophie.

When had Sophie become so beautiful?

Edmund couldn’t help but smirk at the dumbstruck look on Benedict’s face.

“I don’t think you boys will have to worry about bribing friends to take her dances this time,” Edmund nudged Benedict with his elbow. He then glanced at Anthony who looked absolutely no different. Sophie was just a sister in the eyes of Anthony, and that was all she would ever be.

Breathlessly, Benedict found himself taking a step forward as Sophie reached the bottom step. He felt as mute as that first time he had ever seen her.

Sophie smiled, “Hello Benedict.”

“Sophie,” he breathed. “You look… you’re beautiful.”

She blushed, “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Benedict wordlessly offered his arm, and Sophie curtsied, then took it.

Edmund shared a knowing look with Violet before offering his own arm and setting off after the young couple, heading towards the carriage.

That left a confused Anthony in the middle of the foyer feeling like he had just missed something very important.

When Sophie entered the ballroom of Lady Danbury, the music stopped. True, that was because they had finished their song, but Benedict thought it was quite fitting. Eyes indeed turn towards them and a few whispers floated around.

Lady Danbury immediately appeared from absolutely nowhere to greet the group. She praised Sophie’s appearance and was eager to mention that Araminta and Rosamund’s invitations had accidentally not been extended as Lady Danbury had been under the impression that the girl was going to delay a season, and by the time the error had been noticed, it simply was too late to correct things. After all, Lady Danbury was feeling the pinch of her food budget this year.

Sophie was positively sure that Lady Danbury could comfortably feed the entire British army and not feel the pinch, but who was she to argue?

A blur of purple shouted out, “Sophie!”

The blur resolved itself into the eager face of Emilia who immediately clasped onto Sophie’s arm.

“Good timing!” Emilia said. “You’re just in time for the next set of dance.”

“Oh, I’m not sure if I’m ready to dance,” Sophie said. “I just got here and-”

“Please!” Emilia begged. “It’s my favorite dance, and if I don’t dance with Alexander, his Mama will make him take the set with Lydia Carhartt. My Mama will only let me dance with Alexander if you’re there to deflect things. Please, Sophie? Please?”

“Okay, okay,” Sophie laughed. “But I need a partner.”

Violet elbow accidentally swung back into Benedict who had been talking to Vincent Grovner.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Emilia whipped out her fan and fluttered it like a nervous tick. “We’re down two gentlemen.”

Vincent frowned, not sure how he had been pulled into this, “I’m not sure-”

Emilia then realized who she was talking to, “That’s right. I probably shouldn’t invite you, Mister Grovner. Guy and Maria Burberry have agreed to dance our set – Guy dancing with Honoria Hughes. I suppose you shouldn’t dance with Maria Burberry.”

Something gleeful lit in Vincent’s eyes, “I would be honored to join you.”

Then – without anyone consulting Benedict if he wanted to join them – Emilia, Sophie, Vincent, and Benedict joined Guy, Maria, Alexander, and Honora in a country dance.

Guy was fuming at Vincent’s inclusion but really couldn’t do anything about it. Maria made exaggerated winces and sighs whenever Vincent was forced to touch her, but Sophie couldn’t help but noticed Maria made no such groans when she touched Vincent.

It was a fun dance of the usual spinning and pairing off. Sophie and Benedict couldn’t stop laughing the entire time. There was just something about dancing with Benedict that made Sophie feel so happy.

The only one who seemed not to be having any fun was Guy Burberry, too distracted by Vincent and Maria than he left his partner, Honora having no fun either. It was absolutely no one’s surprise when the dance ended and she made the excuse that her mother was calling her and she had to go.

Of course, the excuse was only more awkward when Emilia whispered to Sophie that Honora’s mother was home sick with a cold and it had been her father who brought her as chaperone.

Alexander Parr offered to escort Emilia and Maria to the lemonade table, and Vincent and Guy exchanged a few heated words that led to the pair disappearing into the garden to settle the matter. Benedict considered following to prevent the inevitable fist fight, but Sophie caught him by the arm.

“That was so much fun!” Sophie said. “Please, Benedict can we do another dance?”

But Benedict didn’t have time to say anything, because at that moment there was a tap on her shoulder. Sophie turned and had to withhold a gasp.

“Miss Beckett,” Emery Harcourt dressed in his best finery kissed Sophie’s hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mister Harcourt,” Sophie blushed. “Have you met Benedict?”

“Oh, yes, your brother.”

Benedict frowned at that, “Well, I’m not really her brother. It’s more of an adoption type thing.”

“But you are family,” Emery said.

Benedict didn’t like the insistence. To him Sophie was absolutely his best friend in the world, but he had never considered her “family” like Anthony and the other siblings did. There was something different he couldn’t name between himself and Sophie.

“Miss Beckett,” Emery turned his attention back to Sophie, “if you aren’t already engaged, I was hoping I may ask you for the next dance. It is a waltz if you are allowed to dance it?”

Benedict wanted to say she wasn’t, but that would be a lie very easily dismissed by Sophie and Edmund if she forced the issue to their father.

Sophie beamed and extended her hand, “I would be absolutely honoured.”

And Emery Harcourt swept Sophie away into a night of waltzing, leaving Benedict alone feeling quite oddly.

“He’s such an amazing dancer,” Sophie gushed the next morning as the Bridgertons congregated in their sitting room. “Last night was absolutely magical.”

Benedict scowled as he kept his eyes firm on his drawing. He had barely look Sophie in the eye since she had left him in the dust at the ball that night. Benedict had been so desperate to spend more time with Sophie that he asked several women to dance with him whenever Sophie danced a set, just so he could briefly exchange steps with her in the country dances.

It felt wrong that Sophie danced with another man; dancing had always been their thing. Now suddenly Emery Harcourt was sweeping her off her feet? He wasn’t even that good looking. I mean honestly, what kind of English man sported a mustache? It made Emery look poncey. The last thing Sophie wanted was some Pink who would waste his fortune on his looks.

Not that Benedict wasn’t the Bridgerton brother who tended to his appearance most. But at least Benedict did it in a dignified way.

“You did look radiantly happy dancing with him, Sophie Dear,” Violet smiled at her eldest daughter. True, she was ultimately pulling for Sophie and Benedict to settle together, but she didn’t begrudge Sophie taking her happiness where she wished for the meantime. “We should have him over for dinner some night, shouldn’t we Edmund?”

Edmund grunted from behind his newspaper. Unlike his wife, he wasn’t thrilled that Sophie was attempting to pair off with someone other than Benedict. He knew that if Sophie made a match before the pair realized their feelings, nothing but a lifetime of heartbreak was before her.

“Sophie, play!” two-year-old Gregory exclaimed at her feet where he had been happily playing with her yarn ball. Sophie had taken up the craft of crochet and was busily working on making Gregory a little stuffed wolf.  

She smiled and placed a kiss on his head before gently instructing him to go play with the others. Francesca and Eloise were playing with Eloise’s new pet: a scruffy grey kitten named Millicent.

At that moment, a footman entered the room with a calling card, “A guest for Miss Beckett.”

Edmund frowned at the card but waved the footman to let him in. Soon enough, Emery Harcourt entered with a large bouquet of tulips.

“Miss Beckett, I brought you a gift,” he offered the purple and pink flowers to her.

Sophie graciously took them and gave a performative sniff, “Thank you so much, Mister Harcourt. You really did not have to.”

“Well, a beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers.”

Colin faked gagging on his teaspoon. Daphne, sitting next to him, smacked his leg and then stole his scone.

“They’re absolutely beautiful,” Sophie gushed. “I love them.”

“No, you don’t,” Benedict blurted out.

Every eye in the room turned on him.

“Uh,” Benedict felt rather hot under the collar, “I just mean that, well…”

Sophie’s eyes had never been more frigid towards him.

“You don’t like tulips,” Benedict finally said. “You said the shape is ugly and smell is vile. If he wanted to bring you flowers, he should have brought daffodils. Those are your favorite.”

The icy silence did not cease.

“Benedict,” Edmund cleared his throat, “why don’t you take Anthony and Colin out for a round of fencing?”

It was not an offer; it was an order.

The last thing Benedict saw as he was banished from the sitting room was Sophie laughing, sitting on the couch with Emery Harcourt.

Emery Harcourt became a fixture around the Bridgerton household. Promenades, boat rides, picnics, he did them all with Sophie. He joined them at the races, sat in their box at the opera, and strolled with her around the market. Emery visited every day and soon Benedict found he spent every morning in the garden until Harcourt had gone.

Sophie started to adjust her outfits to exactly what Emery liked. He said green went with her eyes when Benedict knew that blues were better for her complexion. She wore pearls because that was what she wore to her first ball when Benedict knew that Sophie actually didn’t really like the look of pearls. Sophie had abandoned hand fans to Emilia’s horror because Emery had made fun of Emmy’s nervous habit of flicking them around.

She sang when he requested despite not liking performing outside of the family, and she embroidered all of his mother’s favorite biblical passages. Benedict was especially affronted when Harcourt asked to see her watercolours because while Sophie was not exactly bad at painting, she had never painted without Benedict at her side.

Something ugly and green grew in Benedict’s chest that summer, but he couldn’t name what it was. There was something inside of him that just said that Sophie and Emery were wrong together. Yet every time he brought it up to Sophie, he couldn’t find the words to articulate it.

He drew and painted her obsessively. Every time he put pencil to page or brush to canvas the shape of her eyes and lips would emerge.

Something was happening and Benedict didn’t know why.

Was he afraid that next season Harcourt would propose and then she would be whisked away forever from him? No, when Sophie married, they would still be friends. She wouldn’t abandon him… wouldn’t she?

Since Sophie was only fifteen and not out, Harcourt was unlikely to propose marriage that season. So the courtship was a long, leisurely one that as it stretched on may have not been the most appropriate one. Sometimes they would sneak out for a moment alone in the gardens. There was a hand kiss or two sans glove. There even was one ball where they danced three times together, though Emery claimed he had partnered with another girl and the dance just happened to swap partners a lot.

It was two months into their courtship when Emery made the biggest – and not very appropriate – move of all: a gift.

“Emery, you shouldn’t have,” Sophie said as he handed her the box. Christian names had been exchanged long before that night Emery and his mother was invited to dinner. They had all retired into the sitting room for some after dinner charades (which always tended to turn into cheating teams threatening fisticuffs.)

“Go ahead,” Emery urged. “Open it.”

Sophie noticed Violet and Juliana Harcourt nodding in approval, so she opened the box.

She gasped. Laying in a box of velvet was a gorgeous silver necklace with a pear drop emerald in the middle.

“No!” Sophie couldn’t breathe. It was the grandest non-Bridgerton gift she had ever received. “I couldn’t!”

“Please,” Emery smiled. “I want to.”

Sophie hesitated. Accepting it would be practically accepting an engagement. It all had happened so fast. How much did she really know about this man?

But the way he looked at her; how he made her feel. It was too much for a fifteen-year-old in the first throws of love to think logically.

“Will you help me put it on?” Sophie asked.

Emery smiled and gestured her to turn around.

Her breath quickened when she felt his breath on her neck and then tender fingers brush against it. Emery unclasped her silver B locket, and somewhat carelessly tossed it on the end table. Then the emerald pendant was fastened around her neck and Emery Harcourt had claimed her as his.

Everyone cooed about how lovely the necklace looked on her; everyone but Benedict. Across their eyes met and silence fell upon them.

Benedict’s eyes moved to the silver locket carelessly abandoned on the end table. It was a sign of their familial love and connection to Sophie… and she had just tossed it aside.

And as every continued to praise Sophie’s beautiful new necklace, Sophie found her eyes fixed on the abandoned locket, feeling like she had betrayed the Bridgertons.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Seventeen

I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

Britney Spears

I used to think

I had the answers to everything

But now I know

That life doesn't always

Go my way

Feels like I'm caught in the middle

That's when I realize

I'm not a girl

Not yet a woman

All I need is time

A moment that is mine

While I'm in between

I'm not a girl

There is no need to protect me

It's time that I

Learn to face up to this on my own

“How many children would you like to have?”

Sophie blushed and pretended to watch a pair of swans swimming on the Serpentine as she and Emery promenaded in Hyde Park.

She supposed the question needed to be broached at some point considering the seriousness of their courtship, but something about the question just felt wrong being asked by Emery.

“More than one,” Sophie finally answered. She played nervously with her emerald necklace, which she had almost never taken off in the month since Emery gave it to her. “I’ve been an only child and I’ve had a large family. I would much rather have a family like the Bridgertons.”

Emery laughed but she didn’t know why.

Sophie bit her lip, “What about you? How many children would you like?”

“I want two boys,” he said a little too exacting. “However many children it takes for that to happen, so be it.”

She frowned, “What about daughters?”

“What about daughters?”

The way he said it made Sophie feel a little stupid for asking.

Emery sighed, “I’m sure whatever daughters I have would be excellent young ladies, especially if they take after their mother’s beauty.”

Sophie felt her cheeks flame.

Only a few steps behind them strode Violet Bridgerton and Juliana Harcourt, the dutiful chaperones.

“They do make a handsome couple,” Violet lovingly watched Sophie laugh at something Emery said.

Juliana smiled, “They truly do. You know, I always thought that Emery would choose Lydia Carhart. They are dear friends of ours and her age is a little bit more suitable.”

“I suppose the heart wants what it wants.”

“Indeed. Sophie is such a wonderful girl. Your family should miss her greatly.”

Violet frowned, “Miss her? What do you mean?”

“Why our estate is so far north, she’ll be hard pressed to make visits. I’m sure there will still be visits now and again, but they will be quite few.”

“My sister-in-law, Georgiana lives up in Edinburgh and still manages to make frequent enough trips. Besides, there’s always during the London Season.”

“Oh, Dear,” Juliana pulled Violet to a stop. “Has no one told you? Once we have Emery settled, we don’t intend to spend our Seasons in London.”

Violet’s heart dropped, “You- You won’t?”

“Of course not. What would be the point? I have no other children and Emery needs to start attending to his late father’s duties and building his family. Surely Sophie has told you this?”

Eyeing the happy couple up ahead, Violet said, “That will all depend… Has Mister Harcourt told Sophie yet?”

It was a question Juliana had no certain answer too.

“I’m starting to worry about how far this is going,” Violet said in bed that night. “The whole Sophie and Emery Harcourt thing.”

“Finally,” Edmund smirked. “I could have told you that months ago.”

Violet scowled, “There’s no need to preen.”

He shrugged.

“Oh Edmund,” Violet laid against his chest, “what do we do? Sophie doesn’t know the world truly. True, she’s been through a lot more than most her age, but she’s still so young.”

“Thankfully that can work in her advantage. I can stall any chance of marriage for a few years yet. Just because Sophie would want to marry at sixteen doesn’t mean I have to let her.”

“She would be terribly upset with you.”

“We have eight children. One of them is bound to be mad at me at any time. Frankly, I think I can stall until eighteen, if not longer.”  

“What if Emery Harcourt does not want to wait that long?” Violet asked.

“Then he’s not worth our Sophie,” Edmund rested his head atop Violet’s. “Besides, hopefully by the time Sophie turns eighteen, she and Benedict will have things sorted out.”

Violet was quiet.

Edmund frowned, “What is it?”

“…What if they aren’t meant to be together?”

“Violet-”

“Listen to me, there’s no guarantee they’ll end up together. They’re friends and there’s a chance they’ll always stay that way. They’re perfectly happy just being friends.”

“Nicholas and Georgiana were perfectly fine being just friends and now they’re happily married,” Edmund referred to his best friend who had married his sister.

Violet scowled, “Edmund, they married because Freddie Oak kidnapped Georgiana and ruined her reputation. Nicholas stepped in to help save face.”

“Yes, and now they’re happily married, even despite Nicholas having to put up with those three cats.”

Violet rolled her eyes. Though he did at least have a point about one of Georgiana’s cats, Cat-Head. How Georgiana avoided a mutiny from her staff on the travel from Aubrey Hall to Edinburgh with the nonsense Cat-Head committed was truly a miracle.

“I just… I don’t want us preventing Sophie’s happiness for something that will never happen,” Violet said.

Edmund sighed, “Alright. I’ll sit Emery down in White’s and discuss his plans and intentions. If this is really what Sophie wants… I won’t stand in the way. But she is not marrying until she’s at least sixteen.”

“Agreed.”

Sophie disliked London’s most fashionable modiste, a woman simply known as Christabella. The woman liked to put on an Italian accent (claiming her mother was Italian) but it was heavily tinged with German. She was built like a house and reminded Sophie of a bulldog. Christabella always tied Sophie’s corsets too tight, and she had fawned over Rosamund while throwing the cheapest and ugliest fabrics – ones that even Portia Featherington wouldn’t be caught dead in – for Sophie.

But damn it if she didn’t produce the finest work in England. Sophie wished someone who had just as good mastery over fabric would come and run Christabella out of town.

“Soon enough you’ll be here getting measured for your trousseau,” Emilia observed the wall of fabrics with Sophie as their mothers discussed their wants for their daughters with Christabella.

Sophie raised an eyebrow, “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“I am,” she lied. Unconsciously Emilia flicked out her fan and started fluttering it. “I just… I mean are you sure Emery is the right one for you? I think he’s a little high on his horse myself.”

“You’re just upset that he made fun of your fan tick.”

“Well, what’s wrong with having a tick? I bet he has plenty of ticks himself!”

Sophie thought about how Emery tended to stroke his moustache unconsciously when in deep reflection.

Emilia huffed and put her fan away, “Fine. If you’re happy, then I’m happy. I would just be careful. We are only fifteen.”

“Now you sound like Edmund.”

“He has a point. We’re teenagers and teenagers are dumb,” Emilia was not the tallest taper in the candlestick and was very well aware and accepting of that fact. “Besides, he treats you like you’re dumb.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

A throat cleared behind them.

The girls froze and in harmony turned to see their interrupter.

Sophie’s heart then fell. Standing before her was a honey skinned woman with distrustful, light brown eyes, a wide face and thin lips curled like she had bitten into a lemon.

“Miss Beckett,” she said frigidly.

Sophie faked a smile, “Miss Carhart.”

Lydia Carhart glanced icy at Emilia and the girl suddenly made herself scarce.

“Traitor,” Sophie muttered.

Later when confronted for her crimes, Emilia would just shrug and say “Every woman for herself.”

Inwardly, Sophie took a breath and then turned back to the fabric. She didn’t have to talk to Lydia Carhart if she didn’t want to. Lydia was a snobby, entitled, cruel girl and Sophie didn’t have to give her the time of day if she didn’t want to. She didn’t need to be unkind to Lydia, but she also wasn’t going to stand there and be ground under her heel.

“He’s not serious about you,” Lydia’s voice rang strong. It wasn’t a disarming barb but a confident fact.

Sophie gritted her teeth. “He” was the royal He, Emery, Sophie’s beau and Lydia’s long expected husband. Lydia had been sulking in the corners throughout the courtship, circling like a vulture waiting for a wounded rabbit to die. Everyone had expected Lydia and Emery to marry and as Sophie expected, Lydia wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Well, two could play at this game.

“I’m touched by your consideration, Lydia,” Sophie casually inspected a pearlescent fabric.

“Don’t condescend to me,” Lydia snapped. “Emery is just playing you.”

“And why would he do that?” Sophie trailed her finger across the bolt underneath.

Lydia shook her head, “You have absolutely no idea, do you? No, you’ve completely deluded yourself into thinking you could actually be worthy of this.”

Sophie flinched and a smile spread across Lydia’s face.

“Maybe you’re not as ignorant as I thought. You haven’t forgotten who you are. What you are.”

“Forgotten?” Sophie’s voice was hollow, her back firmly to Lydia. “How could I ever forget? Especially when people like you flutter around insisting on reminding me. No. No matter how high I rise, I will never forget what I am.”

Then Sophie turned.

“But I also won’t forget one thing,” Sophie looked Lydia straight in the eye, “who I am. And that will always be better than you, no matter how blue your blood is. Emery sees me for what I am and he likes that about me- loves me for that. That’s why my happy ending is with him and you are left with nothing but tears.”

But it seemed not to chip a flake off Lydia’s cool marble exterior. She just turned toward the door.

“Send Rosamund my regards,” she called back as she exited the shop.

And though Sophie didn’t know why, that sentiment unnerved her.

“Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?”

Emery looked over at her, the stars of the inky midnight sky reflected in his eyes. They sat together on a stone bench in the garden of whomever their host was (Emery had long ago forgotten and long ago stopped caring.)

“If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything,” he grinned. Emilia and Alexander were also somewhere off alone in the garden. If anyone asked, the group was all together doing completely respectable things in the completely respectable – and rather empty – orangery.

Sophie smiled hesitantly. But then she took a deep breath and rested her head on his shoulder. It was taller than she liked and quite boney. Not a comfortable thing to rest on, and she was more concerned with the growing crick in her neck than finding any relaxation in his presence.

I wish Benedict were here.

She shook away the thought, not sure why she had it in the first place.

“I suppose,” Sophie threaded her fingers through his. “But what if we’re caught?”

“What if we were?” Emery said. “I can’t quite imagine that being a bad thing.”

“We would be ruined.”

“No we wouldn’t,” he gave her an odd look that she couldn’t name.

Sophie sighed, “You know, the season will be ending soon.”

“So it will.”

“What do you plan on doing in the off-season?”

He gave her a mysterious smile, “Oh, that completely depends on you.”

“Me?”

“And how this season turns out.”

Sophie blushed. She opened her mouth to say something when she heard it.

Footsteps.

“Someone’s coming,” she panicked. If she was caught alone with Emery, not only would she be ruined, but she would ruin Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, and any other daughter ever born to the Bridgertons. She might even ruin Emilia if she got caught in the crossfire – it wasn’t like Emilia and Alexander were just stargazing in their own set of bushes.

Quickly, Sophie shot to her feet, but before she could stand Emery grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Relax,” Emery’s voice was smooth. “It was probably a squirrel.”

But it wasn’t a squirrel, turning around the corner of the garden path, a very surprised Maria Burberry came to a stop.

“Miss Becket! Mister Harcourt!”

A rather… odd looking Maria Burberry. Her skirts were a little too ruffled and was that a twig in her hair?

Maria’s eyes widen slightly, and a hand reached up, pulling the twig from her coiffure.

“I was just,” she stuttered, “…taking a walk.”

“As were we,” Sophie said as she sensed Emery stand up behind her.

“Well, Ladies,” Emery straightened his cravat, eyes flicking between the pair. “I will leave you be. Good evening, Miss Burberry. Sophie.”

And he left the girls alone, just staring at each other.

Maria and Sophie were at a bit of a standstill. Technically, Maria could very easily ruin Sophie and Emery for being alone together… but in doing so, she would implicate her own self. Questions would be raised about exactly what Maria had been doing to ruffle her skirts and get a stick in her hair in the late night garden?

Sophie’s eyes were looked with Maria. Then slowly, Maria nodded and Sophie released a breath of safety.

“Shall we go back inside?” Sophie suggested.

Maria gestured forward.

They walked in silence for a little while. Then they spoke at the same time.

“It’s not what-”

“Miss Beckett you should-”

They both fell silent. Sophie nodded her head for Maria to continue.

“I was just saying that you should be careful,” Maria said. She looked every bit the beautiful Mediterranean Goddess she was. Even in disarray, Maria Burberry commanded devotion and attention. But the girl was kind and caring; her words were not a threat but a pleading. “If it had been anyone but me-”

“I know,” Sophie said. “I’m very grateful that you-”

“Sophia, I am serious. You need to be more careful. You’re so young. Don’t tie yourself down so firmly so quickly. There’s time for all of this… don’t make your life complicated by devoting yourself to the wrong person.”

Only a few years stood between Sophie and Maria, but Maria carried those two years with their full weight. Sophie didn’t know why, but something in Maria’s eyes spoke of some secret tragedy. Only what, Sophie couldn’t imagine.

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “But Emery is different.”

Maria sighed, “Alright, but just be careful.”

The girls said nothing as they arrived back in the ballroom and went their separate ways. As Sophie being a Bridgerton meant she sided with the Grovners in the Burberry/Grovner feud, she wasn’t allowed to be friendly with Maria. But Sophie had to admit that she would like to get to know Maria more. She could picture Emmy, Maria, and herself all having fun in the drawing room of Bridgerton House, fawning over Emmy’s baby with Alexander Parr.

But that was not how life worked. As Sophie knew all too well, some doors would always be locked no matter how much one wanted that key.

Vincent Grovner summarily appeared back in the ballroom from the terrace, smelling like cigarette smoke. He asked her for the next dance and soon Sophie was swept away among a sea of waltzers.

Halfway through the dance, Sophie spotted Emery with his mother. She frowned, Juliana and Emery were having a hushed argument. But before Sophie could extricate herself from the dance to see what was going on, Juliana stormed off in the direction of the women’s retiring room.

The dance ended on the next refrain and Sophie immediately headed toward Emery, only to be stopped by the Bridgertons.

“There you are,” Edmund said in relief. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Where were you?” Anthony demanded.

Benedict put a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, and when his brother looked, Benedict sternly shook his head at Anthony.

“Nowhere,” Sophie lied. “I just caught a little air in the orangery.”

“Funny,” Anthony said. “Didn’t we check there?”

“No, we didn’t,” Edmund shot Anthony a look to back down.

“Sophie, dear,” Violet said, “you were with Emilia when I last looked. Where is she?”

She looked around and thankfully spotted Alexander and Emilia on opposite ends of the ballroom, having snuck back in at some point during the dance with Vincent.

“Over there,” Sophie casually pointed out Emilia. “Honestly, you all are overreacting. Nothing happened. I just looked at some oranges.”

“Oranges?” Benedict smirked.

“And various assorted fruits,” Sophie shot.

Then suddenly a voice boomed over the crowd, “May I have everyone’s attention?”

In confusion, the five Bridgertons – among with all the other partygoers – turned to see Emery standing on the raised platform where the band was scowling at him for infiltrating their space.

“I would like to make an announcement,” Emery proclaimed.

All the Bridgertons looked at Sophie.

“What did you do?” Anthony shot again.

“Nothing!” Sophie had as little idea what was going on as them.

“As many of you may know,” Emery said, “I lost my father last winter. It has been a heavy burden stepping into his shoes but I hope to say I have taken on his role quite admirably. However, I have been lacking in one thing: a wife to share my burdens and produce my heirs.”

Immediately the crowd started buzzing and eyes flicked over to Sophie.

“Sophie,” Violet very carefully made sure she kept smiling. “Is there something you need to tell us?”

“No!” Sophie gasped. “Violet, please, I swear!”

“Edmund?” Violet asked.

But Edmund shook his head, “I haven’t been able to speak yet to Mister Harcourt about his intentions.”

“Well, I think we’re going to learn them now,” Anthony jerked his head towards Emery, his voice taunt like a bowstring.

Benedict’s heart pounded in his chest. He had the urge to run to the stage and tackle Emery, anything to make this stop from happening.

But Sophie was just confused. She had made it very clear to Emery that she was not looking for marriage this season. She was only 15, she wasn’t ready to be a wife or god forbid a mother.

Was he panicking? Worried that Maria would reveal what had happened in the garden? It was ridiculous, nothing had actually happened in the garden, they had just been alone. Sophie would never actually compromise herself. The last thing in the world she wanted was to bear a bastard who would take on the same pains she had.

“I have searched long and hard,” Emery went on, “and I have finally found the women I intend to call my wife.”

This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be proposing. Sophie didn’t want this. She wanted to enjoy what was left of her childhood and she wanted to be romanced, not forced into engagement. If he asked in front of all these people, she couldn’t possibly say no. The Ton would turn on her as a frigid ungrateful interloper.

“And so,” Emery said, “I would like to make an announcement tonight that I have become engaged.”

Sophie’s heart dropped. No, it was worse than that. He wasn’t proposing, he was just assuming. Declaring that they were going to get married and hope that she made no scandal over objections and-

“My engagement to Miss Lydia Carhartt.”

The ballroom went dead silent.

“…What?” what sounded like Alexander Parr’s voice came from the back of the room.

Every eye turned on Sophie.

She just stood there frozen in shock.

Emery was engaged to Lydia Carhartt?

What was going on?

Slowly, from the front of the crowd came movement, and Lydia Carhartt looking as smug as an Empress, joined Emery on the platform and took his arm. The happy couple beamed out across the stunned room.

Then the whispers started, a buzzing like bees until the volume increased in a crescendo. No one observed propriety, they all gossiped about how poor little bastard Sophie had been so publicly thrown aside.

But Sophie heard none of it. She heard nothing at all, nothing but the ringing in her ears. The world blurred around her and she stood there in stunned silence, unable to process it.

“Sophie? Sophie!” Violet’s voice came from what seemed like another world.

What had happened? They were fine together and now Emery was engaged to another woman? When had that happened? Why had that happened?

All summer they had gone through a picturesque courtship, and now she was left in the dust?

Was it a family matter? Was he being forced to marry his close family friend?

Then she remembered the argument between Juliana and Emery. Had that been about the engagement? Maybe no one was forcing Emery? Maybe Juliana had been on Sophie’s side.

But then that would mean that Emery didn’t want her… Why didn’t he want her?

“Sophie?”

“Soph?”

“Sweetheart?”

“Sophie, Honey?”

Something darker crept in from the shadows. She felt sick to her stomach.

Emery had publicly snubbed her. He had done it in front of the entire Ton, not as an accidental scene but an intentional performance.

He had snubbed her. Publicly shamed and disowned her.

This had consequences more than just embarrassment.

If Emery cast her off after such a serious courtship, it would signify to the Ton that something was wrong with Sophie. No one would ever court her after that and she would be forced to be a spinster for life… all because of Emery.

Emery Harcourt had just ruined her.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Eighteen

Take a Bow

Rihanna

And don't tell me you're sorry cause you're not

Baby when I know you're only sorry you got caught

But you put on quite a show

You really had me going

But now it's time to go

Curtain's finally closing

That was quite a show

Very entertaining

But it's over now

Go on and take a bow

Oh, and the award for the best liar

Goes to you

For making me believe

That you could be

Faithful to me

Let's hear your speech

“Just keep smiling” was the instruction from Violet that guided the Bridgertons to make their escape.

When she reached out for her son’s arm, Anthony jerked it away.

“I must confront him now,” Anthony’s eyes burned black at Emery Harcourt who was now entertaining a small crowd with his fiancée, Lydia.

“You cannot,” Violet said.

“This situation is very clear,” he said.

Benedict just frowned, “What situation? We should be getting Sophie out of here and regrouping.”

Anthony shook his head, “I must issue my challenge to Harcourt straight away.” 

“Challenge?”

“I shall duel Emery Harcourt.”

“Anthony,” Edmund warned. 

“Not this again,” Violet groaned.

“I've been properly trained in the matter,” Anthony said. “I know the rules to follow-”

“You are not to duel with Emery Harcourt. Do you understand me?” Violet snapped. “I do not care what kind of training you think you may have. It is illegal, not to mention positively horrific.”

But Anthony was firm, “Gentlemen are left with no other choice, Mother. When a young woman, let alone one's sister, is dishonored, the consequences shall be deadly!” 

“It is no solution,” Edmund was just as firm. “We don’t understand the circumstances and must not act rashly. Benedict is right, we must take Sophie home and regroup.”

So with fake smiles on their faces and Edmund practically strong-arming Anthony, slowly the Bridgertons made their exit from the party.

It seemed that Emery’s announcement cast a pall on the event, because many other families left in seeming protest. The Sinclairs were first to go, followed immediately by the Parrs, the Grovners, and Lady Danbury’s party.

But there was some mild celebration between the friends of the Carhartts and the Harcourts – even if Juliana Harcourt refused to come out from the women’s retiring room. The Cavenders and the Partridges crowded around Emery and Lydia with jovial toasts.

It was when Guy and Maria Burberry joined the little crowd that the bubble seemed to burst.

“Congratulations, Harcourt!” Guy boomed. “A very good match.”

Emery smiled, “Thank you. I have been-”

He was cut off by a face fall of lemonade.

Sputtering, he wiped away the sticky yellow mess to find Maria standing in front of him with a black glare and empty glass.

“That was for Sophia Beckett.”

And Maria turned on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom.

The second the carriage door opened to reveal Bridgerton House, Sophie sprinted towards her room.

“Sophie!”

“Sophie!”

She heard the family racing behind her, calling her name, but she didn’t break pace. It was all she could do to just run to her room before the tears fell.

Edmund and Anthony were the first to break chase, and Violet was stopped by the nursery from the questions of the younger children as to what was going on. But Benedict never broke stride, he ran after her like his life depended on it.

“Sophie!” he called – a little surprised at how fast she was that night. “Sophie, please wait!”

He was met with a door slammed in his face.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Sophie?” Benedict pounded on her door. “Sophie, come on! Let me in!”

“Go away!” Sophie yelled at him. “Just leave me alone!”

“I’m not leaving you. If I have to stay on the other side of this door all night, I will. I’m here for you.”

But she didn’t open the door. She just sobbed on her bed, clutching her silver and emerald necklace wondering why.

Over the next few hours, knocks would come at the door, and all members of the Bridgerton family – minus too young, Gregory – would come plead at her door to let them in. The one constant was that Benedict never left.

They all fell asleep that night to the muffled sounds of Sophia Beckett’s cries.

And Benedict never left her. He slept against the door and woke to a blanket he recognized from his mother’s room laid over him.

Benedict woke to the door of Sophie’s room smacking him in the head.

“Sophie!” Benedict leapt to his feet.

As if everyone had been waiting for their stage cue, immediately heads popped out from behind the doors of almost every Bridgerton’s room.

Sophie eyes were red and puffy, but her jaw with tight and gaze steely. She looked over to Rose Gibson – who was waiting to dress her mistress – and no one could deny the determination in Sophie’s face.

“Rose?” Sophie said, her voice somehow both strong and fragile. “I want you to dress me in my best receiving clothing. I want to look fantastic when Emery comes crawling through the door to explain what happened.”

Sophie was dressed in a deep green gown that matched the silver and emerald necklace she still wore. It was hard to tell if it was out of some sort of denial that she continued to wear Emery’s necklace, but Benedict suspected that Sophie had her plans.

All the Bridgertons dressed in their finest receiving clothing and waited with Sophie in the receiving room to wait for Emery.

Soon enough, reinforcements arrived. It seemed the entire Ton came to the doorstep of Bridgerton House, but only a few were admitted. To Eloise’s dismay, the Featheringtons were refused entrance, but eventually Violet gave in and allowed Penelope at least to come and entertain the younger children during the day. No one dared to refuse Lady Danbury’s admittance, and Emilia didn’t even wait for her card to be sent to the family before she barged in and took her seat at Sophie’s side (Benedict of course, fixed at the other side.)

A few others were allowed in: Emilia’s father arrived and soon fell into conversation with Edmund about breeding his stallion, Zeus with one of the Sinclair mares. Edmund’s sister, Billie and her husband George made a quick entrance and took up the vigil. The Parrs arrived and Alexander took up as close a seat to Emilia as his mother would let him. To everyone’s surprise, Maria Burberry arrived, and after the Bridgertons learned of the lemonade toss, Maria was graciously accepted. Maria reluctantly took a seat next to Vincent Grovner, and the pair seemed to agree to push off the family rivalry for greater things.

So the crowd waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Only Emery didn’t show.

The next day, the Bridgertons repeated the events of the previous day. They dressed in their finest and waited in the receiving room all day. Worried that the crowd had scared off Emery, Violet refused any guest but Emilia and Penelope to next day.

Still Emery didn’t show.

On the third day, the Bridgerton men decided enough was enough. So Edmund, Anthony, Benedict, and Colin marched over to the Harcourt residence and asked to see Emery.

He was conveniently out.

So they waited for his return.

For hours, they waited in the Harcourt receiving room with only a distant Harcourt cousin – who had made the misfortune of visiting his cousin that week – as their host. Colin put his best talents to work and nearly ate the family out of house and home.

But Emery didn’t show.

Eventually, it came the time where the Bridgertons couldn’t continue to stay in the sitting room without being arrested for trespassing, so they returned home.

Of course, they returned the next day, this time bringing books, drawing supplies, and an entire chess set to entertain themselves as they camped out at the Harcourt residence.

Still, Emery didn’t make an appearance.

On the fifth morning, the Bridgertons were readying themselves to leave for their campout in the Harcourt residence when it was announced they had a visitor.

Juliana Harcourt.

It wasn’t who they wanted to see, but they figured it was better than no one. So the Bridgertons took to the receiving room, gathering around Sophie like a Queen’s court. Benedict was on her right and Violet to the left. The eyes on Juliana were all glares, and no one would have blamed the woman if she changed her mind and made a run for it.

“Well?” Anthony demanded.

Edmund gestured for Anthony to take it down a notch.

Juliana stood before Sophie (half wondering if she should bow) and finally spoke, “Sophie-”

“Miss Beckett,” Violet sharply corrected.

She nodded, “Miss Beckett… I have come to apologize on behalf of my son.”

“Oh, so he sends you to do his dirty work?” Benedict shot.

“Actually,” Juliana reddened slightly, “Emery doesn’t know I’m here.”

That was met with a low hum of discourse.

Edmund gestured for them all to hush.

“Go on,” Edmund commanded.

Juliana took a deep breath, “The Harcourt and the Carhartts have been friends time out of mind. Lydia and Emery have been especially close. I do not know why he chose to court Miss Beckett, but I can understand why he would eventually choose Lydia Carhartt to marry. I’m sorry for the pain and embarrassment we have caused you.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Sophie asked. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I don’t know what more I can say.”

“I have been ruined!” Sophie snapped. “He humiliated me. Your son led me on for months, stretched the bounds of propriety, and then publicly rejected me in front of the entire ton! What he did was cruel and he can’t even be enough of a man to apologize to my face?”

“Miss Beckett-”

“He destroyed my desirability and then refused to take accountability. Who is going to ever marry me now?”

Something in Benedict tightened.

Juliana at least had the respect to seem ashamed, “I don’t know what’s going on, Miss Beckett. As far as I knew, he was courting you with sincerity. This engagement is as much a surprise to me as to you.”

“I don’t think you could quite equate the two,” Benedict said coldly.

Sophie got to her feet, “I did everything right. I danced, I flirted, I changed my attire to what he liked. I let him mock one of my dearest friends and I let him push me beyond my comfort zones.”

That raised a lot of eyebrows.

“And he just… leaves me in the dirt,” Sophie continued. “It’s my reputation that is destroyed for his wrongs. It’s not fair!”

Edmund felt like he was going to be sick. He remembered when his sister Georgiana had been kidnapped by Freddie Oakes how the very same injustices flew from her mouth. But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t do anything about it then and he couldn’t do anything about it now. He was not like the Rokesbys who had served up Nicholas as a sacrificial groom. What was he going to do? Force seventeen-year-old Benedict to marry fifteen-year-old Sophie? Both were too young and it might destroy any chance of the pair realizing their true feelings if they were forced into it.

If Edmund couldn’t think of any way out, no one could blame Juliana Harcourt for the same lack of plans.

“I…” Juliana sighed, “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

Sophie stood and took the steps between them.

“I don’t accept your apology,” she said firmly. “If Emery wants to apologize, he comes here and says it to my face. I want nothing more from him than that. He can take any thought of us together, any reminder, any gift. He can take it all back. Including this.”

She yanked the necklace hard from her neck. Unfortunately, it was a well made piece of jewelry and the clasp did not break causing her a giant pain on the back of her neck. Sophie whimpered for a moment, but then fumbled for the clasp and threw the silver and emerald necklace at Juliana’s feet.

Fumbled as it may have been, the point was made.

Sophie was done with Emery Harcourt.

The only question that remained was why he had done it.

Simon Bassett was greatly upset. He had been living it up in France between terms, enjoying a life of debauchery when he received word that his father was deathly ill.

He raced home eagerly. Over and over, he practiced his final words to his father, the vow that would cut that monster deep. Simon couldn’t wait to put that man in the dirt for the worms to eat.

Then he got home and found that his father had completely recovered and was happy to learn his son raced home to his sick bedside.

He couldn’t get out of Somerset House fast enough.

Simon immediately booked a ticket back out of the country. In fact, it was only needing to kill a few hours that he went to Whites in the first place.

He was just sitting down with a glass of the most expensive drink on the menu – charged to his father’s account of course – when he saw Emery Harcourt and Phillip Cavender sitting in the corner.

Immediately his grip on his glass tightened. Even he had managed to hear of the disgrace of Sophia Beckett the second he stepped foot in England. He had no idea what the Bridgertons had said or done to Harcourt – though judging by his unblemished face, Simon figured they hadn’t done much. Whatever had been done, he felt the need to stand up, march over to the corner, and demand that Harcourt account for his actions to the Earl of Clyvedon.

But when he was only a footstep away and the pair had yet to notice his approach, Simon heard something from them that made his blood run cold.

Anthony Bridgerton was not expecting Simon Basset of all people to pound down the door of Anthony’s bachelor lodgings at two in the morning.

“Basset?” Anthony frowned, waving away his valet. “What are you-”

“Sophie!” Simon gasped, seemingly having just finished a great run. In fact, there was no carriage to be found anywhere. “I heard… about Sophie.”

“Ah,” Anthony leaned against the doorframe. “Yes. That’s been an unfortunate incident. We’re still trying to get answers.”

“No!” Simon gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath. “I heard… about… Oh my God, I can’t breath.”

Anthony ushered his friend in to sit down and drink a glass of water. Finally, Simon’s face turned a little less blue and he could speak.

“Thank you,” Simon said.

“No problem,” Anthony lounged in the chair across from his friend. “Now, what is it? I thought you were out of town? Tell me you didn’t race all the way back because of this Sophie thing. We have it under control.”

Simon stared at his incredulously, “You’re taking it rather well considering what the bastard did.”

“It will blow over soon enough. Not to say I wouldn’t love to get my hands on him right now.”

“Blow over? These types of things don’t blow over.”

“I tried to challenge him to a duel,” Anthony admitted. “I might still. I would ask you to be my second.”

“Anthony, I saw Harcourt tonight,” Simon said. “He was talking to Phillip Cavender about it. I can’t believe a man could be so heartless, and that’s coming from a man with a father like mine.”

“Look, I’m upset about it, but it’s nothing too vile. So he changed his mind about Sophie. Once we know why he did it, we can-”

“You don’t know?”

Anthony paused. There was something in Simon’s eye that he didn’t like.

“What?” he asked. “What do you know? Do you know why he publicly shunned Sophie?”

“Anthony,” Simon spoke slowly, “the entire thing was planned out. He never intended on marrying her; he intentionally ruined her reputation.”

It knocked Anthony back like a blow.

“What? Why would he do that?”

“Because it was a bet from Rosamund Reiling.”

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Nineteen

Everybody’s Fool

Evanescence

Look here she comes now

Bow down and stare in wonder

Oh how we love you

No flaws when you're pretending

But now I know she

Never was and never will be

You don't know how you've betrayed me

And somehow you've got everybody fooled

Without the mask where will you hide

Can't find yourself lost in your lie

I know the truth now

I know who you are

And I don't love you anymore

Two Years Earlier…

“Mister Bridgerton,” Rosamund flounced over to the second Bridgerton son as everyone arrived for the Bridgerton house party.

Benedict stiffened at the sound of her voice.

“Miss Reiling,” Slowly he turned around and gave a very short bow to the blonde. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, please, call me Rosamund, Benedict,” Rosamund chuckled. “Miss Reiling is far too formal for our families.”

The look on his face didn’t seem like he agreed with the notion.

“What can I help you with?” he repeated.

“I was wondering if you might be able to contribute to my dance card at the Ball? Mother is of course allowing Posy and I to attend. After all, if that girl gets to go, it’s only fair we do. I am the elder.”

“I’m afraid I’m not available to escort you to the floor. I have already promised all my dances to other ladies,” Benedict said a bit too smoothly.

“Oh,” Rosamund looked suspicious. “To whom, may I ask?”

“Just some sisters of friends from school,” Benedict tried to wave Rosamund’s query off. “I have quite a few friends who have sisters attending, so we made arrangements to trade dance with sister for dance with sister.”

“But you do not have a sister attending the ball.”

“Well, I have Sophie.” He lifted an eyebrow, “Although I suppose in fact she’s your sister, not mine.”

The air turned to ice.

And with that, Benedict made his excuses and departed. Fuming, Rosamund was left rejected, embarrassed, and worst of all, shown up by that bastard of a stepsister.

Then she got an idea.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Rosamund pulled Phillip Cavender aside. “Might I have a word?”

“And then I told her Well, it seems like there must be something about Aubrey Hall,” Harcourt grinned. “For it seems that even flowers from another soil appear to bloom most magnificently within its earth. And the chit just ate it up.”

Phillip Cavender and Emery Harcourt laughed together in Cavender’s room, sharing a brandy before dinner.

“Can you believe it?” Harcourt rolled his eyes. “A bastard actually making eyes at one of us.”

“That’s why the stepsister wants to bring her down,” Cavender said. “She’s been backed by the Bridgertons and they’ve been letting her get notions above her station. But truly there’s only one thing she’s good for.”

“Ugh. Calm down, Cavender. She’s only thirteen. Wait a few years before trying to bugger her.”

Cavender shrugged.

“So tell me about this bet,” Harcourt requested. “How much the Reiling girl paying you?”

A price was named, and Harcourt gave a low whistle.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “I don’t blame you. Where the hell is she going to get that amount of money?”

“I’m not thinking of where she’s getting the money, I’m only thinking about how I’m going to spend it,” Cavender chuckled.

“Still, that’s an amount you don’t want to mess up. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll make a scene at the ball.”

Harcourt frowned, “That’s it?”

“What?”

“Just one scene? That will be forgotten in a week. No, for a girl that guarded by the Bridgertons, you gotta play the long game.”

“Oh, and how would you play it?”

Harcourt smiled wicked, “You raise the girl up. Romance her. Make her think she’s got a chance. Pull her higher and higher, and right when she thinks she’s reached the precipice… let her go hurtling to the rocks below. The higher the ascent, the longer the fall.”

Cavender rolled his eyes, “You always did like playing with your food. I much prefer a quick meal.”

“Well how about this? You tell your Reiling girl that I’ll help and then when we ruin the bastard, you and I split the money. 30-70 in favor of the man that ruins her.”

It was an offer too tempting not to take.

“Deal.”

So they played their game. Cavender made his move at the ball and got Benedict Bridgerton’s fist in his jaw for the honor. But Emery played his game slow… showed Sophie just enough favor to keep her on the hook.

He paid her pretty compliments, he sent her gifts and flowers, and went on outings. He nearly blundered with her father’s death, waiting until months had gone by to send her flowers, but his own father’s unexpected death proved enough of an explanation to save him. Indeed, he was only too eager to use his father’s death as a way to get closer to Sophie by relating their experiences.

When Lydia Carhartt finally confronted him and demanded to know why he was courting Sophie when they had already agreed years earlier that Emery would marry Lydia, he told her the truth. He was pissed to later learn that Lydia had tried to tip off Sophie at the modiste, but Lydia was cold blooded enough to let the girl be humiliated for daring to go after her man.

Emery knew there was a reason he wanted Lydia to be his wife.

Eventually, Emery got tired of the charade. His mother knew nothing about the bet and actually thought he wanted to marry the bastard. It was when he found her embroidering items for Sophie as her future daughter-in-law that he knew it had to come to an end.

He enjoyed watching Sophie twist and turn to accommodate him. Emery learned that her favorite dress was blue, so he convinced her she looked best in green. That annoying yapping lapdog Sinclair started getting suspicious, so he made Emilia a source of mockery with her annoying fan fluttering. Sophie wanted to talk about their future children – as if he would even sire so much as a bastard on the bitch – so he made sure he knew how little he would regard a girl over a boy.

When he gave her the gift of the necklace, he thought that might ruin her. However, the Bridgertons knew how to save face and the gift became only rumored to be from Emery.

He started sneaking her out into the gardens at parties, but the frigid bitch wouldn’t give him so much as a kiss under the moonlight. Emery thought he finally had gotten her when Maria Burberry found them alone in the garden. He had even pulled Sophie back to him as she tried to escape when they were about to be discovered. But then the Burberry Bitch not only kept her mouth shut but would give Emery a lemonade shower that night.

So Emery Harcourt was left with no choice but to disgrace her by announcing his engagement, and not call her virtue into question as the original plan was.

Of course, facing the repercussions proved quite the headache – his yelling mother, Lydia’s annoyed father for not having discussed the marriage terms before the announcement, and worst of all the Bridgerton men camping out in his receiving room for days.

He didn’t particularly like being chased out of his own home, but he was not about to face the hoard of Bridgertons. He was busy making plans to go stay with the Carhartts in their country home in the lead up to the wedding. If he was lucky, he could avoid the Bridgertons until this all blew over and they saw sense that it was just a bastard he had insulted.

Whites was an obvious place to search him out, so Emery waited until it was far too late at night for respectable Edmund Bridgerton to be out and about. The sons would always follow their father’s lead, so the last thing he expected to see at three in the morning in Whites was Anthony Bridgerton.

He was wrong.

The second that Emery saw the furious eldest Bridgerton son, he leapt to his feet to escape out the back door.

What he didn’t see was Simon Basset coming from said back door until Emery had been gabbed by the collar and slammed up against the wall.

Phillip Cavender tried to flee, but Anthony kicked forward a chair to trip and catch up the man.

Anthony stalked across the club like a tiger. All eyes were on them and no one moved a muscle to help Harcourt and Cavender. In fact, most of the gentlemen watched the scene with a smirk on their face.

When Anthony reached Simon and Emery, Simon set down Harcourt. He barely had a chance to took a breath when a fist smashed against his face. Anthony grinned at the impression of the pinky ring gifted to him by Sophie that rose red on Harcourt’s cheek.

“I challenge you to a duel,” Anthony announced.

If the club was quiet before, it went dead silent at those words.

And then… the laughter came.

Emery Harcourt with a hand to his bruised face just stood there and laughed.

“A duel? Over what?”

Anthony’s eyes blackened, “You have dishonoured and humiliated my sister, and worse, you did it as a bet facilitated by Rosamund Reiling. The Bridgertons will have satisfaction.”

“Your sister?” Emery scoffed. “She’s a bastard that you all keep as a pet.”

Simon grabbed his shirt, “Don’t call her that.”

“I’ll call her what I want,” Emery shot. “I’d call her a whore too except the girl wouldn’t give anything up so she’s just a frigid bitch.”

Anthony and Simon suffered great pain when they both went to punch Harcourt at the same time and their fists clashed together.

Harcourt laughed, but then that was cut short when Anthony grabbed him by the throat.

“We will duel,” Anthony growled. “I will have satisfaction. Basset will be my second. I assume Cavender will be yours considering he also had a part in this bet.”

But Emery shook his head, “I’m not risking my life for some pathetic bastard.”

“Are you refusing to settle this matter like honorable gentlemen?”

“An honorable gentleman doesn’t care one lick about a bastard bitch.”

“Very well.”

Anthony let go of Harcourt’s throat, rolled up his sleeves…

Then Simon and Anthony beat the shit out of Harcourt and Cavender.

It was about six in the morning when Simon Basset brought a bruised and bleeding Anthony to Bridgerton help… not that he was in much better shape himself.

“What happened?” Violet gasped as she and Edmund ran down the stairs, having been roused by the servants. “Oh, Anthony, you look terrible.”

“You should see Harcourt and Cavender,” Anthony grinned, and then coughed wildly, hurting his bruised rib.

They pulled the young men into Edmund’s study and called for the doctor. Edmund poured each boy a glass of brandy and coaxed the story out of them.

Edmund made sure to berate the boys, especially when he heard that the Bridgertons would have to pay Whites for not one but two broken tables.

The boys had turned Whites into a boxing ring for nearly half an hour before they were kicked out onto the street. The quartet then fought for another half hour before the police broke up the fight and sent everyone home. Simon and Anthony had retreated to Anthony’s bachelor lodgings for a few hours, but the pain was too great so they decided to go to Bridgerton House for medical help and refuge.

“You know this is only going to put our reputation lower in the dirt, right?” Edmund shot.

“But Father, you didn’t hear why he did it to Sophie,” Anthony protested.

Edmund shook his head, “It doesn’t matter why he did what he did. We should-”

“It was a bet.”

The words died on Edmund’s tongue.

“W-What?” Violet asked in horror.

Anthony’s eyes were as black as they had been in Whites, “It was a bet. Rosamund Reiling bet Emery Harcourt and Phillip Cavender that one of them could ruin Sophie. He’s been playing her for years.”

Violet and Edmund stared at the boys in utter horror.

Then Edmund set his jaw and crossed to his duelling pistols.

“Edmund Bridgerton! No!” Violet cried.

“I have no choice,” Edmund inspected his weapons. “My daughter has been insulted in the highest of ways. I must demand satisfaction.”

But Anthony shook his head, “We already tried. Harcourt won’t duel for Sophie’s honour. He’s a coward and a cad.”

“Those are one set of words to describe him,” Simon shrugged, then winced because it hurt like hell with his injuries.

Edmund sighed and shut the lid of the pistol case. If Harcourt wouldn’t face him in a duel, there was nothing that could be done. To duel without the consent of the other party was just going up to a man and shooting him. Edmund wouldn’t do that to his family; he couldn’t willingly leave his family to a life without him.

“So, what do we do?” Anthony asked.

Edmund didn’t have an answer.

But Violet did.

“Anthony, were there witnesses when you confronted Harcourt?” she asked.

“Yes?” Anthony frowned in confusion.

“And did you specifically mention that Rosamund Reiling, Phillip Cavender, and Emery Harcourt were involved in a bet?”

“Yes,” Simon caught on to the line of questioning.

"And he confirmed that her virginity had not been tampered with."

"Mother," Anthony pulled a face.

"Yes," Simon said, laughing at his friend's misery.

“Good,” Violet smiled. “I can work with that.”

Anthony frowned, “What are you going to do?”

“What women do best… talk.”

Later that day, every member of the ton received a letter – including the Bridgertons for deniability – anonymously revealing the bet. The Bridgertons acted shocked and blameless. How could they possibly have known about the nefarious plot?

Emery’s own stupid declaration was his undoing. Announcing the bet to witnesses while naming Cavender and Rosamund as accomplices sealed the fate of all three of them. Four if you counted Lydia when Cavender cracked, tried to deflect blame, and implicated her knowledge.

At one point, Emery tried to drag Sophie down with him by revealing that they had been discovered alone together in the garden. However, when pressed, Maria Burberry had no idea what he could possibly be talking about and everyone chalked it up to more of Emery’s lies. Not that the Bridgertons didn’t give Sophie a stern talking to.

Ultimately the bet backfired on the four of them. The Ton was abuzz with the callousness and heartlessness of Emery Harcourt, Phillip Cavender, Lydia Carhartt, and Rosamund Reiling. Rather than having the beautiful wedding of her dreams, Lydia had a rushed, private wedding and no reception. She couldn’t even enjoy her solo day in the sun because Araminta ended up getting her wish of Rosamund marrying her very first season when Emery and Lydia were forced to have a double wedding with Phillip and Rosamund. It was to save what little face was left, and the Cavenders offered the Reilings a lot of money to marry Phillip and ship Phillip and Rosamund off to the country until things blew over.

In a way, it was a bit anti-climatic. There was no grand duel or expertly cunning scheme to restore Sophie’s honour. It was life and life sometimes didn’t give a grand show of karma. The perpetrators were found out, shunned, and Sophie’s reputation was sort of handwaved into a restoration.

But it all ended happily for Sophie Beckett.

Happily… except for the broken heart left behind.

Benedict found her sitting on the swings, idly weaving back and forth as she looked up at the starry night sky.

“What are you doing here, Benedict?” she didn’t turn to look as him. Her voice was the ghost of the confident one he so loved.

"I just thought you'd like some company,” he came and took a seat next her on the other swing.

She raised an eyebrow, “So you didn’t come out here to sneak a cigarette?”

Benedict acted offended, “What? I can’t come comfort my best friend in her hour of need?”

“Vest pockets. Now.”

He turned them out to reveal his cigarettes and matches.

She sighed and nodded for him to go ahead. Benedict made short work of lighting one up.

Sophie just watched in silence as Benedict smoked. He was so great, just sitting there with her, waiting to be whatever she needed him to be.

“Can I-” she hesitated. “Can I try one?”

Benedict looked at her in surprise but shrugged and passed her a cigarette and match.

She lit the fag and brought it to her lips. Sophie breathed it in deep, hoping for the relaxation so many expounded upon.

And spluttered it like her drink with Simon.

“Clearly I’m not meant to be a woman of vice,” Sophie was grateful when Benedict allowed her to stub out the cigarette.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Benedict teased.

Sophie gave a simple laugh but said nothing more.

“…So,” Benedict took another drag from his cigarette, “how are you?”

She shook her head, at a loss for words, “I don’t know. I mean, I know that they’re all punished, and my reputation is back… but I was still humiliated. I was played for two years. How could I not see it? Am I that gullible?”

“No, Harcourt is just that evil,” Benedict said firmly.

“I thought… I thought he loved me.”

Benedict said nothing. He reached out and pulled her swing close to him, wrapping an arm around her waist. He guided her head to rest on his shoulder and he laid his head atop hers. Sophie smiled and fell into the comfort of his arms.

They sat together for a while, not saying anything.

“Thank you,” Sophie finally spoke.

“For what?” Benedict asked.

“For sitting at my door. For not making this into a bigger mess. For always being there for me.”

“Of course. Sophie, I would do anything for you.”

“I know,” she smiled. “And I’m grateful for that.”

Benedict considered his next words, “When you said no one would ever want to marry you, it just broke my heart.”

“I’m a bastard, Benedict. There’s always the very real possibility no one will want to marry me.”

“You have so much to offer. Who wouldn’t want to marry you?”

“You’re sweet,” Sophie brushed a thumb over his cheek. “A liar… but sweet.”

“Alright, how about this?” Benedict straightened, “If you truly are so dismissed and convinced you’ll be left on the shelf, I’ll make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“If you reach five and twenty unmarried, I’ll marry you.”

Sophie froze.

Benedict frowned. Had he gone too far? His words were honest. If she was left on the shelf, he would marry her without a second thought. He didn’t love her like that but he would do that for her and likely have a very happy marriage. Even if it was nothing more than a marriage of convenience, he would give her the world and all the children she ever wanted.

The more he thought about it, the more the image seemed nice. If they were forced to be together maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Then Sophie burst out into giggles.

He scowled at her, “What?”

“You’re not serious,” she couldn’t stop the giggles. “Marry me? Come on, Benedict. I’m a bastard. The most you could ever offer me is to be your mistress.”

“I would rather tear off my own arm and beat myself silly with it than ever stoop to offer you that.”

“An offer from a gentleman, truly.”

They laughed together.

“Come on, Sophie,” he pushed her swing sideways. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

She gave a dramatic sigh, “I suppose if I become truly became desperate, I would consider it.”

“That’s what I am. A desperate woman’s dream come true.”

They laughed together under the stars, forgetting all the heartache of the past few days.

“So…” Benedict eyed her, “do you feel better?”

Sophie sighed, “A little bit. It’s still going to take a while to get over.”

“One day at a time.”

“One day at a time. I just wish I had something to take my mind off things. I just don’t know what I can do.”

But then that night, Sophie got it: the perfect way to take her mind off of things.

Because that night she got the letter telling her that Kate was coming to visit.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty

Love Drunk

BOYS LIKE GIRLS

The day we met was like a hit and run

And I still taste it on my tongue

The sky was burning up like fireworks

You made me want you, oh, so bad it hurt

But girl, in case you haven't heard

I used to be love drunk but now I'm hungover

I'll love you forever

Forever is over

Now that wasn’t to say that Kate was coming to England. Rather she was accompanying her father to do business in Portugal. Originally Kate and her father were going to go to France, a fact complicated by something called the Napoleonic War. Britain and France were battling it out, so it wasn’t exactly the easiest (or safest) thing to take a trip to Paris.

But Portugal was (relatively) fine. So Sophie couldn’t imagine any reason she couldn’t meet Kate in Portugal.

Edmund however, had other ideas.

“Absolutely not,” Edmund Bridgerton didn’t even look up from his newspaper at Sophie’s breakfast table request.

“Please?” Sophie implored. “She’s so close and it’s been so long. I might never get a chance like this again. Please, Edmund. Please!”

“No.” You didn’t have eight children and not learn to resist their begging. “It’s expensive and far. If they want to come to anywhere in England, we would gladly meet them. But not Portugal. I’m sorry but that answer is final.”

“Come on!” Sophie shouted.

At the same time, Colin yelled, “That’s not fair!”

Sophie side-eyed her younger brother, “Why are you upset?”

“Because if you get to go to Portugal, obviously the rest of us get to go.”

“We’re going to Portugal?” Daphne perked up.

“No one is going to Portugal,” Edmund continued to not even look up from his paper.

“I don’t want to go to Portugal,” Francesca pulled a face. “It’s far too hot.”

Edmund sighed, “So I’m just talking to myself then?”

“I agree with you, Father,” Anthony said pompously. “After all, it’s just some girl you knew years ago. Who is to even say that this Kate Sharma is worth the time?”

Sophie stared at Anthony, then threw her toast at him.

“Sophia!” Violet chastised as he fed the fussy young Gregory.

“I would love to go to Portugal,” Benedict said. “I want to see the works of Domingos Sequeira.”

“I would love to see the architecture of Lisbon or Lagos. They’re doing some fascinating things with building these days,” Colin eagerly added.

Eloise scoffed, “Like you actually know anything about the modern architectural pursuits of Portugal.”

The vocabulary of the young girl sometimes astounded Sophie.

“Well, I would love to see the fashion,” Daphne said. “British fashion copies so much from France that it would be nice to see something fresh.”

“You could probably get quite the collection of hand fans for Emilia,” Benedict pointed out to Sophie.

“So I am just screaming into the void,” Edmund muttered and flipped his page.

“Your father is right,” Violet said. “As grand the opportunity is, we just can’t go to Portugal on a whim, especially with so many children. Why don’t you write Kate and ask if they can extend their trip to England? If it’s a matter of funds, I’m sure there’s something we can do about it.”

Sophie shook her head, “They’re on an extremely tight timeline. Even if I could get to Lisbon, we would only be able to see them for two or three days at most.”

“All the more reason not to go,” Edmund said.

“Oh, Edmund, please,” Sophie begged. “You simply have to let me go!”

Turns out he really didn’t have to, a fact Sophie bemoaned to Emilia at tea the next day.

“This is so unfair,” Sophie crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Life isn’t fair,” Emilia simply shrugged. “You of all people I would expect to know that.”

“Real nice throwing my bastardy in my face.”

“I was talking about Emery, you dolt,” the teasing was affectionate. “I still can’t believe it. An actual bet. What shameful actions. How are you holding up?”

Sophie shrugged, “All of my feelings for him have gone straight out the window. However… well, I’m still quite hurt at how far Rosamund and Araminta went.”

“So it was confirmed that Araminta was involved?”

“Not exactly. She wasn’t part of the plan but it’s not hard to guess that she was brought into the fold at some point. …You know, this is going to sound mad, but I feel a little sorry for Rosamund.”

Emilia blinked, “You’re right, that is mad.”

“It’s just being stuck with Cavender,” Sophie explained. “He’s a horrible man. He won’t treat her well.”

“Well, she deserves it.”

Sophie shook her head, “No one deserves to be treated poorly. Besides, he especially doesn’t seem like the type to take no for an answer if his wife declines to welcome him into her bed. Even Rosamund doesn’t deserve that.”

Uncomfortable, Emilia whipped out her fan and started fanning herself, “Did you hear that Epona is confirmed pregnant?”

“Oh yes, I’m so glad,” Sophie said. Epona was the Sinclair mare that Edmund’s horse, Zeus had studded last month. “Edmund says that if the offspring is healthy that he’ll give it to Benedict. I wonder what it’ll look like? Zeus is white but Epona is such a pretty color of bay.”

“Any word on when they’ll get you a horse?”

“No, but I’m sure it will happen one day.” Sophie had to marvel, at one point in her life it was impossible to believe she could afford things like horses and trips to Portugal. Yet here she was. “So you said that the Parrs are going to Austria?”

“Oh, yes. It seems like everyone is deciding to quit London and travel early. The Parrs are going to Austria, the Burberrys to Greece, Lady Danbury is going to Lagos-”

“Wait. What?”

Emilia frowned as her words dawned on her, “I think I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“You want me to take you to Portugal?” Lady Danbury was flabbergast at the nerve of Sophia Beckett. Most people only paid her a call when they wanted something, so she expected a favor when she was informed that Sophia Beckett had arrived at the house. Still… this was more than even the Queen ever asked of her.

…Okay, Charlotte once asked her to commit treason, but that was besides the point.  

“It’s my only chance to see Kate again,” Sophie begged. “An opportunity like this may never come up again. Please, I’ll pay my way. I just need to go.”

Lady Danbury sat there in silence for a long time.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll take you.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“That simple? Just yes?”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No, we’re good!” Sophie said quickly. “I just… wow. I never thought you would actually say yes.”

“Now to be clear,” Lady Danbury tapped her cane on the ground to remind Sophie who was in charge. “You must get Edmund and Violet’s permission. You must have your own way paid. And I completely dictate the trip. If I say we’re only spending a day in Lisbon, there’s no argument. I have business in Lagos and I won’t miss it because you tagged along. Understood?”

“Yes! Oh thank you! Thank you!”

“Also bring some more of your siblings,” Lady Danbury waved her hand lazily. “I’m not interested in entertaining children, so bring a few to distract each other.”

Sophie surprised her with a hug… and Lady Danbury surprised her by hugging her back.

In the end, Edmund and Violet nervously agreed to let their children go with Lady Danbury to Portugal. But not all of them. It was decided that Gregory, Eloise, and Francesca were too young, and Edmund wanted Anthony to stay back to learn how to manage the estates.

It was the only decision of his father’s that Anthony would ever come to truly curse.

It was a shame, but for the quartet of Benedict, Sophie, Daphne, and Colin it seemed like the perfect group. Benedict got to see the art, Daphne would shop the fashion, Colin would tamp down his wanderlust, and Sophie would get to see her beloved pen pal.

It was actually difficult to get a letter to Kate to actually confirm they would meet up. Kate had more so just named a place, time, and date and hope that Sophie would show up. If she did, they would spend three days in Lisbon exploring while Kate’s father tended to his business. Edwina was unfortunately too young to make such a long several month voyage, so Lady Mary had stayed home with her daughter, a point that Lady Danbury expressed disappointment about.

“I really must write to her more often.”

It was clear that Emilia was jealous: not of the traveling but rather for Sophie having another “best friend.” Of course, that just led to Benedict getting jealous that Emilia thought she was Sophie’s beat friend and the pair got in a weird grudge match about it that Sophie wasn’t sure who won.

Of course, Benedict was her actual best friend, but she also preferred not having a scrappy, fan loving brunette claw out her eyes.

The quartet packed eagerly to the jealousy of their other siblings. Eloise threw an absolute tantrum over not being allowed to go, but she was simply too young. Not to mention there was an uncertainty and danger to the trip. If Napoleon invaded Portugal, the group could very well get stuck there as prisoners of war. As much as Lady Danbury was at the thought of suddenly having to raise four of the eight Bridgerton children for who knew how long in a country where none of them spoke the language, it apparently was a risk she was willing to take.

On that note of language, Daphne had decided to learn Portuguese for the trip. She had always had a talent for language and picked it up rather quickly. Colin – ever the adventurer – tried learning too but he didn’t take to it as quickly.

Benedict didn’t even try. He always struggled with languages. His brain had never really grasped the idea of a language other than English. It always had to process what word was said and then translate it to English, which got complicated with languages with different grammar. If there wasn’t a direct one to one translation, he quickly got lost.

When asked, he would always say he preferred the language of art. It was universal and could say so much more.

Anthony would then always say Benedict was a pompous git.

Both were right.

“You know we’ll be there for the festival of St Anthony,” Colin looked up from his book of Portuguese culture. “It’s huge holiday there. There’s competing teams of masked dancers, mass weddings – St Anthony is the patron saint of marriage – more fried sardines than you can imagine, and a giant city wide street party.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Edmund warned. “It will be completely up to Lady Danbury and Mister Sharma what you do, where, and when. You must listen and obey them without complaint. If I hear that any of you were misbehaving, there will be hell to pay.”

The night before they left, Benedict came to visit Sophie in her room.

“Can’t sleep either?” Sophie smiled, sitting on her bed as Benedict quietly closed the door behind him. Technically he wasn’t allowed to be alone in Sophie’s room, but the pair of them never had been one for following such rules.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to Portugal,” Benedict eyed her packed truck ready for tomorrow morning.

Sophie laughed, “I can’t believe I’m actually going to see Kate. It’s been so long.”

“You know, you’ve never told me how you two met,” Benedict sat down next to her. “I know her father was the Earl’s clerk but that doesn’t mean you would run around with his child.”

Sophie shrugged, “It was a few years into my living at Penwood. The Earl had something big going on – I don’t remember what – but it was important enough that the Earl needed Mr. Sharma to stay with us day and night for a week. Kate’s mother had just died and her father had no other caretaker, so the Earl gave Kate a guest room and free reign of the estate.”

Footsteps came from outside and instantly Benedict and Sophie fell silent. If they were caught… well, missing the trip to Portugal would be the kindest punishment they might suffer.

When the coast was clear, Sophie continued.

“It was one of the days I was free from my studies and I was playing in the garden. The butcher was making a delivery and his son had tagged along. Frankie Waites was his name and he is an awful boy. Even Araminta would be repulsed by his personality. He liked to bully me for being a bastard.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Life as a bastard has never been easy,” Sophie said plainly. “He was bullying me that day when this little girl I had never seen before appeared and told him to knock it off or she would box him. Frankie took it as a challenge and just became more unbearable. So Kate proved herself true to her word and walloped him soundly. She was always rather tall and had a got head over Frankie. He ended up running off crying to his father covered in mud. When the Earl heard what happened, he forbade Frankie from our grounds.”

“Hm. But he didn’t switch butchers?”

“Nope,” her tone suggested that the injustice still annoyed her. “But Kate and I were inseparable from that moment. I begged the Earl to have them come live with us, but he refused. It absolutely broke my heart when they left for India.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict said honestly. “You must have been so lonely.”

Sophie shrugged, “I coped.”

“How?”

 Playful she bumped him with her hip, “I met you.”

Benedict chuckled and looked at her.

The world brightened with her smile and his own slid from his face. As he stared at her side by side, he felt some inexplicable draw. It was like a rope was tied around his body, pulling him forward. He wanted to just bend his head down and-

No!

He shook himself from the revere. No, there was nothing there. There couldn’t be. He didn’t even know what he was afraid of, but something in his soul was both craving and terrified. There was something more in the air, the same distance that drew them apart after the mistletoe.

It had been over a year since he thought about it, and Benedict was ready with a shovel to bury it deep down in the earth.

After all, they were Benedict and Sophie. They were best friends and life companions. Purely platonic. There was absolutely nothing more there.

…Wasn’t there?

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-One

Odds Are

Barenaked Ladies

Struck by lightning, sounds pretty frightening

But you know the chances are so small

Stuck by a bee sting, nothing but a B-thing

Better chance you're gonna buy it at the mall

But it's a twenty-three-or-four-to-one

That you can fall in love by the end of this song

So get up, get up

Tell the bookie put a bet on "not a damn thing will go wrong"

The odds are that we will probably be alright

The quartet of Bridgertons absolutely adored their time in Lagos. They spent three weeks there first before stopping in Lisbon for five days. To their surprise, in Lagos they didn’t stay in some grand manor, but rather a (admittedly large) local home that was right in the centre of a busy neighborhood.

Lady Danbury was tied up with her business (which none of the children could figure out exactly what that was) so they were generally left with a contingent of servants headed by Lady Danbury’s trusty Coral. They would at least all meet up most days for dinner, and Lady Danbury surprisingly liked to listen to their stories of the day’s activities.

They filled their days with exploring. They swam in the crystal-clear ocean, and upon seeing some children doing it, played making sculptures made of sand. They took a day boat trip where they saw scores of colorful fish and beautiful cave formations, including one that looked like an elephant.

The markets were lively places that they spent far too much money at. Daphne fell in love with the gorgeous, handcrafted filigree metalwork Portugal was known for. She bought enough to fill two jewellery boxes but favored above all an intricate golden heart necklace.

Sophie, of course bought Emilia five beautiful, handcrafted fans. One the artisan had painted a curly headed man that looked a little too much like Alexander Parr for Sophie to walk away from.

Street artisans were common, and the locals were only too happy to have Benedict sit with them and paint. Some regulars ended up getting so attached to Benedict that they named him their “Amigo do peito” or “friend from the heart.” Well… technically it was literally friend from the chest, but they meant heart. Benedict even had one of the more confident painters offer to introduce Benedict their daughter, who the artisan assured Benedict was a virgin.

Benedict hadn’t asked.

In addition to exploring every single thing Lagos could possibly offer, Colin was far too eager to try the local cuisine. Breakfast regularly consisted of pastries like Bola de Berlim and Rabanadas. The Portuguese Mamães soon became fascinated with how much Colin could put back and competed over who could possibly fill his stomach completely. It was a goal they all failed. Colin fell in love with Pastéis de Nata, a flaky egg custard tart dusted with cinnamon. His Portuguese Mamães were only too happy to share the recipe for him to bring home.

Tea wasn’t really drunk in Portugal, so they all drank something called “coffee” instead. They all had a cup every morning…Except for Daphne.

Their first day there, they all tried coffee and Daphne adored it so much that she decided to drink three cups of it. She was bouncing off the walls and at one point the siblings lost her for an hour. They eventually found her down the street playing with the local children some strange sport that involved kicking a ball into a net (and absolutely destroying her competition) and it was quickly agreed that Daphne wasn’t allowed to drink coffee again.

The local bands entranced all of them, and the quartet liked to sit in the town square eating street food for lunch and listening to the music. After a few days the band invited the children to try playing their guitarras, a stringed instrument with very large, rounded bases. Sophie proved actually quite good at it, and Colin delighted all when he sung a few of the Portuguese folk songs they had learned.

Benedict, Sophie, Colin, and Daphne were so beloved by the locals that one night they were invited to a local wedding. Sophie and Daphne traded in their typical a-line empire gowns for some traditional Portuguese garb with long puffy white sleeves and twirling black and red skirts. Benedict and Colin dressed in what was similar to their fencing garb at home, and all four Bridgertons bought intricately embroidered red sashes to tie around their waists.

They were not invited to the wedding ceremony itself (what with being Protestants in a Catholic country) but did enjoy the reception. For the most part, weddings went very much the same as English ones, but there were a few queer customs like passing around the bride’s shoe to collect money in. The quartet’s favorite custom was how since the bride and groom were younger siblings, any unmarried elder sibling had to do a dance in bare feet.

The dancing was stunning and the audience clapped along to the beat of the musicians. At some point Daphne got pulled onto the dance floor by one of her ball game friends and Colin got pulled on by a large Portuguese Mamãe who had been shoveling food down his gullet all night.

Sophie and Benedict laughed as they watched Daphne and Colin get taught how to do some traditional Portuguese dancing. Sophie tried mirroring the arm movements from her seated position and Benedict watched her in a way that was not unlike the word lovingly. At the start of the next song, Benedict stood and offered his hand to Sophie.

“Shall we?”

The music was lively and there was no one around who would judge. They danced without restraint, spinning, twirling, touching, and laughing without abandon. Benedict and Sophie then pulled Colin and Daphne into joining them. The night was filled with laughter as four English children had the time of their life at a Portuguese wedding.

And at the end of the night, all Benedict could think of was Sophie’s happy face as he spun her around the dance floor without abandon.

“Do we really have to leave?” Daphne whined as they packed to leave Lagos.

“Unfortunately I don’t think your parents would be quite happy if I kidnapped you to Portugal,” Lady Danbury said dryly.

“Yeah, Father has a very strict no kidnapping policy after Aunt Georgie,” Colin teased, packing away his Rooster of Barcelos, a brightly coloured rooster statue he had purchased.

“Now, Miss Beckett,” Lady Danbury turned on Sophie, “you did send that letter to the Sharmas’ accommodations in Lisbon to inform them we are coming?”

Sophie nodded, “They’ll meet us at the Lisbon Cathedral when we arrive on the 11^th. Oh, I can’t wait! As much fun as I’ve had in Lagos, I just can’t wait to see my best female friend.”

Daphne frowned, “I thought I was your best female friend.”

“For your health and safety, Daph, I hope you never say that in front of Emilia Sinclair,” Benedict joked.

“Would you at least come to my funeral?”

“Of course. No doubt.”

For a long time, Benedict Bridgerton knew that Sophia Beckett was his muse. Whenever he needed to draw, he found Sophie appear from the end of his pencil.

So when on the morning of June 11, 1803, Benedict felt the itch to draw as they sailed upon the SS Marina to Lisbon, it was not hard to convince Sophie to stand at the rail of the deck and pose for him. Frankly. Sophie needed the distraction or Benedict feared she was so eager to see Kate that Sophie might jump overboard and swim the rest of the way.

Sophie looked beautiful that day. Benedict had never been shy at describing Sophie as beautiful; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Her beauty was like her spirit, innocent but strong. Others may have called her hair dishwater blonde and eyes moss, but to Benedict her hair was caramel gold and eyes shining peridots.

She stood at the railing, her hair was only half pulled up and garnished by a pink flower. Her dress was the typical English Regency cut, a peachy pink fabric with textured dots. The silver B locket had resumed its home upon her neck, and Sophie doubted it would ever permanently move from there again.

Sophie was looking down at a book. Whenever she posed for Benedict, she would read to him to entertain them both while he sketched.

“The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into confusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true,” Sophie read from The Divine Comedy.

Benedict sighed. His mind couldn’t help but creep to Emery Harcourt and what he had done to Sophie. How could someone be so cruel, particularly to something so perfect?

He would never treat Sophie ill if she was his.

…Wait. Where had that come from?

“Benedict?”

He looked up at Sophie, surprised to see concern on her face, “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” she asked cautiously. “You suddenly got very pale.”

Benedict cleared his throat, “Uh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

What was with him lately?

Suddenly, Daphne and Colin came bolting up to the railing.

“Did you see it?” Colin exclaimed.

“See what?” Benedict frowned.

“Look!”

Off in the distance, the very first sightings of Lisbon laid off in the distance.

“We’re almost there!” Sophie squealed.

Fearful of his previous swimming worry, Benedict debated hooking an arm around her waist to hold Sophie back.

Indeed, Sophie proved rather underfoot as the ship made port and hurried their party and luggage off the ship.

They had just debarked the ship and was coordinating with the servants to gather their luggage when they heard a female shout.

“Sophie!”

She whipped around and her heart stopped dead. Pushing their way through a crowd was an Indian man and his daughter, the girl with a smile plastered on her face and eyes locked on Sophie.

“Kate!” Sophie screamed and raced forward.

The girls shoved their ways through the crowd and met in the middle with a bone crushing hug and squeals loud enough to rupture eardrums.

“Sophie! Sakhi!” Kate beamed. “You made it!”

“Kate, I can’t believe it!” Sophie gripped onto Kate like her life would end if she let go. “You’re really here.”

“We decided to surprise you and meet you at the boat.”

“Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.”

Eventually the girls pulled apart long enough to finally take a look at each other for the first time in seven years.

Kate had grown very tall and very graceful. She had that sort of noble beauty like Lady Danbury and Daphne and less like the goddess like beauty of Maria Burberry. But behind that grace and nobility was strength and confidence. Even at seventeen, Kate was Mistress of her own fate. Kate looked like the kind of woman Anthony would probably end up marrying.

“Excuse me,” a man’s throat cleared. The girls pulled apart to reveal Mahesh Sharma watching the scene with a smile. “But may I greet little Miss Beckett?”

“Mahesh,” Sophie threw her arms around her father’s former clerk. Mahesh had always been kindly to Sophie, sneaking her Indian sweets when Mrs. Gibson hadn’t been looking. He was a little bit greyer and more wrinkled than Sophie remembered, but he still had that kindly face and strength in his eyes. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“As well as you, Miss Beckett,” Mahesh eventually pulled back from the hug. He took in the sight of Sophie, “My, my, you have grown into a right beauty. You look so much like…”

Then Mahesh remembered himself.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. “The Earl was a good man.”

Sophie shifted awkwardly, “He… he did more than what was expected of him.”

“Yes,” Mahesh awkwardly cleared his throat, “the dowries. I-”

“We don’t have to talk about the dowries right now,” Kate slung an arm around Sophie. “Come, Sakhi, let us get reacquainted.”

Sophie led the Indian pair back to where her party was waiting. The friends instantly started chattering like they hadn’t even been parted a single day. In particular they spoke about the new sensation they had discovered since their parting: what it was like being a sister.

“Ah, there they are,” Lady Danbury said as the trio came into view. “Miss Beckett, I see you found our guests. Do try not to run off without us in the future, if you don’t mind?”

She reddened and then introduced the groups, “Everyone, this is Kathani and Mahesh Sharma. Kate and Mr. Sharma, this is Lady Danbury and my adoptive siblings, Benedict, Colin, and Daphne.”

“B, C, and D,” Kate said with a twinkle in her eye. “Where is A and E through G?”

“Too young to come for the later, and too busy with obligation,” Benedict made a mockery of the word, “for A to come. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sharma. Sophie has told us so much about you.”

“And likewise, Mister Bridgerton.”

“All good?”

“Far from it.”

They all laughed, Benedict and Colin taking their cue to greet Kate with hand kisses.

If Sophie was worried that her two sets of friends wouldn’t get along, those fears melted away instantly. Everyone fell into an easy rhythm. Kate fit in with the Bridgertons like a puzzle piece they never knew had been missing.

Mahesh still had his business to attend to, so soon he departed, allowing Kate to accompany the group to their accommodations. Since it was the Feast of St Anthony, the city was too busy to stay somewhere as intimate as in Lagos, so Lady Danbury had made arrangements to stay in the manor of a friend of a friend of a cousin of a friend. It had been too hard to exchange many letters with the Sharmas sailing and then the Bridgertons, so plans were unknown and rushed. Before leaving, Mahesh agreed that Kate could stay with the Bridgertons for the four nights they were there.

When everyone was settled in, Kate and Sophie decided to take a long walk around the garden of the estate and get to know each other again.

“So, be honest,” Kate walked arm in arm with Sophie. Her accent was her comfortable India inflection being around someone she could trust, “How have you been? Is everything alright?”

“For the most part, yes,” Sophie assured. “The Bridgertons are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I have great friends. Even Maria Burberry seems to warming up to me.”

Kate gave a teasing grin, “And how are things with Emery Harcourt?”

Sophie froze, bringing them to an abrupt stop.

“What?” Kate asked.

“Our letters. You wouldn’t have gotten mine yet,” Sophie whispered. “You don’t know?”

Kate frowned, “Know what?”

Sophie sighed and took a step forward. As they walked around the garden, Sophie delicately explained what happened. Tears shone in her eyes as the story came spilling out.

When she was done, Kate’s face was red with anger. She began to mutter something in Hindustani that Sophie couldn’t understand but would put money on being curses.

“I don’t know why I feel so ashamed,” Sophie wiped away her tears. “I just feel like I should have known-”

“Sakhi, no,” Kate pulled her into her arms. “None of this is your fault.”

“I just feel so weak and stupid. He was at fault but I’m the one who is suffering. I was victimized, but somehow I’m supposed to be stronger than that.”

"Being strong doesn't mean never asking for help or admitting you're in pain."

Sophie gave a slight smile, “So how are you doing? I know you’ve always spoken of Lady Mary positively, but… But I know what it’s like to have the whole stepmother thing not work out. Does she treat you well?”

Kate smiled, “Mary… Mary is wonderful. She’s all I’ve ever known as a mother, and she’s never, not even once, made me feel any less her daughter than Edwina is. She’d tucked me into bed at night, told me stories, kissed me, hugged me, helped me through the awkward years between childhood and adulthood. The only thing she has not done was ask me to call her Mother.”

Sophie grinned, “I am happy for you.”

“As I am for you,” Kate squeezed her arm. “You’ve absolutely bloomed under the care of the Bridgertons. They seem like a wonderful family.”

“I wish you could join us.”

“Well, after hearing what that Anthony did for you, I have half a mind to come to England and marry him.”

Sophie had a flash of Anthony and Kate together and had to admit… that might actually be a good match.

She sighed and bent her head against the taller girl’s neck, “I’m so happy you came to visit. You should do it more often.”

“Hey, this is a give and take relationship. When are you making the months long voyage to India?”

“Point taken.”

They talked for hours and hours. When their feet hurt, they went into the library and exchanged small gifts they had brought each other. Sophie had brought Kate a simple little necklace. It was gold with tiny pearls alternating with the chain. The pendant looked a bit like a golden flower with a dark stone in the middle. Kate meanwhile had brought Sophie perfume in a beautiful glass bottle. The perfume smelled of Sophie’s favorite scent: jasmine, but also smelled of Benedict’s favorite scent, sandalwood.

Sophie couldn’t help but think they went well together.

Dinner was boisterous with the Bridgertons and Sharmas together. They regaled each other with their adventures in Portugal and beyond.

The next day, the children went out to explore the marketplaces. Lisbon smelled of nothing but sardines and basil in the lead up to that night’s festivities.

All around them were carts selling little pots of basil, crowned with a single carnation and a small piece of parchment to write a note on.

“Traditionally on St Anthony’s Feast the Portuguese will give these to their loved ones,” Colin explained, having read up extensively on the holiday in anticipation. “St Anthony is the patron saint of marriages. They write little notes of love on the parchment.”

“Oh, look Sophie! More hand fans!” Daphne exclaimed, dragging her sister off.

Benedict chuckled as Colin followed his nose to a cart of fried sardines and caldo verde.

“Your family are quite the people,” Kate smiled. “Sophie is absolutely glowing.”

“I know we’re a bit unconventional, but I’ve never thought actually loving one’s family a mark against one,” Benedict said. “It’s a pity more of us couldn’t come. I would fit right in with the lot of us.”

“Well, I am forever indebted to you for taking care of Sophie. Especially you.”

Benedict shrugged, “It’s Anthony who beat up Harcourt.”

“But you do so much more.” Kate put a hand on his arm, “It doesn’t take much to see how much the two of you love each other. How much all of you love her.”

Something stirred in Benedict’s stomach.

“Like I said,” Benedict tried pushing away the strange feelings, “it’s really Anthony who is that protective older brother. We’re too much friends for me to step into the same role as Anthony.”

“Well, there can only be one Anthony, just as there can only be one Benedict.”

Benedict gave a small smile but shrugged it off.

Kate sighed, “Fine then, if Anthony is the one I am to thank, then thank him I will.”

He frowned as he watched Kate hand over a few coins to the street vendor and picked up one of the little pots.

“What are you doing?” Benedict watched her scribble something on the paper.

“Thanking Anthony,” Kate set down the ink pen. Satisfied, she put the message back in the pot and handed it to Benedict, “Give this to Anthony. A little souvenir for him and thank you gift.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, “A love plant?”

Kate shrugged, “Basil is holy in Indian culture and it’s a high honour to give a gift of basil. Besides, this is part of the St Anthony Festival. It’s only right he get one.”

He couldn’t argue with that and handed it off to the servant carrying their packages.

Kate smiled as she watched the little flower disappear into the mound of packages. It was a pale red carnation that accompanied the basil plant. She picked it because it looked pretty to her.

She didn’t know that in flower language she was about to give a man a flower that meant “My heart aches for you.”

They were busy shopping for all the stereotypical trinkets that the Portuguese knew they could pawn off on the British tourists, when Colin called Sophie over to a stand. The stall was covered in a beautiful assortment of masks, most full face ones, but there were a few demi masks. All were gorgeously adorned and clearly handcrafted.

“I didn’t know the Portuguese made masks,” Sophie said.

The stall owner looked to Colin – who had been conversing with him in Portuguese – for translation. Colin rapidly exchanged words with the stall owner and then translated for Sophie how the Portuguese didn’t really make masks. However, at the celebration of St Anthony’s, groups would dress up in masks and traditional costumes and compete for prizes. It was nothing like Venice’s Carnival, but it wasn’t uncommon to see people on the streets of Lisbon on June 12^th and 13^th wearing masks.

“Come on, Sophie,” Colin urged. “These would be perfect to take home and use for masquerade balls. And look at this one.”

He picked up a silver demi mask and held it up to her face, turning her to a small mirror the cart had.

“Wouldn’t this go good with that old silver dress of your family’s?”

Sophie’s breath caught; she looked exquisite. She thought to her silver dress and couldn’t help but admit that it would match perfectly. In fact, it was almost like the mask had been crafted specifically for her.

“What beautiful masks!” Daphne cooed.

Sophie blinked, suddenly aware that Kate, Daphne, and Benedict had joined them. When she turned to face them, Benedict stopped.

She was beautiful.

Not that she hadn’t always been beautiful, but there was something about that moment when she wore that mask that absolutely knocked Benedict dumb.

When had she become that beautiful?

Her mask’s eye-holes were cut a bit large, and he could see that her eyes widened considerably, then crinkled with amusement. Was he that obvious?

“We’re going to wear masks tonight,” Colin proudly announced. “Then we’re going to bring them home and wear them at masquerades. Come on, Daph. Look at this blue one, it would be perfect for you.”

The group swarmed the stall, Sophie, Colin, Kate, and Daphne holding up masks to inspect and coo over. But Benedict just stood there and stared at Sophie.

What was going on?

That night they dressed up in their outfits and masks and took to the streets. They didn’t have the extensive wardrobes but were able to do well with what they had.

Kate wore purple with a mask that covered two thirds of her face, cutting off at the mouth. Colin’s bronze mask was a full face and looked almost a little creepy, but he managed to find a bronze vest and wore that over the clothing he wore to the wedding. Benedict also wore the wedding garb (including red sash) and wore a black demi mask over his face. Daphne’s mask was the smallest of everyone’s, and the blue mask had a small hummingbird at the corner of each eye. Sophie, unlike Daphne, had worn the wedding clothes, but had managed to find a silver sash to match her mask.

They took to the streets and partied. Bands performed on every corner; dances spun around in epic routines. Impromptu weddings were performed in honour of Saint Anthony. Fried sardines were passed about almost as freely as the wine and sangria.

Lady Danbury would be furious when they came home with a drunk eleven-year-old Daphne. Likewise, Benedict had to step in as older brother to Colin and yank him away when the more than tipsy twelve-year-old boy tried to join in on the jumping bonfires.

Eventually, Kate decided that it was time to take the younger children back to the manor. She told Benedict and Sophie to stay in that particular square and she would return.

Benedict and Sophie were left talking and drinking sangria.

“Careful,” Benedict cautioned as Sophie threw back another glass. “You might want to take it a little easy.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just so tasty,” Sophie frowned at her now empty glass. “Simon’s whiskey didn’t taste anything like this.”

Realizing her words, she gasped. Her eyes flew to the now smirking Benedict.

“Well, well,” Benedict teased. “Basset’s been providing little Sophie with alcohol.”

“Please don’t tell Edmund or Violet. Or worse, Anthony.”

Benedict laughed but said, “Alright, your secret is safe with me.”

The nearby band started up a song that Sophie and Benedict recognized as having been played at the Lagos wedding. The locals had been kind enough to teach them the steps and they could see couples filling up the square as the opening notes rang out.

“Come on,” Sophie pulled Benedict’s arm. “Dance with me.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that spurred them, but they giggled as they raced into the center of the square and joined the couples.

Portuguese dances involved a lot of arms raised up at a 90 degree angle and spinning. Somewhat sloppily, Benedict and Sophie raised their arms and took the somewhat right steps. They stumbled over each other a few times, but Benedict would always catch Sophie and they would just laugh as they clutched onto each other.

Sophie loved the way her skirt would bloom around her when Benedict twirled her. She had to admit that he looked very dashing in his Portuguese garb. It wasn’t exactly unlike his fencing attire, which she had to admit to spying on Benedict, Colin, and Anthony in from time to time.

Benedict thought she looked breathtaking in her black and silver masked outfit. Her hair was loose but covered by a black scarf. She looked so happy and free. They didn’t have to worry about who was watching or how much they were touching. True some of Lady Danbury’s servants were supervising, but they wouldn’t get in trouble for touching and laughing and just being together like that.

The strings of the next song started up and Benedict and Sophie didn’t leave the dancers. They were delighted to find it was a type of circle dance with lots of spinning. Benedict felt a thrill when he had to hold Sophie by the waist as the couples pranced around the circle and felt disappointed when he released her slim waist to spin her out. But when Sophie spun back, she slammed a little too hard against Benedict’s chest.

Sophie laughed as he held her up and Benedict couldn’t stop smiling. She was like the sun bringing light and life to the world. How had he ever managed to live life before she came into his world?

“Benedict! Sophie!” Kate’s voice rang across the crowd.

Benedict broke from his reverie when Sophie waved frantically at her friend. He looked towards Kate, not realising the song was ending. Sophie decided that since the song was over, so would their dance and she would rejoin Kate. Thinking nothing of it, Sophie reached up on her toes to kiss Benedict on the cheek.

Just as the same moment that Benedict turned to look back to her, moving his cheek away and bringing his mouth into the same spot.

Their lips met.

It lasted for only a moment, but to Benedict the world slowed. Sophie’s lips were upon his own. He was kissing Sophie Beckett. Benedict wasn’t sure what to do, but found he couldn’t pull away.

Her lips were soft and perfect against his own. It was like tasting ambrosia, filling a craving he never knew he had.

He didn’t want it to stop.

Benedict was just lifting a hand to cup her cheek and hold her face to his when she pulled back.

She looked absolutely shocked and her ears were red.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped out. “Benedict, I didn’t mean to-”

He held up his hand, “I know. I know. I just… I think I need a moment.”

Sophie frowned, “Are you alright?”

Benedict wanted to answer that he was trying to figure out whether or not he wanted to pull her back into his arms and kiss her all over again.

Instead he said, “Yeah, no. We’re good. I just… I’m surprised.”

About a great many things he was.

Sophie took that as her cue to race back over to Kate, who no doubt had some words of teasing for the accidental kiss.

But Benedict was left just standing on a random street of Lisbon, Portugal, staring at Sophia Beckett and realizing something in his world had just shifted.

That was the moment his heart knew he loved Sophia Beckett.

…if only his head would catch up.

Anthony was surprised when his family returned from Portugal (Sophie absolutely dissolute over leaving Kate again) and Benedict (looking incredibly dazed and a little distance from Sophie) handed him a small pot of basil with a carnation and note sticking out of it.

“It’s from Kate,” Benedict explained. “A small thank you gift from the festival of St Anthony. She wrote a message for you too.”

In flowing script, the little would be love message read:

Thank you for taking care of Sophie. Someday I will find a way to repay you. You truly are a gentleman.

Kathani Sharma

Anthony smiled at the note and made sure to put it away somewhere safe. He didn’t know why, but something deep down told him he would need that note someday.

The carnation he gave to Francesca, who proudly wore it in her hair until it wilted.

As for the basil plant, Anthony ended up putting that in his office. He didn’t give it much thought, but soon found it quite relaxing to tend to the little plant. Anthony didn’t know how to reseed, so he hired a gardener to show him how to collect seeds (and most importantly when the seeds appeared and what they looked like.)

From that original basil plant, he gathered ten seeds. From then on, every year he would plant and cultivate the small basil plant. Too frustrated with anything more than watering and a little clipping, Anthony decided that he wouldn’t collect more seeds.

Then came the year he ran out of basil seeds, and he found he didn’t need to replant the basil plant at all.

It was the year he met Kate.

But that is a story for another time.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dangerous Woman

Ariana Grande

Don't need permission

Made my decision to test my limits

Cause it's my business

God as my witness

Start what I finished

Don't need no hold up

Taking control of this kind of moment

I'm locked and loaded

Completely focused, my mind is open

All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God

Don't you stop, boy

Something about you

Makes me feel like a dangerous woman

Something about, something about

Something about you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't

Emilia was sick about hearing about Portugal. She was sick about hearing about Austria. About Greece. About Prussia. About America. About every place all of her richer friends managed to go vacation to this year, and her (relatively) poor family couldn’t. It just reminded her how much less money her family had. How much smaller her dowry was, and how she couldn’t marry Alexander Parr as a result.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie said as she and Emilia watched the vet examining the mare, Epona with their fathers in the Sinclair horse pen. Sophie and Edmund had come to the Sinclairs to see how their mare was getting along in her pregnancy. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“No one does,” Emilia sighed, leaning her head on her folded arms that were resting on the tall fence of the pen. “I’m sorry too. You know what it’s like to have no dowry either and feel hopeless.”

Sophie chose not to point out that unlike Emilia, there had been a time she literally had no dowry.

“I’m sure you and Alex aren’t hopeless,” Sophie said. “I know how much you two care for each other. Surely Fate has a way forward for the pair of you.”

“Yes, well I hope Fate gets it together soon. Alexander’s father is really starting to push him to consider a wife that isn’t me.”

Joseph Parr was not a heartless man, but he was a practical one. Emilia Sinclair’s dowry was simply too small for their debts. He and his wife had always been friendly to Emilia, but there was simply no way they could sacrifice everything to let her be their daughter-in-law.

Frankly, Sophie suspected that was why Edmund had studded out Zeus to the Sinclairs. Usually it would be the owner of the mare that paid to have the stud come, but rather the Bridgertons were paying the Sinclairs for the foal born from the coupling of Zeus and Epona. That money was very widely known as going to go straight into the dowry of Emilia, but even that amount wouldn’t be enough to turn the favor of the Parrs.

Sophie had heard whispers that Maria Burberry was campaigning to her brother to also stud her brother Guy’s prize-winning stallion, Phoebus with Epona so Maria may had the resulting foal as her own horse. Of course that meant Vincent Grovner wanted to stud his stallion, Hector with Epona and he had even been heard to joke that he would give the foal to Maria before Guy managed to get her a steed.

Of course, horse pregnancies lasted an entire year and Epona was their only mare. Her father’s stallion was too old to stud anymore, her mother’s mare died the previous year, and Emilia bizarrely rode a gelding (named Arthur) of all things. So the Burberry and/or Grovner plan was a bit too slow going to help Emilia’s prospects with Alexander, but at least it was something.

So when Sophie saw the look on the vet’s face as he examined the pregnant Epona, something in her stomach roiled.

“What is it?” the look had not been missed by Edmund Bridgerton either.

The Vet sighed, “Mister Sinclair, Lord Bridgerton, I’m afraid that this horse is pregnant with twins.”

Their faces fell. Anyone who knew anything about horse pregnancies knew that twins was a practical death sentence. It was almost guaranteed that one, if not both, of the foals would die, and the poor mare also ran a very high risk of death herself. For a vet to announce twins was practically a vet announcing it was time to send the horse to the knackers yard.

Edmund let out a prolonged breath, “I’m sorry, Sinclair. It seems that Zeus was a bit too eager. I will of course pay all costs and compensation if the mare or the foals die.”

John gave a weak smile, “That’s very kind, Bridgerton, but that’s asking too much.”

“Of course it isn’t. My steed put you in this situation, it only makes sense I compensate you.”

The men began to argue over the matter. They were extremely polite but it was an argument nonetheless. Sophie and Emilia quickly bored of the scene and sensing they were about to be sent away anyway, chose to take their leave.

“Shall we ride?” Sophie suggested. Violet had long ago given Sophie an open invitation to borrow her horse, Demeter and Sophie had brought her along in anticipation of joining Emilia for a ride.

Emilia agreed to the ride and the girls set out for the stable.

They were giggling about something as they entered the stable when they heard it: moaning. The girls frowned at each other. Sophie opened her mouth to speak but Emilia pressed a finger to her lips and nodded towards the stall on the end where the noise was coming from.

Careful not to make a noise, they crept forward and peeked their heads around the corner.

Sophie gasped.

In the hay of the empty stable a young man and a woman were… well, they were doing something. Sophie recognized the man as one of the stable hands named Ralph, and a kitchen maid named Clara was the woman. Clara was laid back with her skirts pulled up, breasts pulled out from her bodice, head lolling back in pleasure, fingers woven through Ralph’s hair as his head was firmly buried between her legged.

Emilia and Sophie jerked back and looked at each other in giddy shock.

Sophie whispered, “They’re-”

“I know,” Emilia cut her off.

“We should go,” Sophie said. She had never seen anything like this before but she knew vaguely it had to do with what she had heard of sex (not that she ever imagined something like that.)

She moved to get away, but Emilia grabbed her arm.

“No, stay,” Emilia whispered. “Come on, when else are we going to learn about this stuff before our wedding nights? It’s educational.”

“If your mother found out, she would kill us.”

“Then she won’t find out.” Emilia pouted, “Come on, Sophie. Please?”

Sophie sighed knowing there was no talking Emilia out of it, “Okay, but we have to be quiet.”

Carefully they peeked their heads back around the corner. Thankfully the couple was too wrapped up in each other to notice the voyeurs.

Sophie’s heart beat fast. Clara looked so satiated. She was the source of the moaning, pulling her lover’s face against her sex like she was trying to drown him.

She almost couldn’t blame Clara; whatever Ralph was doing, it must feel good based on the noises that she was making. It was a thrilling sight of Ralph’s dark hair between pale thighs.

Then Ralph moved up Clara’s body to kiss her on the mouth. Sophie struggled not to gasp as Clara’s hands went for the ties of Ralph’s trousers. She expertly unlaced him and pulled out his manhood. It was hard, large, and quivering. Clara stroked it a few times and then Ralph pushed her onto her back. A few quick movements and he was inside of her. Clara gripped his shoulders as Ralph rocked his hips back and forth, moving within Clara. The moans increased in volume and their movements became frantic.

Sophie couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed Emilia by the arm and yanked her out of the stable.

“Oh my goodness,” Sophie found it difficult to catch her breath. “I don’t believe it.”

Emilia couldn’t help but giggle, “So that’s what it really looks like.”

Sophie scowled, “What do you mean that’s what it looks like? You’re not supposed to know anything about intercourse.”

“And you are?”

“I’m a bastard. I’m allowed to know how a bastard comes about. How do you know about things like that? Especially when his head was between her legs.”

“It looked so pleasurable,” Emilia cooed. “How I wish Alex would-”

“Emmy!” Sophie snapped. “How do you know?”

Emilia huffed, “Fine. Let me show you.”

“Good Lord, Emilia, this book,” Sophie flipped the pages in shock as she and Emilia huddled in a dark corner of the Sinclair library. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know, I just found it on the shelves,” Emilia grinned at the drawn images of naked lovers entangled in different positions, all accompanied by an explanation of text. “Isn’t it fascinating? I really want to try the picture on page 241.”

Sophie flipped to the page and regretted it.  

“Emmy!” her cheeks flushed red. “I can’t believe you look at things like this.”

“Well, I need the inspiration.”

“For what?”

“When I think about Alexander in bed.”

“Why are you thinking about Alexander in bed with you?”

Emilia frowned, and then realize that Sophie misunderstood, “When I’m alone in bed. You know…Pleasuring myself.”

“Emmy!” Sophie yelped in horror, “It’s not- You can’t- What do you- Emilia Abigail Sinclair, don’t make me tell your mother what you’ve been doing!”

But Emilia just shrugged, “You tell my mother and I’ll tell Violet what you do.”

“I don’t do anything!”

“You don’t?”

“No!”

Emilia blinked, “Why not?”

That took Sophie more aback than anything that day, “What?”

“You should touch yourself,” Emilia said. “You would really enjoy it. Besides, it’s not like you’re doing something with a man out of wedlock, so it’s not a sin if it’s just to yourself.”

 Sophie just stared at her friend, “I can’t even begin to explain what is wrong with what you just said.”

“Oh Sophie, don’t be such a prude. I promise you that you would enjoy it.”

“Emilia listen to me very carefully, I will never defile myself with doing something so crude as touch myself.”

That night was the first time Sophie ever touched herself.

She didn’t intend to, but Emilia’s words and the images of Ralph and Clara consumed her mind. As much as she was loathe to admit it, the images were arousing. It wasn’t like she never felt attraction: her racing pulse, her body get hot and red, the wetness between her legs, and her nipples make an indecent sight against the fabric. She had seen Benedict stare at them before which made the rest of her symptoms increase more.

Sophie wanted to be wanted, and when even someone like Benedict of all people stared at her like that, it made her feel like she was a radiant goddess like Maria Burberry.

But she had never ventured to touch herself, and now with the images of the sight of real live intercourse haunting her mind she was tempted like no other.

Well… it wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone. And Emmy was right, as long as a man wasn’t involved, it wasn’t a sin. In fact it was almost righteous to show such temperance to nip wantonness right at the flower’s bud.

Looking around nervously, Sophie alighted from her bed and locked her door. She wouldn’t put it past her siblings to barge in at the worst possible time.

Settling in bed, she decided to start with her chest. She had accidentally brushed her nipples before and it had felt fairly nice.

She brushed the little bumps on her chest inexpertly. It was nice but as she brushed the fabric there was nothing really particularly pleasurable about it. Then she slid her fingers under the fabric to her bare breasts.

OH!

Oh!

Maybe she was going to like this more than she thought.

“Loose!”

Sophie released her arrow, and it went flying straight into the target where a sketch of Emery Harcourt’s face was pinned.

“Nice shot,” Benedict applauded.

He was off to Eton the next week, so he had decided to spend time with Sophie during her archery practice. Apparently things weren’t weird between them in Sophie’s mind, even though in Benedict’s mind they were very very weird after the kiss.

“Nice drawing,” she knocked another arrow and sent it flying straight into Harcourt’s eye. “Too bad Mother wouldn’t let you do a full body picture. I would shoot in some very interesting places.”

“Yes, if I remember it’s that exact reason she wouldn’t let me.” Benedict watched her carefully, “Your form is good. Did Father teach you like we do it in Eton?”

Her smile fell, “No, actually it was Emery.”

Benedict watched as her entire body seemed to lose the liveliness from it. He suddenly recalled the day he watched her through the window as Harcourt taught her how to get a bullseye.

“Maybe I should stop with the archery,” Sophie said.

“For today?” Benedict asked.

“Forever.”

He frowned.

“It’s just every time I pick up a bow now, all I think is of him. Him teaching me. Him touching me. Him playing me like a puppet. He’s tainted the very sport to me.”

“But you love archery,” Benedict said. “And you’re very good at it. How can I fix this?”

She laughed, “You can’t fix everything, Benedict.”

“But I can fix this.” He looked around as if searching for an answer, “I know, how about we replace the memory.”

Sophie frowned, “How?”

“You tell me what he said and did and we’ll reenact it but with me instead. Now when you think of archery you’ll think of me rewriting this memory and not that- Well… Mother will not let me use that word in front of you.”

The girl stared at Benedict, “You would really do that for me?”

“Sophie, I would do anything for you,” Benedict said earnestly.

She looked at him with those dazzling peridot eyes and that gorgeous smile. Suddenly he was back there all over again, dancing with her in Portugal and kissing her. How her lips had felt so right on his in that moment and how he had the urge to place his upon hers once more.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

It took a moment for Benedict to realize that she didn’t mean kissing again.

“Right, the archery,” he muttered. “So tell me, what did he say?”

“Well, he saw that my problem was my bow hand.”

“And what do he do?”

“He told me: You have too much tension in your bow hand. Relax it and you should hit a lot better.”

A bit theatrically, Benedict repeated, “You have too much tension in your bow hand. Relax it and you should hit a lot better.”

“Then I almost rolled my eyes at him because Anthony had been telling me that for years, which he was right about but don’t ever tell him I asked him: How am I supposed aim with a relaxed hand?”

“What did he say?”

“When you tense your hand you cause little bits of tension in the palm. That results in torque and sight movement. If you relax your hand, you will shoot better. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“When you tense your hand you cause little bits of tension in the palm. That results in torque and sight movement. If you relax your hand, you will shoot better. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Then I tried,” Sophie took another shot but intentionally aimed wide, “and I failed.”

Benedict grinned, loving to see how much her skill had improved that she could intentionally do what she could only make a mistake of before.

“It didn’t work!” Sophie acted out her part. “And he said: Here, let me.”

“Here, let me,” Benedict came up behind her at her gesture.

Sophie’s breath caught as Benedict touched her bow hand and went through the script provided to him. His body was so close, so…warm and strong.

“I want you to tense this hand as much as possible,” she said softly.

“I want you to tense this hand as much as possible,” his finger brushed her hand.

Sophie had to hold back a shiver.

“Now what did you say?”

“I objected: But didn’t you say- and he, no you said Trust me.”

“Trust me,” the words were so earnest. Benedict was not Emery, a snake in the grass. He loved Sophie as friend and family. She could trust him. With her very life even.

“Now, and he breathed in my ear, release all that tension from your fist.”

“Now,” Benedict breathed in her ear, and there was something intentional about his hot breath that made Sophie shudder, “release all that tension from your fist.”

“Let your shot fly.”

“Let your shot fly.”

Sophie did.

It hit the drawing right in the heart.

“Oh Benedict,” Sophie spun around, “I-”

And she stopped dead.

When had he gotten so handsome? Crystal blue eyes under black lashes. The smoothness of his chin and sharpness of his jaw line. That way his smile could look so sweet and so devilish at the same time. He had gained muscle without her notice. And he had grown tall; quite tall.

She had never realized that Benedict Bridgerton had become some lucky bride’s true Prince Charming.

“Sophie? Are you alright?” Benedict asked.

She swallowed thickly and managed out a, “Quite fine, thank you.”

But she was the opposite of fine.

That night in the bath, she touched herself. It had become a frequent occurrence as Sophie discovered her newfound libido. She thought almost constantly of the things she saw that day in the stable and had even managed to steal away Emilia’s forbidden book to read by candlelight at midnight behind locked doors. (She was going to give the book back eventually.)

Sophie played with her clit as she pawed at her breast. Her favorite thing she liked picturing was that thing she saw Ralph do with his head between Clara’s legs. Over and over she would picture a dark head of hair kissing at her cunny, licking her, tasting her, and sliding his tongue into her in wicked configurations.

She was picturing that dark head again as she touched herself. Faster and faster, she played with her clit as she imagined her mystery man’s tongue upon it. But tonight was different, tonight that man’s vague image took better form. Smooth cheeks, a strong jaw, ever so slightly large ears. Somehow, he seemed familiar.

The heat grew in her core, and the water sloshed about her frantically flying hands as she pleasured herself to this familiar man. She wanted to be touched by this man. Tasted by him. Everything that was forbidden from her and everything she never wanted as to prevent a bastard from ever being birthed to her.

But she wanted this man to do it.

Tighter and tighter the cord inside her coiled. She pictured squeezing her pale thighs against the sides of that dark haired head.

Closer and closer; the fire grew stronger forbearing the pleasure to come.

Then that dark head looked up at her.

Staring back was Benedict Bridgerton’s crystal blue eyes.

And biting back a cry, she released.

She panted in the aftermath, confused, and aroused, and confused even more.

Why had she pictured Benedict?

She stared at the walls, willing the universe to send some explanation or sign. But none came.

It was the first time she thought about Benedict while touching herself… but it would not be the last.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Three

Starving

Hailee Steinfeld

You know just what to say, things that scare me

I should just walk away, but I can’t move my feet

The more that I know you, the more that I want to

Something inside me’s changed

I was so much younger yesterday

I didn’t know that I was starving till I tasted you

Don’t need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo

By the way, right away, you do things to my body

I didn’t know that I was starving till I tasted you

Anthony Bridgerton scowled at his brother, Benedict and his sister, Sophie at tea. He felt like he was going insane. There was something strange going on between the two and it seemed like he was the only person on earth who saw it.

They kept looking at each other, but not at the same time. One would stare at the other and then when noticed, quickly looked away. When he asked his mother about it, she would just dismiss it, going back to embroidering another garment for Sophie’s dowry chest.

Strangely they always had the initials SB. Surely his mother shouldn’t embroider things with Sophie’s initials when those were going to change upon marriage?

When Anthony asked his father about Benedict and Sophie acting peculiar, Edmund would just grunt at his son and go back to reading his newspaper.

Honestly, Anthony thought that something must be done about the Sophie and Benedict situation.

…If only he could figure out what was going on.

Sophie flung her head back in ecstasy, splashing the water of her bath behind her. Her fingers were working furiously on her clit as she recalled the images of Benedict in his fencing attire earlier that day.

It was her dirty little secret the way she would touch herself to the thought of Benedict. In her defense, Sophie thought of other men while touching herself – Vincent Grovner, Patrick Huntley, Cássio their handsome tour guide back in Portugal. However, Benedict was head and shoulders above the rest in frequency of her fantasies. Her orgasms were just stronger at the thought of his body on hers.

Sophie supposed it was because of the bond between them, that she felt safe and knew he thought her beautiful. She of course would never tell him that she thrust a finger in and out of her passage at the thought of him during her baths. That she groaned out his name in the middle of the night. That she dreamt of him taking her nipple into his mouth.

She didn’t want anything more than friendship from him. He was just her safe, handsome, trusted friend. There wasn’t anything more to it.

…Was there?

Benedict Bridgerton hated the smell of jasmine and sandalwood. Hated the way it made him think of her and that accidental kiss.

He had been kissed before, that was a given, but the kiss between him and Sophie had been different. It was brief but he couldn’t get the taste of it from his lips.

Don’t get him wrong, he had tried, and it was on that night he tried once more as he entered a brothel with Anthony and were taken into different rooms.

Benedict had picked out a beautiful blonde, and she was very talented. Her lips were luscious, her breasts large and firm, and her hips the perfect thing to grip upon. She knew all the tricks to treat him just right.

He thrust into her frantically, the woman giving just the right kinds of moans and groans one expected from a lady of the night. Benedict lowered a mouth onto her breast and suckled.

It felt wrong; her breasts were too big.

Frowning, he chose to kiss her lips instead.

But they didn’t taste right.

Benedict could feel himself soften. There was just something wrong about this woman. Something his body reacted against.

“My Lord?” the blonde asked encouragingly. “Is there something else you would like to do?”

Decidedly he withdrew from the woman and settled between her legs. If he couldn’t fuck her with his cock, he could do it with his mouth. She moaned and grabbed his head as he began to feast on her quim.

Yes, this felt right. His tongue delving between blonde curls. The sounds his lover made were music to his ears and he loved the way that her legs propped up onto his shoulder.

“Oh, yes, My Lord,” the blonde cooed.

“Does that feel good?” Benedict asked huskily, delving right back into her folds with his tongue.

“Yes, My Lord. Very good. Ooohhh.”

Benedict played with her clit, “Moan for me. I want to hear your pleasure, Sophie.”

Sophie?

It hit him like an electric shock, jolting away from the prostitute who was decidedly not named Sophie.

“My Lord?” the blonde said in confusion.

“I- I- I-” Benedict stuttered in horror.

Sophie? He had been imagining Sophie?

It was wrong. So wrong. She was his friend and here he was face down in the cunt of a prostitute and he was thinking of Sophie.

What was wrong with him?

“My Lord?” the blonde sat up. She pulled her best come hither face, “It’s alright, My Lord. You can call me Sophie if you want to. I can be anyone you want.”

Benedict stared at her in utter horror. This was a line too far.

“I’m sorry,” he scrambled for his clothing, “I can’t… I have to go.”

He threw down his coins, pulled on his clothes, and got the hell out of there.

Eight Months Later…

It had been a long semester at Eton and things had been strained between Benedict and Sophie. The letters had been less frequent, and the contents shorter, more curt. Of course, as they were both tied up in their own embarrassment, they barely noticed the other one acting odd.

They supposed it made sense; they were growing older, and it was only natural that they started to grow apart.

If the other members of the family noticed the distance, it was quickly forgotten in the excitement of the forthcoming births. Not just of Benedict’s two horses (one of which hopefully would survive) but there would be another Bridgerton baby joining the world in the summer.

Already bets were taken on the H names for the baby, Henry and Hannah being the frontrunners. Apparently, Uncle Nicholas (Edmund’s best friend who married his sister and became a doctor) had sent Edmund a very detailed letter on all the ways science had proven to prevent further pregnancy. Edmund had quickly crumpled it up and disregarded it entirely.

It was only a few months before the beginning of the season, but the Bridgertons were all invited to a country house party at the Sinclairs. A select number of the Ton was attending, and the guest list also included youngsters, so Eloise was over the moon to see Penelope again.

Honestly, Sophie questioned how the Sinclairs could afford to host a house party. True, it was ideally to find more reasonable prospects for Emilia to marry and it wasn’t a very large guest list, but Sophie thought the money would be better spent on Emilia’s dowry. Besides, they had even invited the Parrs to the party (Alexander’s mother, Dorothy Parr and Emilia’s mother, Margaret Sinclair were bosom friends) so the point was somewhat moot. Emilia was just going to fawn over Alexander anyway.

It was that money factor that had officially delayed Emilia’s season from age sixteen to now eighteen Sophie had found out. Emilia went to bed sobbing the night she found out because now there was a final timeline of when she was going to be married off away from her true love, Alexander who would be too young to marry. Sophie had been visiting at the announcement (totally not having made up some excuse to see her friend so she could sneak “the book” back into their library) and tried to comfort Emilia by reminding her Sophie’s season would also be when she was eighteen and they would seek suitors together. Worse came to worse they would become spinsters together and get a small cottage somewhere.

For some reason that didn’t seem to comfort Emilia.

On the third day of the house party, champion fencer John Sinclair arranged for the young men to fence each other. The women were of course not invited, but for some reason the library proved to be very popular with the young ladies to take tea and embroider. It had absolutely nothing to do with the giant windows that overlooked the exact spot the men were fencing and they could watch the muscled Adonises at their business.

To prevent a frenzy and to encourage some fun, the young men drew coloured stones out of a bag to see who their partner would be. Benedict winced when Alexander Parr drew the same stone as Anthony – the poor young boy would be a pile of bruises by the end of the day. Benedict drew the same as Patrick Huntley, a decent challenge for his skill level. But the whole party went quiet when it was revealed that Guy Burberry and Vincent Grovner drew the matching stones.

“Oh this will be fun,” Guy chuckled, his usual cronies laughing along.

Benedict – apparently being Vincent’s crony – elbowed his friend, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Why not?” Vincent grinned. “He’s right, this will be fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” Guy said. “Then why don’t we make this more interesting? Put some money on it.”

“Taking money from you with be like taking thirty silver shekels from the Pharisees.”

“Name your price.”

Vincent thought about it, “How about if you win, I give you that whiskey glass set you admire so much?”

Guy perked up at that, “Oh? And if you win? Not that you will.”

He looked the young man right in the eye, “I get Maria’s first dance.”

The field went silent.

Guy looked as red in the face that he seemed ready to throw a punch, “She would never agree-”

“She wouldn’t dishonor the family name by refusing to hold up a proper wager. What do you say? My whiskey set against your sister’s first dance.”

A long silence ensued.

“Deal.”

“Well, they look like they’re about to kill each other,” Sophie said as she and Emilia ogled the fencers with a dozen with girls.

A voice came from next to them, “I don’t know why they would put my brother against Vincent Grovner anyway.”

The girls looked over and were surprised to see Maria Burberry standing next to them.

“Maria,” Sophie nodded. “I didn’t see you there. Your brother is… Well…”

“Trying to murder Vincent with a blunted stick?”

“I would probably put it in nicer words.”

“Hmm.”

An awkward silence followed. Feeling nervous, Emilia flicked out her fan and frantically started fluttering it.

“We heard what you did to Emery Harcourt,” Emilia said. “Thank you for that.”

“Yes,” Maria’s tone was unaffected. “Though I must say the lemonade deserved better.”

The girls laughed.

“Truly,” Sophie reached forward and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

Maria smiled.

A rush of gasps came from the other women and the trio turned their attention back to the fencers, seeing Vincent clearly having won the point. Guy looked like he was about ready to throw fists, but Anthony and a few others quickly separated the pair.

Then Vincent threw a wink towards the library window and many of the women reddened, including Maria, but that was likely out of anger.

“That’s a beautiful fan you have there,” Maria nodded to the fluttering fabric in Emilia’s hands.

“Thank you,” Emilia said. “Sophie got it for me in Portugal.”

“Yes, I heard of your trip with Lady Danbury. Did you enjoy the travel?”

Sophie nodded, “It was very good, although we were visiting my friend, Kate. She lives in India, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet up.”

“Oh, I’ve been to India,” Maria said. “I was very small, but I quite liked it. The food is to die for. The spices, amazing.”

“The food’s too hot for me,” Emilia dismissed.

“I loved it. If you’re ever hosted by us, I’ll have them make something called a curry. I imagine it will be all the rage when it hits England. I think Mama also has some nice hand fans – called Pankha – that you would love.”

“Well, perhaps our families so dine together in London this season,” Emilia said. “All three of ours.”

Maria and Sophie looked at her strangely. The Bridgertons were firmly on the side of Grovner in the Burberry vs Grovner feud. They were literally unable to interact without causing a scandal. The Sinclairs had always obtained a neutral position, never hosting one without the other, so they could get away with having Maria and Guy stay in their home for the country visit. Having dinner together was impossible.

“It’s a pity, you know,” Emilia said to Sophie when Maria had left them. “She would be a wonderful friend. What do the Grovners and Burberrys even fight over?”

“I don’t even think they know?”

It was a recipe for disaster, Sophie being in both the place she had her sexual discovery and having seen a bunch of handsome young men in fencing garb demonstrating their athleticism. She felt her body on fire, her quim so wet, and her heart pounding in her chest.

If only Daphne wasn’t sleeping a foot away.

Originally, being Emilia’s best friend, the Sinclairs offered Sophie one of the only single bed guest rooms they had, but she insisted on rooming with her sister. Now she wished she had accepted the offer.

She wanted to touch herself so badly.

Needing a clear head, Sophie pulled on her nightgown and tied it securely over her sleeping chemise. She tucked on her slippers and crept out the door, closing it carefully behind her not to wake Daphne.

There was a limited number of maids and footmen standing at the ready in the hall if any of the guests required anything. Sophie had a familiar maid, suitably named Patience to accompany her as she wandered the halls to clear her head. Patience suggested they go to the main receiving room that had big beautiful windows and a small collection of art.

To their surprise, Benedict and a footman named Frances were already sitting there, apparently also trying to clear his head.

“Sophie,” he rose to his feet.

“Benedict,” she stared at him.

An awkward silence filled the room.

“How about I arrange for some hot milk and biscuits?” Patience offered.

“That would be lovely,” Sophie nodded.

Patience then shot a look to Frances. It took him a moment to remember that it was improper for Patience to leave Sophie alone with two men when one was only an adoptive brother she was maybe a bit too close with. He bowed and took his leave to arrange the refreshments.

The pair stared at each other and then began to speak.

“Sophie-”

“Benedict-”

They stopped and shared a laugh.

Sophie nodded, “I just wanted to ask, are we alright? I know I’ve been a bit distant-”

“Please, if anyone has been distant, it’s me.” He sighed, “I don’t know. We’re… growing up. I’m off to Cambridge in the fall. I’m turning 18 in June. You’ve been courting. Mother’s having another baby. Everything is just… changing.”

“…Is this about that kiss?”

Benedict was silent and Sophie understood.

He wasn’t the only one to have thought about that kiss. It had been her first kiss, and accident or not, it had been a wonderful kiss. Now when she imagined kissing while she touched herself, she remembered his lips on her. 

And she was content.

“It was an accident,” Benedict said firmly. “You’re my sister and best friend. I’m losing Vincent to Oxford next year. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Sophie stepped forward. “Even if I have to come be your spinster housekeeper, I’ll always be in your life.”

“Oh God, the thought of you in service just makes me want to punch the Hag of Penwood in the face. She was going to force you into it, I guarantee it.”

“Then thank the Earl he left me to Edmund,” Sophie inwardly bristled at the thought of being some possession belonging to the Earl, to be left to people like an antique tea set.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, none other than Edmund Bridgerton suddenly burst into the library.

“Benedict! There you are! Epona is in labor. Her foal will-” He stopped and stared at the unexpected sight of his adoptive daughter. “Sophie? What are you doing here?”

She shrugged, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Edmund carefully looked between the pair, alone in their nightclothes in a dark room. If Patience hadn’t been there-

“Well, fine, you both can come,” Edmund waved it off. It’s not like he didn’t want the kids to end up together. “Epona’s in labor. Your horse will be here. Come to the stables with me.”

The stables proved to be extremely unsexual when your father stood there with you watching a horse to struggle to give birth.

Sophie winced as she saw how the stablehands and the vet manhandled poor Epona. If this was what labor was like, not only did Sophie never want to birth a bastard, she might never want to birth anything at all. Maybe she could find an orphan bastard daughter of an Earl to raise?

Epona whinnied in pain and then there was a wet slap on the ground as a baby horse came into the world.

“What is it?” John Sinclair called out to his men.

“A filly,” a vet called out, checking her over. “Poor thing has barely a heartbeat. Probably won’t survive.”

“Don’t worry, Son,” Edmund patted the horrified looking Benedict’s shoulder. “There’s still one more.”

One of the stablehands took the little filly aside to another stall out of their sight.

“What’s going to happen to the filly?” Sophie asked in a panic.

“She’s likely die,” Edmund explained. “They’ll do what they can, but we sometimes have to let nature take its course.”

Sophie could fell the rain poor, feel the note in her hands, hear the old woman (her grandmother?) in the bushes. Waiting at that door for the Earl to open the door and take her in or leave her to die.

Even at that young age she had known she was likely going to be cast off and left to die.

Sophie raced forward.

“We can’t let it die!” she cried out.

“Sophie!” Edmund yelled.

She threw off her nightgown, surprising the stable hand, who was Ralph of all people, quickly averted his eyes. Sophie saw the shaking little bay filly; she was quite pretty. But that terrible wheezing and she struggled to move.

Sophie dropped to her knees in the muck of the stable and wrapped her nightgown around the filly. Ralph protested and the filly fought against it slightly, but she swaddled the beast best she could.

“Come on, trust me,” Sophie pleaded to the horse. “I’m trying to keep you warm.”

She wiped the mucus from the horse’s face, but still it struggled to breath. Sophie held it close, rubbing at its body to make it warm.

“Do you have any sort of long swab?” she asked Ralph. Sophie had read up on horse birth in anticipation of Epona’s labor with twins and she remembered the importance of removing all of the mucus from their airway.

Ralph seemed reluctant but he went away and returned with a long swab. She reached for it but Ralph gestured for him to do it. Very carefully he inserted the swab into the pretty little filly’s nasal passage and cleaned it. There was nothing in the right nostril, but when they tried the left, Ralph paused.

“What is it?” Sophie paused rubbing the filly.

“There’s something logged in there.” Ralph noticed she had paused, “Keep rubbing. It helps the blood circulate. How’s her pulse?”

Sophie checked and was surprised; it was getting stronger.

Carefully Ralph prodded at the unknown body in the nasial passage, and then it broke loose. A large blood clot probably lodged up the filly’s nose during birth. The filly snorted, clearing the last of the mucus and her tail flicked. She writhed wildly and Sophie let go.

The filly happily got to her feet and began trotting around, seeking her mother’s milk.

“You did it!” Sophie clapped Ralph on the arm.

“No, Miss Sophia,” Ralph grinned, “you did it.”

Happily the pair brought the filly back to Epona who was nursing a beautiful snow white colt. Edmund immediately tore off his coat and threw it around his daughter’s shoulders for modesty. Ralph and Sophie brought the filly to her mother, and she happily trotted over to nurse.

“A twin horse birth,” the vet stared at the family of equine in amazement. “And everyone is just fine.”

“All thanks to Miss Sophia here,” Ralph nudged Sophie.

But Sophie couldn’t tear her eyes from the filly she saved. She was a pretty little thing, bay like her mother but with a white blaze on her face and white fetlock sock. Her mane was black, unlike the colt’s white body and white mane.

“Two beautiful foals,” John said proudly. “I told you Epona was made of strong stuff.”

“Indeed,” Edmund said. “And we’ll pay good coin for both. Providing you’re willing to part with both?”

“I promised a horse to your son, but I think,” John smiled at Sophie, “the filly was meant for that one.”

“I quite agree.”

And that was how Benedict and Sophie became to proud owners of their stallion and mare.

She found him sitting on the dock at the riverside on the Sinclair property.

“I think I found the perfect names for them!”

He jumped a little but looked back and beckoned for her to join him.

“What’s the names?” he asked as she sat down next to him.

“Apollo and Artemis,” she announced proudly.

Benedict smiled, “Brother and sister. Children of Zeus. Goddess of Archery-”

“And God of art and poetry.”

“That’s perfect.”

They sat on the dock, watching the sun rise over the land, the sun glittering upon the water. Sophie bowed her head against his arm, and Benedict bowed his atop hers.

“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” Sophie asked.

He kissed the top of her head, “Yeah… I think we are.”

And they watched the dawn of a new day.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Four

Fake Out

Fall Out Boy

Remember us just like this forever

But this can't last, won't last

So make no plans and none can be broken

No plans and none can be broken

Do you laugh about me whenever I leave?

Or do I just need more therapy?

Love is in the air

I just gotta figure out a window to break out

Buried alive inside my dreams

But it was all a fake-out

And I don't care

I just gotta figure out a window to break out

Buried alive inside my dreams

But it was all a fake-out, fake-out

Dearest Kate,

I cannot believe it has been almost a year since I have seen you. Anthony has replanted his basil plant, and it is absolutely thriving. Perhaps in another life he was meant to be a gardener.

Benedict is returned yesterday from his first year at Cambridge. His letters have been full of adventures, and you can tell he misses Vincent so much.

It’s a little odd though, he’s about to turn eighteen in July and Violet has not presented him with a list of eligible brides like she did Anthony’s official first season. Perhaps she has someone already in mind for Benedict, but I can’t think who.

Artemis and Apollo are growing strong. In another few months they can leave Epona and come home with Benedict and I. Apollo is proving quite the racer and I swear that Artemis is the most intelligent horse I have ever met. It seems like she understands every word I tell her.

I’m glad to hear that your riding lessons are going wonderfully. Truly you and Anthony should ride together some time. I think you would enjoy his company. There are times the two of you remind me so much of each other.

How has the begging your father to get you a dog been? You know, despite your insistence you’ll get some large wolflike figure, I just picture you with some mischievous puffball.

I hope Edwina enjoyed the present I sent her. I just got my birthday present from you and I absolutely adore the earrings though I think Violet would murder me if I ever got a double ear piercing. Can you imagine the scandal? Daphne has already let slip that Mother and Father are getting me my very own tiara for my birthday.

I suppose I should update you on how everyone is doing.

Anthony is in full Viscount learning mode. It’s strange that Edmund insists on Anthony learning at such a young age, but it hadn’t been long after Daphne was born that they lost Viscount Joseph Bridgerton, so it makes sense he would want to prepare Anthony just in case. Not that I could ever imagine a world without Edmund Bridgerton. This family would absolutely fall apart.

Benedict has won a prize at Cambridge, not for his art but actually for a poem he wrote. I blush to mention that he titled it “Sophie” as he was inspired by our friendship when he wrote it. I transcribe it below in full.

Sophie

What is it truly to admire a woman?

To look at her and feel inspiration?

To delight in her beauty so much so that all your defenses crumble,

That you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her.

To honor her being with your deeds and words.

That is what the true poet describes.

I nearly swooned. If only I could now find a man to write poetry about their love for me.

You truly fascinated Colin with your stories of India. He’s going to be quite the little traveler. He actually instead of coming home from his first year at Eton went to visit Aunt Georgie and Uncle Nicholas in Edinburgh for two weeks, and then will be spending two weeks in Bath with Uncle Hugo and Aunt Winnie.

It’s so strange calling all of them Aunt and Uncle, but they’ve so easily accepted me into the family.

Daphne is becoming the perfect little Bridgerton doll. I think she would get along with Edwina if Daphne were not so competitive. She finally won this year’s Pall Mall game, which Colin was furious he missed, and I was furious they made me compete. I truly hate the game. Especially what it turns the Bridgertons into. In one particularly heated moment, Edmund threatened me that if I made the next wicket, he was sending me back to Araminta. Thankfully Violet called a pause to the game and made us take lunch.

Eloise has begun writing letters to her little Featherington friend and I’ve been helping her. I must say that little Penelope is an exquisite writer. Eloise very much enjoys writing letters. I jokingly told her she should write for a husband one day and then she’ll find her perfect match.

She wouldn’t talk to me for three days.

Francesca is as quiet as ever. I really don’t know what to do about her. I suppose that is just how some people are. I imagine her ideal courtship would be a man sitting next to her, saying absolutely nothing at all. May God send us such a man.

Gregory is growing bigger every day. There are times he gets a little confused if Violet is his mother or me, but we don’t mind. I love that snuggly little duckling and I’ve already decided he’s not allowed to get married until everyone else has so I don’t have to give him up to anyone else.

As for little baby H, we are eagerly awaiting the day that-

The letter was torn from her hand.

“Benedict!” Sophie snapped.

They were taking a picnic lunch by the lake, and Sophie was resting against the tree with their initials carved in as she wrote to Kate.

“Come now, I brought you outside for fresh air,” Benedict teased, holding the letter out of her reach. “You can write in dusty old studies any other day. Right now we’re celebrating my return home.”

“Yes, congratulations on you surviving entering a carriage, sitting there for several hours, and then exiting said carriage.”

“I’m taking it you don’t want to see what I drew on said carriage ride?”

“Alright, hand the book over.”

Benedict passed her his sketchbook.

Sophie’s breath was taken away like it was anytime she saw his drawings. It was of her helping Artemis during the birth, holding the filly as preciously as he own baby as she encourage blood circulation.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes it is.”

She looked up to find him staring at her.

Caught, Benedict cleared his throat, “Yes, Artemis is a fine filly. She’ll make a great steed for you.”

“And Apollo for you,” Sophie nodded, ready to move past the awkward moment. “Congratulations on the poetry award. It really is fantastic.”

“What can I say? You inspire me. Always have, always will.”

“So,” Sophie set aside her writing, “what do you want to do this afternoon?”

“Well, it’s unseasonably hot,” he glanced at the lake.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not appropriate!”

“We’re on our private lands,” Benedict said. “We’ll be in our underclothes and after are, we’re best friends. Practically brother and sister.”

Those last words tasted wrong on his lips.

“Come on,” he began to unbutton his shirt, “last one in sits next to Colin at supper.”

Sitting next to Colin was as good a punishment as any. It would be a miracle if he left anything but the barest scrap of food off the serving trays, which is why he had been officially seated at the bottom of the dinner table.

Sophie watched in stunned silence as Benedict stripped off his shirt.

It was wrong of her to stay.

So wrong.

So very, very wrong.

And yet she did not move an inch.

His muscles were perfect as if carved by Michelangelo himself. He had a smooth, hairless chest and perfect arms. She could imagine running her fingertips over each muscle, mapping it and logging it to memory. How would his skin feel? It must be a dream as it was golden under the sunlight. How badly she wished to reach out and just touch-

No, stop, that’s Benedict. Stop thinking of Benedict like that. It was bad enough she would touch herself to the thought of him; she couldn’t start fantasizing about him in the normal day too.

It was no use. She had a dreadfully wicked imagination, and there was no getting around it.

Very well, it was wicked. She was wicked, and she didn’t care.

And so she decided to remain right where she was, stay the course, and see what she saw. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose. So she sat back, tried not to move a muscle, and kept her eyes wide, wide open.

He dropped his shirt to the ground and marvelled over the look on Sophie’s face. There was absolutely no denying she was drinking in his body.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said steadily, trying not to scare her off.

She took a step forward, “To do what?”

“Swimwear,” he nodded to her dress. “You can’t swim in that.”

Sophie knew she shouldn’t, but she found her hands slowly reaching behind herself to unfasten the top layer of dress. It was a grey blue and quite light for the spring air. With a flutter, is fell to a pile at her feet.

Benedict’s breath caught as she stood in front of him in corset and chemise. True, he had seen her in her sleep chemise the night of the foals’ birth, but this was different, more intimate.

He wasn’t supposed to see her in this state of undress. She was his sister for goodness sake!

But she wasn’t his sister. Not really. Sophia Beckett was nearly a grown woman and her body had grown into it. His breath hitched as he saw the rise and fall of the curves of her pale breasts.

“You’re beautiful,” he stared intensely at her, eyes dark.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s not proper.”

And then her face went completely red, because they both knew she hadn’t a leg to stand on with that argument. If she had truly been concerned about decency, she’d have left the pond the second she’d seen him shirtless.

“I suppose there’s only one thing to do then,” he took a step towards her.

“What’s that?” she felt breathless.

Then she was hoisted off her feet and thrown clear into the lake.

“BENEDICT!”

Male laughter filled the air followed by a loud splash as he dove in after her. Immediately they began splashing at each other.

“Oh, you think you can win this battle?” he doused her with lake water.

A tsunami hit him, “Don’t underestimate how spry I am.”

They laughed and splashed and played in the water. The cool water upon the hot day was perfect. It was like they were children again, spending their days in the water together.

Happiness was abound as they swam together, the tension of burgeoning sexuality uncoiled. They were simply Benedict and Sophie again.

It wasn’t until about an hour later when it was time to leave the lake that Sophie saw the problem.

“Um, is there a towel around?” Sophie asked.

Benedict frowned, “No, of course not. Why?”

“It’s just my chemise… well wet is rather transparent.”

A silence fell over them.

“Oh,” Benedict said.

She raised an eyebrow, “Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well,” he looked around. They had stupidly not even brought a picnic blanket. “You could always race for the Pall Mall shed.”

Again, that day she found herself assaying, “You cannot be serious.”

“I’ll follow behind with your dress. It’ll be too hard to put back on with how wet you are now but once you dry off a bit in the shed-”

“I think I can just lie and say that I accidentally fell into the lake.”

“Missing half your dress?” he pointed out. “And what about me?”

“If I get in trouble for this, I am telling Edmund and Violet you did this to me.”

“And I’ll tell them you willingly undressed in front of me.”

Their eyes met, and the challenge was set.

Instantly Sophie began swimming for the shore and her dress.

“Sophie Beckett,” he yelled, “if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing.”

But she swam as fast as she could. If she could just get back to the house first-

“I will catch up with you,” he continued, “because I’m stronger and faster. And I might very well feel compelled to tackle you to the ground, just to be certain you do not escape.”

She reached the shore and pulled herself out. Snatching her dress, Sophie ran for the door of Aubrey Hall.

But Benedict was on her heels. In a manner of seconds he was on her heels, and then he overtook her. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled back. She tripped and they both went tumbling to the ground.

Benedict had one last ace up his sleeve and he tickled her sides. Sophie squealed and kicked as he tickled her. There was no denying the smiles on their faces as they tumbled around in the grass.

Then two very angry voices rang out.

“BENEDICT JOSEPH BRIDGERTON!”

“Sophia Maria Beckett!”

The pair looked up to find an enraged Edmund and Violet.

They were screwed.

The sight of them… wet, improperly clothed, and touching a bit too intimately.

“What on Earth is going on here?” Violet demanded. “Why are you wet and unclothed?”

They scrambled to their feet and grabbed for their clothes discarded on the lawn.

“I’m sorry, Violet,” Sophie frantically pulled on her dress. “We wanted to swim and didn’t have garments-”

“Then you should have gone into the house and put on appropriate wear!” Violet snapped, very aware of the servants around them.

Edmund put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, “I think we should go somewhere more private.”

“What were you thinking?” Edmund asked his son as they arrived in his study – Violet having taken Sophie off to lecture elsewhere. “Do you know how incredibly inappropriate that was?”

“She’s just my sister,” Benedict dismissed.

“She is not your sister. Not by blood and not by anyone’s eyes. As far as I’m concerned, I might as well have found you doing that to Maria Burberry.”

“It’s Sophie!”

Edmund raised an eyebrow, “Yeah… it’s Sophie. That is why you need to be careful. You mean so much to each other. And you’re growing up. You’re not children anymore.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it.”

“Why does it matter?” Benedict scoffed. “We just had some fun on our private grounds. Nobody saw.”

“It matters because it was Sophie.”

“She’s my friend!”

“Is she?”

Benedict was struck dumb.

“What? What do you mean?” he stared at his father.

Edmund sighed; Violet would kill him if she knew he was pushing the issue but maybe it was time.

“She’s a very beautiful young lady,” Edmund said.

“Stop it,” Benedict snapped.

“You two have always been close and now you’re becoming adults.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“What if people think there is?”

“I don’t care. Society can go hang itself.”

Edmund took a deep breath, “Benedict, I want you to be honest with me but even more yourself. You and Sophie have always been close. Maybe it’s time to reflect what that closeness will be like as adults. More? Less?”

“Just friends,” Benedict said firmly.

“And when she has a husband and you have a wife, what will they think of your bond?”

“I won’t marry anyone who will refuse to let me have Sophie in my life.”

“That’s all well and good to say, but what do you want from Sophie? A lifetime is long. The choices you make now will affect you for the rest of your life. I just want you to be honest with what you want.”

“And what do I want?” Benedict challenged.

Edmund sighed and decided it was time, “Do you want to be more than friends with Sophia?”

The notion struck Benedict dumb.

People had made jokes about it before and they had made a joking promise of marriage.

But did he actually want that?

What is it truly to admire a woman?

To look at her and feel inspiration?

To delight in her beauty so much so that all your defenses crumble,

That you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her.

To honor her being with your deeds and words.

Was that something more than friendship?

Knowing when to take a tactical retreat, Edmund dismissed Benedict from his study with a suitable punishment.

That night at dinner, Edmund noticed a strange pensive look on Benedict’s face… especially when he looked at Sophie.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Five

Friends Don’t

Maddie & Tae

They don't almost say "I love you"

When they're downtown somewhere, just a little drunk

They don't talk about the future and put each other in it

And get chills with every accidental touch

Friends don't call you in the middle of the night

Couldn't even tell you why

They just felt like saying hi

Friends don't stand around, playing with their keys

Finding reasons not to leave

Trying to hide their chemistry

Drive a little too slow, take the long way home

Get a little too close

We do, but friends don't

Benedict Bridgerton’s head was absolutely buzzing.

The marriage promise.

The kiss.

The name in bed.

The poem

The undressing.

It didn’t mean anything, did it?

Sophie was his friend.

Just his friend.

But did he want more?

He always preferred blonde lovers.

Was she why?

She was beautiful, there was no denying that.

Beautiful, intelligent, gentle, kind, and loving.

She had so much love to give.

But what kind of love did she give him?

What kind of love did he want?

What kind of love did he have for her?

He had never considered it before.

Loving Sophie Beckett.

Not just as a friend or sister but a lover.

Could he do it?

Could he love her?

Touch her?

Want her?

If he loved her, what did that mean?

Love didn’t mean action.

But he was a man of action.

Or at least he thought he was.

Was he a man of action?

That was a rabbit hole to avoid.

Sophie.

Did he love her?

Of course he did.

He always had loved her since the day they met.

But did he love her?

…Maybe?

He could.

It would be nice.

To love his best friend.

It would be easy.

She could be his everything.

She was his everything.

But did he love her?

He could.

He could love her the way the deserved.

Love her better than she had expected to desire.

He wouldn’t be like Emery Harcourt.

She could stay with his family, her second family.

Anyone else would take her away.

Honestly the family would never forgive him if he didn’t come up with a way to keep her with them.

Emilia would be happy too.

Emilia liked him.

And he liked Emilia.

He wouldn’t make fun of her.

He found her charming.

He was glad of her friendship with Sophie.

In fact, he kind of enjoyed watching the like Pantomime Tragedy occurring between Emilia and Alexander Parr.

Maybe he should do something to help the pair.

Focus.

Sophie.

Did he love her?

What did it mean if he loved her?

She was a bastard’s daughter.

She could be his mistress.

No!

Like she’d ever agree to that.

Like he ever wanted that for her.

Like Mother wouldn’t castrate him if she ever heard he offered.

What so called Gentleman made that offer?

He didn’t want that for her.

Then what did he want?

For her to be his wife?

Could she be his wife?

She’d make a good wife.

For someone.

For him?

Maybe.

She knew how to run a household.

Mother made sure of it.

She was like Anthony: good at management and the books.

The staff always liked her wherever they went.

What kind of home would she want?

Not something in the heart of London.

Maybe a cottage in the country.

She would like that.

He would buy that for her.

He liked the country.

They would be happy there.

But together?

As friends?

As more?

Could she be his wife?

She was beautiful.

Very beautiful.

He needed a beautiful wife.

She needed a few more years to grow.

But so did he.

How beautiful would she be in a few years?

She would make a lovely wife.

And she was a good kisser.

Even if their only kiss had been an accidental mash of lips.

He wanted to kiss her again.

He could kiss her again.

It would be a lovely kiss.

But not a perfect one.

He would teach her how to kiss better.

Kiss more than just his lips.

How to pleasure him.

Learn how to pleasure her.

What did she like?

Where were her sensitive spots?

Was it her neck?

Or maybe her breasts?

He would touch it all.

Taste it all.

Love it all.

She could be his wife in every meaning of the word.

He would show her what a man and woman did in bed.

He would show her over and over again.

He could imagine her round with child.

With his child.

She would be an amazing mother.

Kind but firm.

Loving them like no other could.

Playing with them and teaching them.

After all, she was brilliant.

Their children would be gorgeous.

A boy with her blonde hair and his blue eyes.

A girl with his chestnut hair and her peridot eyes.

Handsome sons.

Beautiful daughters.

All with her smile.

He loved her smile.

He would do anything to make her smile.

That smile is why the birds sung.

Why the sun chose to shine.

The world must have been filled with darkness before her.

Then she was born and in came the light.

It was impossible for this world to be filled with such goodness and her not to be part of it.

She was goodness and kindness and love in its purest form.

She loved him.

But did she love him?

Could she love him?

Benedict thought she could.

She always sought him out.

She trusted him like no other.

And she was attracted to him.

A girl did not look at his body like she had without being a little attracted.

He wondered if she thought about him?

Carnally.

What did she think of his body?

Did she like it? 

Did she want to touch it?

What would it be like to feel her hands upon his body?

Her hands woven through his.

Her hands running over his abs.

Her hand pumping his cock?

Her lips were luscious.

Her hair was amazing.

Her skin was smooth.

Her proportions were perfect.

Her breasts.

God those breasts.

If the glimpse he had of them while swimming was anything to go by, he knew he would enjoy them.

Enjoy suckling them. 

Dragging his tongue over them. 

Kissing them.

Kissing her.

He could lay with her.

It would be no hardship.

He would be happy as the father of her children.

He would be happy as her husband.

He would take care of her.

Protect her.

Adore her.

Could he love her?

He finally had his answer.

Or maybe he had had his answer all along.

Edmund Bridgerton was going over the servants accounts in his study with his wife, when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Edmund commanded.

He and Violet looked curious as Benedict walked in looking like he had been run over with a carriage seven times, but his eyes glinting like he had just unlocked the answers to the universe.

“Mother. Father,” he nodded at them. “I’ve come to a realization.”

They looked at each other in confusion.

“And what is that, Dear?” Violet asked carefully.

Benedict proudly announced, “I am in love with Sophia Beckett.”

A long silence followed.

Then the gardener shouted from the open window, “Well, it’s about time.”

And Violet and Edmund laughed as Benedict turned bright as a tomato.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Six

How Did I Fall In Love With You?

Backstreet Boys

Remember when

We never needed each other

The best of friends

Like sister and brother

We understood

We’d never be alone

Those days are gone

Now I want you so much

The night is long

And I need your touch

Don’t know what to say

Never meant to feel this way

“I am so ready for this baby to be born,” Violet groaned as she took tea in the garden with Sophie.

Sophie laughed and motioned to the housekeeper, “Mrs. Wilson, can you get Lady Bridgerton’s tonic for her?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Mrs. Wilson nodded and left to get the foul potion.

“Oh, why must you torment me with Mrs. Wilson’s concoctions?” Violet groaned.

“We want the baby to grow nice and strong,” Sophie fixed Violet’s pillows for her.

“Rubbish. I’ve had seven strong babies already; I don’t need the monstrosity Mrs. Wilson calls medicine.”

Sophie laughed again and looked up at her mother from her crouched position.

“I admire you so much,” Sophie said.

“Why, because I’ve had seven children?” Violet groaned, trying to find a comfortable position.

“No, because you just have so much love to give to everyone. There’s not one person in the world with your love that you haven’t given utter devotion and attention to.”

“Well,” Violet blushed, “I think my mother might not make that list.”

“It’s Vivian Ledger. She doesn’t count.”

Violet laughed.

“I’m just… so grateful you chose to love me,” Sophie said.

Tears pricked Violet’s eyes and she took her adoptive daughter by the hand, “By far, My Dear, you’ve been the easiest child to love.”

Sophie struggled to fight back her own tears.

“In fact,” Violet decided it was time, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is that?”

“We have decided on what to call this little one.”

“Oh?” Sophie remembered – despite Daphne and Sophie overhearing the decision – that for Gregory’s birth, Edmund and Violet had withheld the name choices until he had been born.

“Yes,” Violet said. “If it’s a boy, it shall be Henry and if a girl, Hyacinth.”

“What lovely names,” Sophie still didn’t quite understand why she was being told this.

“And with your permission, we would like to use the middle names of Hyacinth Sophia or Henry Beckett.”

Sophie was at a loss for words, “You- No- Not truly?”

“You are a member of our family, and the middle names are always for family members.”

She pulled her adoptive mother into a hug. The women laughed and cried and Sophie gave her consent.

“Well, well,” Edmund’s voice made them look up. He stood with Anthony in their hunting clothes. “What’s going on here?”

Sophie wiped her eyes and stood up, “Violet just told me your plans on what to call the baby.”

“Ah, so that secret is out,” Edmund smiled. “I take it that we have your consent.”

“Of course, Edmund,” she let him pull her into a hug.

Anthony frowned at the scene, “What are you naming the baby?”

“You’ll see,” Edmund said. He looked to Sophie, “You know, I think it’s about time we can put aside this Violet and Edmund nonsense.”

“Edmund,” Violet warned. “Only if she’s comfortable.”

“What would I call you instead?” Sophie asked, absolutely puzzled.

“Well,” Edmund looked to Violet, “if you so wish, you may call us Mother and Father.”

Her eyes alit, “Really?”

“Of course. We’ve had you officially for two years at this point and much longer unofficially. We think of you as every bit our daughter as Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca.”

“Alright,” Sophie beamed. “Father. What are you up to today?”

“Anthony and I were just going for a little hunt,” Edmund clapped Anthony’s shoulder. “Help this one with his shooting.”

“Father,” Anthony said in annoyance that he was being embarrassed in front of his sister.

“Oh, don’t you Father me,” Edmund chuckled. “Besides, Colin said he was in the mood for venison tonight.”

“Colin’s in the mood for anything at any time,” Violet rolled her eyes.

Edmund laughed and kissed her on the cheek, “We were going to see if Benedict wanted to come with us. Not that he needs the help shooting.”

“You know, my friend Kate is actually a good shot,” Sophie said.

Anthony laughed, “Of course she is.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow but left it alone.

“Well, send my regards to Benedict,” Sophie said. “He’s been avoiding me rather lately and I don’t know why.”

Violet and Edmund exchanged a look.

Benedict had been obsessing over his declaration since he realized his feelings. Originally the plan had been to paint a splendid portrait of Sophie for her birthday and when it was given to her she would understand its meaning of utter love and devotion and she would fall straight into his arms.

Of course, as Sophie had not been given the script to follow, while she adored the painting, she completely missed its meaning.

Benedict had been pouting for weeks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Edmund said. “Anthony, you stay here.”

Anthony had already taken a seat and helped himself to a biscuit from Sophie’s plate, for which she was giving him the stink eye.

“Oh, My Love,” Violet caught Edmund’s coat sleeve and gestured him to bend down. Then she whispered something in his ear.

“Very good idea,” Edmund smiled. He then kissed her and took his leave.

Benedict was painting when Edmund found him.

“That’s very good,” he nodded to the beginnings of a painting of a man in anguish. “What’s the subject?”

“Broken heartedness,” Benedict didn’t look up from his painted. “The spirit of a man rejected.”

“Ah… and you would know this feeling?”

“How could I not?”

“May I remind you that Sophie has not actually rejected you because you forgot the important part of – I don’t know – confessing your feelings?”

Benedict’s paintbrush paused.

“Yeah, didn’t think that through, huh?” Edmund asked.

“No, I did not,” Benedict admitted.

Edmund chuckled and gestured for his son to come sit on the couch. Benedict nodded and joined his father.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Edmund said, reading his son’s mind perfectly.

Benedict sighed, “What if she rejects me?”

“She might. If love were easy, human would not be so obsessed with it. Your heart come be broken. Your friendship could be ruined. She may take it as a joke-”

“At what point does this speech become encouraging?”

“But it’s worth it,” Edmund continued. “You can’t love without risking your heart. There’s no guarantees with love.”

“Says the man for whom it was so easy.”

“Your mother and I’s story is not over. True, we’ve been married twenty years, but it could end in a second. I could lose your mother in childbirth. There could be a hunting accident. Or maybe some day one of us will grow apart.”

Benedict shook his head, “No. That will never happen.”

“The growing apart?”

“Any of it.”

“Time will only tell.” He clapped his son on the arm, “But I believe in you two. I know that someday you will find your way to each other. And if you want my recommendation, do it soon.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t regret more time you’ve wasted.”

Benedict nodded.

“Take your time,” Edmund said. “Confess when you feel the time is right, but maybe this might help.”

He handed his son a small book. Benedict looked at the title and frowned.

“The Language of Flowers?” he read off.

“Your mother’s idea. You can say a lot using flowers that maybe it’s not proper to say in company. In fact, I think it was the flowers I first sent your mother that really showed her there was meant to be a story between us.”

“What did you send her?”

Edmund gave a private smile, “Blackberry flowers.”

Benedict grinned, knowing the infamous blackberry pie story.

“Now,” Edmund slapped his son on the shoulder, “get dressed. Anthony and I are going hunting and you’re joining us.”

“Actually,” Benedict said, “I think I’m going to stay in and work on my plan.”

Edmund frowned.

“What?” Benedict asked.

“Nothing, it’s just I don’t want you to regret.”

“Regret what?”

“Moments like this. One day I’m not going to be around and you’ll regret passing on time together like this.”

Benedict sighed, “Next time, Father. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Then Edmund left.

Benedict watched him go and then turned his attention back to the flower book. He flipped through the pages, and then stopped.

He had an idea.

“Where are we going?” Sophie laughed as Benedict pulled her by the arm through the main floor of Aubrey Hall.

“You, my dear Sophie, are being my muse today,” Benedict declared.

“Oh? And this is different than any other day how?”

“I’m going to paint an exquisite portrait of you.”

“Again, this is different from the other portraits how? Seriously, I should start charging you every time I sit for you.”

But Benedict just pulled her into a drawing room. It was large with giant windows that overlooked the front garden of the house.

The thing that stunned Sophie was just how many pots of Irises had been brought in.

“What?” she looked around. “What is all this?”

Benedict grinned, “I’m going to call it Sophia Among the Irises.”

“But why Irises?”

“Because they mean wisdom, just like the name Sophia.”

She stared at him in amazement.

“Really?” she whispered, her heart deeply touched.

Benedict stroked back a lock of her hair, “Of course. How could I not?”

She barely had a chance to speak for Rose Gibson and a few other maids whisked Sophie away at that moment for a makeover.

They bathed and pampered her. One maid cut and shaped her nails and painted the beds with a nail oil. Another dressed her hair down, weaving in a hundred little iris blossoms. Rose had somehow come up with an iris purple dress that based on the style must have either been Violet’s or one of Edmund’s sisters’ brought out of storage. Jewelry was borrowed from Violet’s collection, Sophie a little reluctant to switch out her silver B locket for a beautiful necklace of amethysts.

When Sophie was brought back down, Benedict was absolutely stunned.

“You’re an absolute Goddess,” he whispered.

She blushed and allowed him to set her into position among the irises.

It took several hours, but it only felt like minutes for Sophie as she spoke with Benedict non-stop.

He was surprised when she asked him, “Why didn’t you go hunting with Father?”

Benedict blinked at her, “Father?”

Sophie blushed, “He told me today that I could call him Father.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.”

“You have no idea,” Sophie said. “The Earl never let me…”

Benedict didn’t say anything, knowing she needed it all to go unsaid.

“You know sometimes I think about her,” Sophie confessed.

“About who?” Benedict asked.

“My Mother. What happened to her? Why did she risk everything to be with him and then… not? Why did she choose to have me?”

“My understanding is that it’s not easy to take back that decision once it happens. Quite dangerous to try and end things.”

“I’m grateful that she didn’t try… or at least that she didn’t succeed. I just wish I knew what happened to her.”

“I thought she died in childbirth?”

“That’s the assumption but… I don’t. It feels wrong.”

“How so?”

“The story,” Sophie thought hard into her past, “something doesn’t quite add up. I was three. Why did it take so long to be left with the Earl? Who made that decision? Why did they make that decision? What happened between the Earl and my mother?”

Benedict sighed, “I suppose not all love stories have a happy ending.”

“But who’s to say it was even a love story?” Sophie asked. “Maybe she was a woman of the night. Maybe it just happened the once. There just so much I wish I knew.”

“If there was anyway I could help you to find out more, you know I would.”

“I know, and I thank you for that.” Sophie paused, “You know, I wonder if she knows something?”

“What? Araminta?”

“No. Lady Abnegale.”

He stared at her in utter unrecognition.

“She was a friend of the Earl’s sister, and he left her a small salary,” Sophie explained. “I saw her at the funeral and she practically ran at the sight of me. Maybe… maybe she knows something?”

Benedict put down his paintbrush, “I suppose you could write to her. But I think getting lost in these what ifs are dangerous.”

“I just… I wonder what happened.”

“We may never know. We probably will never know.”

“But did he love her? You know his last word was her name, Jewel.”

“That doesn’t sound like a proper name.”

“Maybe it was a nickname,” Sophie shrugged. “But clearly, she meant something… but did that mean I meant anything to him?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Benedict asked sharply. “You know you mean everything to this family. Everything to me.”

She forced a smile, “I appreciate it.”

“I mean it. Sophie… you mean so much to me.”

She looked at him as if waiting for something.

He knew now was the time.

“Ever since I met you, my world changed,” Benedict began. He had only the vaguest speech prepared to lay his heart on the line. In the moment he worried that maybe winging it wasn’t the best plan of action. “I count the beginning of my life from the day I met you.”

“Benedict-”

“Let me speak.” He sighed, “You are the most amazing person I have ever met. So much pain and tragedy in your life and yet you endure. You are strong and brave and confident. You know what you want in life and you strive for it. You never give up. Even when Artemis was suffering, you refused to give her up without a fight and saved her for that.”

Sophie blushed.

“And my family; you fit in like a puzzle piece. You keep a smile on Anthony’s face when he starts to be too serious. You put him in his place when he gets aggressive. You may hate Pall Mall, but you act the perfect referee.”

“Please find someone else to referee. I truly hate what that game does to the lot of you.” She frowned, “Any games really.”

“He play just fine.”

“You and Colin nearly got into a fist fight playing cards yesterday.”

“Everybody knows Aces are high, not low.”

“Benedict, what are you doing?” Sophie pushed him back on track.

“Right,” he nodded, “and the rest of them. You listen to Colin’s stories when no one really cares.”

“In my defense, I really don’t care myself but I know what it’s like to yell and for no one to hear.”

“For Daphne, you’re the perfect sister. Eloise pushes against the grain and Francesca is so quiet. But you? You relate and give Daphne that room to be herself in all the proper perfect lady she enjoys being.”

“I just think there’s nothing wrong with being feminine. It’s not a weakness.”

“And yet you somehow are able to flip and relate to Eloise too so strongly,” Benedict said.

Sophie shrugged, “I know what it’s like to be the black sheep.”

“Francesca, well you just give her the room that she needs, which somehow gives her the comfort to be herself whether that be in all the quiet glory that is.”

“In a family of ten, sometimes you need a little quiet.”

“Gregory is basically your son,” Benedict laughed. “He favors you above anyone else, and not just because you sing the best lullabies of any of us.”

“I just feel so strongly for Gregory. We was born at the time I needed something to utterly love, and a cuddly baby was perfect.”

“And soon there will be another in the family. You’ll be the perfect sister to him or her… and someday you’ll be a fantastic mother.”

She blushed at that, “Benedict, why are you extolling my virtues?”

“Because sometimes I forget just how lucky I am to have you in my life,” Benedict said. “And… I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking?” she frowned.

“Thinking about our friendship. How much I value it… how much it means to me.”

“Benedict-”

“It means absolutely everything to me.”

“As does your friendship,” Sophie said. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I owe you so much.”

“No,” Benedict said. “It is I who owes you. For the life, the love, the laughter. You see me as so much more than Number Two. You so the artist, the clown, the lover, the brother, the friend, the protector, and best of all, the vulnerable. I don’t know when it happened, but you took root deep in my heart. I can’t imagine my future without you in it.”

She blinked the tears in her eyes, “Nor can I imagine my future without you. Benedict, you too have rooted in my heart. You’ve always seen me when others just saw the shadows.”

“You’ve never stood in the shadows. You shine too bright to be obscured by the darkness that tries to smother you. You are sunshine and light and everything good in this world incarnate.”

“Benedict,” she whispered, “what are you saying?”

“Sophie… I need to tell you something.”

“What is that?”

He took a deep breath, “I-”

“HELP US, SOMEONE!”

Instantly their attention was jerked away by Anthony’s scream.

They looked towards the window where the scream had come from the garden. Anthony was on his knees in a panic, clutching onto the struggling body of Edmund.

“Father,” they whispered at the same time.

Without a word exchanged of agreement, Sophie and Benedict raced through the house. Thunderous stomps came from all around as a herd of servants and the other children from every corner of the house rushed towards the garden.

“SOMEONE, PLEASE! HELP!”

Then Sophie and Benedict came into the entrance of Aubrey Hall just as they saw Violet disappear through the doorway.

“HELP!” Anthony screamed again.

Sophie moved forward to go after them, but Benedict pulled her to a stop. He held her tight in his arms, unable to move, unable to think, only frozen in horror as he watched the worst scene of his life unfold.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Violet called out to her firstborn son.

And I’m afraid you already know what happened next.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Please Remember

LeAnne Rimes

Good-bye, there's just no sadder word to say

And it's sad to walk away

With just the memories

Who's to know what might have been

We leave behind a life and time

We'll never know again

Please remember

Please remember

When I was there for you

And you were there for me

And remember please remember me

Edmund Bridgerton was dead.

Sophie’s heart knew it before Edmund even breathed his last.

At some point, she screamed. At some point, Benedict let her go. At some point, she and the children raced forward to the steps, only to stop when they heard Violet scream, “Do not leave me!”

Edmund Bridgerton was dead.

Her father was dead.

For the second time in her mere sixteen years, Sophie had lost a father.

One of the children screamed, and then Sophie realized it had been her.

She fell to her knees, nearly falling down the steps. It was Benedict who caught her. Benedict who held her.

They were all in absolute shock. Eloise refused to believe what was happening. Daphne paced back and forth like if she observed it from another angle, the picture would change. Gregory was wailing in fear and confusion, too young to understand death but scared at the way Violet and Sophie were acting.

Benedict was holding her.

Then Violet was sobbing and clutching the body of Edmund and she yelled at Anthony to go. Sophie rose to her feet, gently feeling Benedict’s arms still around her.

Maybe it wasn’t true? Maybe she had gotten it all wrong?

Anthony staggered his way to his siblings and then said the impossible words.

“Father is dead.”

Sophie couldn’t believe the words that Anthony was telling her.

“What happened?” she screamed as Benedict pulled her into his arms. “What happened?”

“It- It was a bee,” Anthony barely whispered.

The siblings all stared at him in shock.

“A bee doesn’t kill a man!” Colin yelled.

Then Francesca ran back into the house. The movement was the spark to get the stunned staff to act. Mrs. Wilson raced out to Violet while a few of the male servants went for Edmund.

Sophie was shuffled off, at some point someone – she maybe recalled it being Rose or maybe Nelson – shoving Gregory into her arms. She vaguely remembered Benedict carrying the screaming Eloise, who was punching him in the chest.

Francesca was gone and it would be hours before they found her hiding under the pianoforte, sobbing.

When they tried to take Gregory from Sophie, she resisted. She needed this warmth, this little heartbeat. He was her lifeline in that moment. Gregory was practically torn out of Sophie’s arms by the Nursemaid to be put in the Nursery. Sophie tried going after, but Benedict stopped her.

“Let me go!” she yelled.

But he wouldn’t let go, he needed her. Needed to know she was safe, breathing, still had a pulse.

How could Father be dead?

“It’s up to us,” he said. “We have to be strong for them.”

He gestured to the children, all hysterical and fighting. Viol- Mother was beyond hysterical as she wept on the stairs. And Anthony… Anthony was in complete shock.

Sophie looked back at Benedict, tears shining in his eyes and barely holding it together. He had been there for her when the Earl died. It didn’t matter what she felt towards Edmund herself, right now, she needed to return the favor.

“You help Eloise,” Sophie ordered, knowing how close the pair were. “I’ll deal with Daphne.”

Benedict nodded and they headed for their sisters. Eloise fight against Benedict’s hug, but Daphne melted in Sophie’s arms.

“It’s not true,” Daphne sobbed. “It can’t be true!”

“I know my sweet girl,” Sophie held her tight. “I know it’s hard.”

Then everyone fell silent.

Four men had entered, carrying Edmund’s body, covered by a blanket. No one made a sound as the body of their beloved Viscount was carried past and up the stairs to be laid in his rooms.

He was really gone.

And then Violet’s scream came, and that set off the children.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” Sophie tried comforting Daphne. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this my little princess. Come on Daph, why don’t we sing together?”

Daphne shook her head and buried her face further into Sophie bosom.

Sophie looked to Benedict and he gave a slight nod. She took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly,

Lavender’s blue

If you love me, dilly dilly,

I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly dilly,

And the lambs play.

We shall be safe-”

Her words caught. A silence hung in the air as the memory of the body being carried past filled their minds.

Sophie struggled to finish her song.

“Out of harm’s way.”

And she broke into tears, unable to continue on.

Daphne launched herself at Benedict, and Sophie let go. Sophie understood that Daphne needed to feel the comfort of a male Bridgerton right now.

And so did she.

She looked up to see Anthony staring out the door at the garden where Edmund fell. Violet’s cries reverberated through the hall as Anthony’s silence was deafening.

He needed someone.

Carefully, Sophie rose to her feet, wiped back her tears – only for them to be replaced with more – and approached.

“Anthony?”

He turned, shocked at the noise. Sophie just stared at him, then pulled him into a hug.

But he did not cry.

She knew in that moment that something had changed in Anthony. Something had broken and likely could never be fixed.

“Whatever you need,” Sophie whispered in his ear, “I’m right here. Me and Benedict.”

Anthony dumbly nodded.

It seemed that the movement caught the attention of the servants, because in that moment they swarmed.

“My lord?” the Steward, Nelson was the first to approach.

Anthony broke from their hug but as he turned to face Nelson, he kept a firm arm around Sophie’s waist.

She understood; he needed her to be his anchor.

Another cry from Violet ripped through the hall and what shattered pieces of Sophie’s heart were left was pounded to powder.

“My lord,” Nelson repeated, “might we begin with the arrangements?”

Anthony swallowed and nodded.

For a moment, Nelson looked a little strangely at Sophie like he thought this might not be the work of women. Sophie understood and went to move away, but Anthony’s arms locked tighter around her waist and refused to let go.

He nodded at Nelson to continue, making it clear his sister was not to go anywhere.

Nelson sighed, but conceded, “The minister will need to be called, and the casket, of course. One would need to be built.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Randall, Edmund’s (Sophie guessed now former) valet interrupted. “But I have questions about the body. Should I move it from his chambers?”

Nelson continued before Anthony could say anything, “There is also the business of the letters.”

Sophie frowned; couldn’t they give Anthony a moment to breathe?

“The letters?” Anthony asked in confusion.

“To give notice of the death. Not just to the other family, but to the village too.”

The other family. How could they tell the family that Edmund was gone? They hadn’t lost Joseph that long ago, and Hugo wasn’t faring well.

How could they explain any of this?

But there wasn’t more time to think because at that moment Mrs. Wilson approached with her firm attitude and directive to care for Violet above all.

“We should send for the doctor,” Mrs. Wilson said. “She’s still hysterical.”

“Is the baby at risk?” Sophie asked, then noticed how that made Anthony pale.

“I also must ask, my lord,” Nelson said. “Might you already have the keys to your father’s office? We’ve been searching.”

Nelson was starting to get on Sophie’s nerves. Did they really need the damn keys this very minute?

Anthony shook his head.

“With the baby, this cannot be good for her health,” Mrs. Wilson continued to press. “Please, Sophie.”

“Why are you asking Sophie?” Anthony snapped.

Mrs. Wilson stared at him, not sure how to explain that in the moment the servants needed a Mistress of the House to help coordinate things, and with Violet out of commission and Daphne being far too young, the burden would fall on Sophie.

“I’ll have your mother’s things arranged immediately,” Nelson continued, “but I’ll need to know which room you’d like her moved to.”

Anthony frowned, “Why would Mother be moved?”

It turned out Sophie had more of a heart to break.

Nelson tried to give a kindly but firm look, “Because those rooms belong to you, my lord. You are the viscount now.”

It was like the words had finally struck Anthony to his core.

He was the Viscount Anthony Edmund Bridgerton. Violet was now the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was time to step into his father’s place.

At only the age of nineteen.

He was still a boy, but now he needed to be a man.

Anthony nodded, tears slipping from his eyes and the servants backed off.

“What… What do I do?” Anthony asked Sophie as if somehow she had the answer.

Sophie looked towards Violet, “You call for the doctor and make sure Mother is okay.”

His eyes watered, “He asked you to call him Father today.”

Tears shaking in her eyes, Sophie said, “Yes… he did.”

Anthony just nodded, then went for Nelson to give the commands needed from the Viscount Bridgerton.

Sophie left alone approached Benedict, who was pressing Eloise, Colin, and Daphne into some squished cuddle sandwich.

“You take care of them,” Sophie pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Benedict opened him mouth to say something, but Sophie dashed off before anyone could stop her.

She raced to Violet’s office where she wrote her letters, and immediately Sophie pulled out envelopes and paper and scrawled the same hasty note.

Sophia Beckett

Aubrey Hall

May 3, 1804

~

Emergency.

Edmund Bridgerton is dead. He was stung by a bee, his throat swelled shut, and died in Violet’s arms.

Please come immediately.

She didn’t bother with addresses; the servants could figure them out. Instead, she just wrote out the names of the people Aubrey Hall needed most in that moment.

Nicholas Rokesby

George Rokesby

Winnifred Bridgerton

Charles Ledger

Agatha Danbury

Uncle Hugo, Aunt Billie, Aunt Georgie, and Grandmother Alexandra would have to have their spouses (and likely son-in-law, George in Grandmother Alexandra’s case) tell them of the loss in person.

True, official letters would be sent, but Sophie needed a Hail Mary and needed the ranks to descend.

Next she quickly wrote another batch of letters. It was a quick explanation of what happened to their friends so that they wouldn’t hear the news whispered on some street corner or in a gossip sheet.

Emilia Sinclair and the Sinclair Family

Alexander Parr and the Parr Family

Vincent Grovner and the Grovner Family

Penelope Featherington and the Featherington Family

Simon Bassett

Kathani Sharma

She paused; did Francesca, Colin, or Daphne have any friends that she didn’t know about? No. None at least that needed a heads up. The Bridgerton family was quite insular. It was a miracle that they let Sophie have Emmy as a friend.

It was about that time that Rose Gibson found her, and with no preamble, she ordered, “Post these all as quickly as possible.”

Rose jumped to the command immediately.

The Bridgertons were alone in their grief… but they wouldn’t be much longer.

The cavalry was coming.

Sophie didn’t like being Lady of the House; at least not right now. The servants asked her so many questions as if she somehow was supposed to know the answer.

“Should we take measurements of all the family for mourning clothing?”

“What should we do about supper?”

“Is Lady Bridgerton and the baby going to be alright?”

“Where else should we search for Miss Francesca?”

“Should we go into mourning attire? If so, is there uniforms already prepared?”

Sophie could feel solace in knowing that Anthony was facing the same barrage of questions.

“When should we set the funeral?”

“What should be done about Viscount Edmund’s horse, Zeus?”

“Do you know the name of his solicitor that has his will?”

“What would you like about Dowager Alexandra Bridgerton’s lodgings?”

“Will you be returning to Oxford in the Fall?”

No one could blame Anthony when he finally broke into his father’s – or rather his now – liquor cabinet.

Dinner was a light buffet that no one but Colin touched.

The crying was non-stop. Just when one thought they were out of tears, a new reminder or realization would set you off.

Daphne realized that Edmund would never walk her down the aisle.

Francesca realized that he would never hear the completed version of the composition she had been working on for months.

Colin realized he would never be sent off to university like the trip Edmund had taken with Benedict and Anthony.

Eloise realized that he would never play Pall Mall with them again.

Benedict realized he would never get to go on that promised next hunting trip.

Violet realized that he would never meet their baby.

Sophie realized that she only got to call him Father for one day.

Gregory didn’t realize he would never see Papa again.

It was very late into the evening that Sophie was released by the staff. But she was still concerned for her brother, so she sought him out in the room that was now called his study.

“How is Mother?” Anthony asked as she entered.

“She’ll be alright for now,” she quietly closed the door behind her. “But the doctor said not to be surprised if the baby comes early.”

“They just picked out names, and now…”

“I can’t believe it either. I don’t… understand what happened?”

Anthony shook his head, “He was stung by a bee. It doesn’t make sense. He had been stun before. Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie felt the tears well up. “It’s not fair. It shouldn’t have been him. There’s so many more people in this world that deserve tragic ends. Why him? Why now?”

But neither had an answer.

“Maybe it’s because of me,” Sophie murmured.

“Sophie-”

“I lose everyone I love, Anthony. I seem to attract this sort of thing.”

“Don’t say things like that! Don’t you ever say that again! Do you hear me?”

She mutely nodded. Sophie could see the glaze in his eyes: he was drunk.

“What do I do, Sophie?” Anthony sloshed around his glass. How many drinks had he had? “I have to be the Viscount, but how do I do that?”

“You know how to do it.”

But Anthony shook his head, “He was so strong. How could he just be gone?”

“Anthony-”

“I’m going to share his fate.”

Sophie blinked, “Come again?”

Anthony was gone for the hills, “How could I ever surpass him? Live longer? He was a better man than me.”

“You don’t even know the man you’ll become.”

“But it couldn’t be better than him. I can’t outlive him.”

Sophie reached for his glass, “Maybe that’s enough of-”

He pulled it away from her, “I’m going to die young. I’m going to die before I see my children grow up.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Sophie echoed back. “Don’t you ever say that again! Do you hear me?”

Anthony snorted, “I’m going to have to get married, you know? Find a Viscountess. Have a Viscount of my own.”

“Someday. Not today.”

“I need to find her. My Viscountess. You know people. Who should I marry?”

“You,” she pulled Anthony to his feet, “need to go to bed.”

“I can’t. There’s a body in my new bed.”

Sophie sighed, “You stay here.”

Anthony saluted, but moaned when she took away his bottle of liquor. For good measure, she locked the liquor cabinet and put the key down the front of her dress. Anthony was repulsed by the thought of her body in a carnal way, so it was the only safe hiding place.

She hunted through the halls only to find Benedict openly smoking on the stairway as he stared out the front door to the garden where his father had fallen.

“What are you doing?” Sophie chastised. “Smoking in the house?”

“Does it matter?” he asked her, eyes distant. “It’s not like Father is going to lecture me about it anymore. Want one?”

He offered her the cigarette and after a moment of thought, she took it.

And immediately stubbed it out.

“Hey!”

“Benedict, I need you right now,” Sophie said firmly. “Anthony is out of his mind drunk.”

“Good on him.”

“Benedict!”

“Alright,” Benedict stood. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need your help getting him to bed. Can you do that for me?” she asked.

He looked at her and then said honestly, “I would do anything for you, Sophie.”

She took a deep breath and lungs her lungs with his devotion.

“Thank you, Benedict,” she took a step towards him, so they were barely an inch apart. “If you need me for anything-”

“I know,” he whispered. She was so close. All it would take was one bent of the head and he would be kissing her.

“You know, you were going to say something to me earlier. What was that?”

He shook his head, “Nothing that can’t wait for another day.”

She nodded.

Then she began to cry.

“Hey,” Benedict pulled her into his embrace. “What is it?”

“I’m so scared, Benedict,” Sophie sobbed in his arms. “What’s going to happen to me? Edmund was my guardian. What happens now? I can’t leave-”

“It’s going to be okay, Sophie. You hear me.” He pulled back from her, grabbed her shoulders, and stooped down to look her in the eyes. His crystalline blue was so serious as he gazed into her own teary reflection, “I will do anything to keep you in this family. I’ll even take you to Gretna Green and marry you myself if I have to.”

Sophie chuckled and wiped her eyes, “Thanks, Benedict. You always know what to say to make me laugh.”

Benedict decided now was not the time to admit that he was dead serious.

“Now,” Sophie said, “let’s get Anthony to bed.”

The next day, the house was dead quiet. Sophie took it upon herself to visit the nursery. She played with Gregory, a happy little toddler who didn’t understand what was going on. He held Francesca, who cried in her arms.

Eloise wouldn’t let Sophie touch her. She just stared blankly out the window, not speaking.

Sophie had to do nothing but heave a sigh when she left them.

She found Benedict in the attic, working on the beginnings of a portrait.

“It’s going to be Father,” he admitted.

From behind, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stared at the portrait, “It will be magnificent.”

Sophie found Colin sitting at the breakfast table – another buffet that was barely touched – just eating absolutely everything in sight. Today was not the day to chastise him for it.

Daphne just sat on the window seat of the drawing room, waiting to see who the first mourner would be to arrive.

“I think Grandmother Alexandra will get here first,” Daphne said.

Sophie just patted her on the shoulder and made sure the servants would bring her a plate of breakfast. In fact, she asked that plates be sent to all the Bridgerton children.

She tried to visit Violet next, but Sophie found the door locked, and even when she called out to Violet to announce her presence, the door stayed locked.

When Anthony summoned Sophie to his study, she felt nervous. He had gotten so drunk last night. How would he handle today and all the days to come?

But when she entered the study, he was groomed and stood proud and tall.

He looked every bit the Viscount he was.

“Ah, Sophia, good of you to come.”

She raised an eyebrow; she could count on one hand how many times he had called her Sophia.

“Please, come, sit,” Anthony pulled out the chair.

Cautiously she approached and sat down. He pushed her chair in and then rounded the desk to take the one on the other side.

“I’ve been speaking to our solicitor,” Anthony said perhaps a bit too formally. “I want to assure you that Father entrusted the care of all the children to myself, you included. You will remain with the family.”

She let out a sigh of relief.

“I also heard that you’ve reached out to the family,” Anthony continued. “Thank you for that. There will be an official announcement, but I applaud you for your foresight. I hope I can continue to count on your assistance in this trying time while Mother sorts out.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Well, let me know what you require. I have a list of duties that I will need your help with until Mother is fit or one of the Ladies of the family arrive. Shall we begin?”

Sophie stared at him, “Are you feeling okay?”

His smile fell, “Are you speaking about what happened last night?”

“Not really. You’re acting… so serious.”

“I’m the Viscount. I can’t be like the others anymore. I have to be the head of this family now.”

Sophie’s heart fell. That’s when she knew that the Anthony she had know was gone.

She would miss him, but she understood.

“I…” Anthony said carefully, “would like to speak about last night.”

“Okay,” Sophie gestured for him to continue.

“I became inappropriately inebriated, and I should not have said those things to you. You are a young woman and it was improper to speak of such things. I apologize.”

“Thank you.”

“That said, there was a kernel of truth, and I will need a Viscountess to help me navigate these waters going forward. That is where I might ask for your help.”

“Of course. Do you need me to recommend some eligible young ladies of my acquaintance for consideration?”

“Actually, I believe I have found her already,” he said confidently.

“Oh?” Sophie was intrigued. She hadn’t seen him with many women. Who could it be?

“Sophie,” Anthony said with all seriousness, “you should marry me.”

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Last Thing On My Mind

Ronan Keating

You carried me like a river

How far we've come still surprises me

And now I look in the mirror

Staring back is the man

I used to be

With you

How I long for you

No, I won't let go, know what we can be

I won't watch my life, crashing down on me

Guess I had it all, right there before my eyes

Girl, I'm sorry now, we’re the last thing on my mind

Sophie stared at Anthony, “Have you lost your mind?”

Anthony’s face fell, “Sophie-”

“Marry you? You? Anthony, you’re my brother!”

“But it makes sense!” he cried. “Sophie, listen, you have been groomed to be a member of the family. Everyone adores you. The staff will listen to you. And not to mention it ensures legally that your position isn’t compromised. You can stay here with no worry.”

“You just said Edmund left me to you!”

“It’s legal for us to marry,” Anthony said. “I checked with our solicitor.”

“You checked with- Anthony are you listening to yourself?”

“Sophie, listen to me, you and I make the perfect match.”

“HOW? I’m a bastard. I don’t qualify to be a Viscountess.”

“On paper you’re perfectly legitimate. We made sure of that to ensure you made a smart match. Father wanted a smart match for you.”

“But not with you!” Sophie cried out. “Anthony, we’re brother and sister. It’s disgusting.”

“We can move past that,” he rose to his feet. There was a panicked look in his eye, “Just listen to me-”

Sophie rose and stepped back. She didn’t want Anthony anywhere within touching distance of her.

“I can’t have your children,” Sophie felt the tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to. I want to be their aunt, but I can’t carry them. I can’t make them with you. The thought of you touching me…”

Anthony sighed. The thought of touching Sophie sexually was not something he could easily stomach, no matter how beautiful she was.

“Sophie, it just… makes sense,” he said weakly.

She shook her head sympathetically, “On paper, yes. In practice? …No, Anthony. I will never bear the name Bridgerton.”

And with that she left.

Anthony just had to wonder if Sophie didn’t marry him, who was he supposed to marry?

He looked at the little basil plant on his desk and sighed.

It was Lord and Lady Ledger who arrived first.

“Oh, my sweet Brain,” Charles took Violet in his arms. It wasn’t that long ago that he was walking her down the aisle to give her to Edmund, and now the man was gone.

“You poor thing,” Vivian coldly patted Violet’s shoulder. “At least you have four sons to ensure you have a secure Dower position.”

Charles looked at his wife in annoyance.

“I think the servants are going to have a revolt at listening to Lady Vivian,” Benedict joked as he and Sophie watched the scene. “After all, you’re the Lady of the House after mother.”

Sophie jolted, “Lady of the House? I’m not Lady of the House! Who said I wanted to be Lady of the House?”

“Well, I-”

“Just because I’m part of the family doesn’t mean I want to run things around here!”

“I never meant-”

“I’m your sister, for the love of the Lord! It would be wrong!”

His heart. Had she been tipped off to his intentions?

“Sophie, what’s going on?” Benedict asked nervously.

“Nothing! Nothing’s going on!” Sophie said quickly. “And nothing will happen. Do you understand me? Nothing!”

Then she raced off, bumping into Anthony on the way out.

He shot a puzzled look at his older brother. What the Hell had that been about?

Anthony could barely look at him.

“Well, that was quite the dramatic exit,” Charles Ledger approached Benedict. “But grief makes you do funny things.”

“Grandfather,” Benedict gratefully accepted a hug from Charles. The pair had always been particularly close, preferring a carefree life.

“I’m so sorry, Benedict,” Charles held his grandson close. “He was a great man.”

“I was supposed to go on the hunt with him and Anthony that day,” Benedict felt the tears well up. “I told him I wanted to stay behind and do… something else. He told me I was going to regret not taking moments like that. I do regret it.”

Benedict’s crying set Violet off, and the hall was filled with sobs as Vivian Ledger looked at her daughter for her improper emotional outburst. They had reputations to maintain.

Agatha Danbury arrived next (to the awkwardness of Charles) and immediately took over the Mistress of the House role. Vivian Ledger did challenge her on it, but after the servants made it clear they wouldn’t listen to her, Vivian backed down. Instead, she declared herself the official comforter for Violet.

Benedict couldn’t imagine a less helpful thing her personality could try.

Billie and George Rokesby were the next and they brought absolutely terrible news. As happened sometimes with older people who lost their children, the Dowager Viscountess Alexandra went to bed the night after hearing of Edmund’s death and never woke up.

Now the family had two members to mourn. Daphne – the closest grandchild to Alexandra – took it especially hard.

Hugo and Winnie came next. Winnie took it upon herself to become essentially guardian of the young children, especially caring for newly released charge, Colin, and musically inclined Francesca. Winnie was quite the pianist, so she spent long stretches of the day comforting Francesca with melancholy tunes on the pianoforte.

Always a quiet man, Hugo seemed to mostly keep to himself. His own health was not the best, and the loss of mother and brother only seemed to make his condition worse.

The last to arrive were Georgie and Nicholas, and Nicholas was immediately pounced upon for answers of the deaths of Edmund and Alexandra.

“Alexandra makes sense,” Nicholas said regrettably. “In elderly persons the shock of something like this can gravely affect their health. There’s a lot of evidence of long married couples when one passes away, the heart cannot take it and the other passes away within a year.”

“Yes, but the bee,” Billie insisted. “What about the bee? He had been stung before!”

Nicholas shrugged, “Sometimes you develop an allergy after first exposure and the second time it happens the effects appear. Because he was stung so close to the throat, the process was accelerated. He had no chance.”

No one dared to accuse Nicholas of being uncaring. Edmund and Nicholas had been best friends, so the knowledge that he – a doctor – wouldn’t have been able to save Edmund must have been tearing Nicholas up inside.

Flowers littered every surface of Aubrey Hall as friends and acquaintances sent their condolences. Eloise was furious when she saw one had arrived from Juliana Harcourt (but not Emery or his wife Lydia). She threw them straight in the fire.

Despite the many guests, Violet barely left her room and Benedict was starting to get worried. He confided in his grandfather, and Charles took up the task of making sure Violet was eating, sleeping, and bathing.

The casket was made of the finest oak. Anthony got into a long fight with the minister when he declared that Edmund would be buried on the property. He didn’t want his father to rot in some churchyard; he belonged in his home. The family did decide to bury Dowager Viscountess Alexandra in the churchyard so she would be next to her husband, Viscount Joseph. But Edmund would be laid to rest in the woods of their family estate.

Far too quickly, the day of the funeral arrived. Sophie luckily (or was it unluckily?) still fit in most of her mourning clothing from her father’s death. The rest of the family had some clothing quickly dyed black while their mourning attire was being created.

After checking on the children – and avoiding Anthony like the plague – Sophie came to Benedict’s room to check on him. He, Anthony, Nicholas, and Hugo were to be the pallbearers.

Benedict saw her through the reflection of the mirror and gave a small smile.

“There you are,” he said, fussing with his cravat. “You know, as bad as this is to say considering the circumstances, but you look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Sophie closed the door behind her. “You look rather handsome in black. You should wear it more often.”

“I suppose it shall be nothing but that for the next while.”

“I suppose. I heard that you didn’t let the servants dress you today.”

Benedict fought with his cravat, “I can dress myself for my own father’s funeral. This bloody cravat!”

“Here, let me.” She gently reached up and tied it.

He looked down at her. Sophie was so close to him. He was disappointed that her familiar scent of jasmine wasn’t upon her neck. Still, she was beautiful. Sadness just seemed to frame her beauty so naturally.

“There,” she gave a gentle pat to the cravat and looked up. Her breath caught, his eyes were shining, not with tears, but something else. “All good.”

“Thank you,” he breathed. Benedict wanted to do nothing but bend his head down and press a kiss to those delicate lips. “I’m glad to see you. It’s like every time I enter a room, you’ve dashed out. Have I done something to offend you?”

She sighed, “It’s just… you’re usually entering with Anthony.”

“And?”

Sophie took a deep breath, “Benedict… Anthony proposed to me.”

His world came to a screeching halt.

Anthony had proposed to Sophie?

What the fu-

“The day after Edmund…” she trailed off, unable to say the word. “He was panicking about needing a Viscountess and an heir. He was acting all certain and like this was the best plan for the family to secure my position-”

“Did you accept?” Benedict blurted out.

Sophie stared at him in disbelief, “I asked him if he had lost his mind. Benedict, me as the Viscountess. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous? NO, scratch that. Me as Anthony’s wife. It just… it wouldn’t work. We’re friends but nothing more.”

Benedict’s breath hitched.

“I’m a Bridgerton by heart, but never marriage,” Sophie said. “I could never marry any of you. You’re my brothers. My family.”

Oh great.

“Now,” Sophie said. “You never did tell me what you were going to say that day with the Irises. What was it?”

Benedict took a deep breath, “Just… how lucky I am to have you as my sister.”

She smiled, “And I’m lucky to have you as a brother.”

Sophie lifted on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. But something felt odd, for just the briefest moment she wished he would accidentally turn his head again so she could kiss his lips.

But Benedict couldn’t read her thoughts, and as he watched her go, he decided that it was time to put away his feelings for a while.

His family needed him more than he needed Sophie.

Love was the last thing on his mind.

“But that didn’t mean he could keep his mind from her. Carefully, before the funeral service, he approached his Uncle Nicholas and asked him aside for a moment.

“Uncle Nicholas, what is it like to fall in love with your friend?” Benedict knew the story of Nicholas and Georgie wasn’t exactly the same but it would be the best he could get on short notice.

Nicholas glanced towards Sophie in the crowd talking to Simon Bassett, who had made the journey for the funeral of his best friend’s father.

“So, you finally figured out you’re in love with Sophie,” Nicholas said. “It’s about time.”

Benedict bristled at that. Was there anyone who didn’t know he was in love with Sophie?

Well, Anthony apparently.

Nicholas sighed, “I’m afraid I can’t really give you any good advice at this time, Benedict.”

“Because you and Aunt Georgie fell in love after marriage?”

“No, because we’re standing at my best friend’s funeral right now. I’m not entirely equipped to talk romance right now.”

Benedict flushed, “I- I’m sorry.”

But Nicholas just shook his head, “Come on, I think they need us pallbearers gathered soon.”

He patted his nephew on the shoulder and led him to their mark.

It was a beautiful double funeral. They held the ceremony in the church, then went to the churchyard to bury Alexandra. After that, the mourners loaded Edmund into a hearse to bring him to his final resting place. The local villagers lined the roads and threw flowers along the path.

They had chosen a beautiful spot for Edmund’s grave, and Vivan in her one moment of good, suggested that they organize beautiful flowers and a bench to be arranged to visit the grave.

Aubrey Hall was full up for the wake, though thankfully most of the guests had made arrangements to stay elsewhere.

Anthony was busy talking to Simon and Lady Danbury when Benedict approached him.

“Can we talk?” Benedict’s voice suggested that it wasn’t a request.

“What about?” Anthony asked. “I’m sort of in the middle of-”

“Sophie and the insane thing you asked her.” Benedict nodded to Lady Danbury, “Or do you want me to say it in front of our guests?”

Anthony sighed and excused them. He took Benedict into his study where the guests couldn’t overhear them if there was yelling.

And yelling there was.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU GO PROPOSING TO SOPHIE FOR?”

To Anthony’s credit, he just blinked, “She told you, did she?”

“Anthony!”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I proposed to Sophia. I need a Viscountess and I thought it would be a good match to secure her position in the family.”

Benedict had to hold himself back from saying “You leave that to me.”

Just because he was tucking his love away in a corner didn’t mean said corner ceased to exist.

“I wanted to make sure Sophie was taken care of,” Anthony said.

“No, you panicked!” Benedict snapped. “Sophie is entirely on edge now because of this. We have enough to deal with without you making moves on your sister!”

It might have been hypocritical, but he wasn’t using the term “our sister.”

“I didn’t want to make a move on her,” Anthony said.

“Oh really? Then this heir you were trying to make, what? It would be brought by a stork?” Benedict bit. “And don’t tell me you thought this through. You didn’t.”

“I did. I consulted our solicitor and determined the legalities of it-”

“But you didn’t think about Sophie! How she would feel! No, you just assumed that since you’re the great Anthony Bridgerton you would just get everything because you’re the bloody firstborn, just like you get everything!”

“You think I want any of this? If you’re jealous, Benedict, go ahead and take it! Be our siblings’ father! The Head of the Family! The man running not just Aubrey Hall, but all of our estates! Plan how to bury our father! You want it! Take it! Please! Because I can’t take anymore! I can’t do anymore! I’m drowning, so either throw me a lifeline or hold me down and let me drown, but don’t just leave me flailing in the water.”

Benedict just stared at Anthony.

Anthony, happy Anthony who always had a smile and joke.

That Anthony had died the same moment as their father. Now before him was Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, a man panicking as he was swallowed by duty.

Anthony hadn’t proposed to Sophie because he loved her like Benedict did, he proposed because he needed help and was the only anchor he could grab hold of.

And in trying to grab her, he pushed her away.

What was Benedict thinking? They were family. Sophie trusted him above all others. If this is how she reacted to Anthony proposing, what would she think of a love proposal?

But Benedict wasn’t a man to give up. He loved her and he would do anything to bring them together.

As for this moment, he wasn’t needed as a lover, and neither was Sophie. They needed to be a lifeline for Anthony and take what burdens they could from him.

A tear formed in Benedict’s eye. He would be 18 in a little more than a month, but unlike Anthony, no one expected him to step up and be a man. Benedict would get to go back to school. Benedict would get to marry for love. Benedict would get to pursue his passions.

Anthony had had all of that taken away from him by one little bee.

Benedict reached out and clapped Anthony on the arm, “Tell me what you need. I will be here for you as your brother. I promise.”

And Anthony pulled him into a hug and cried.

Maybe there still was a little bit of the old Anthony Bridgerton still alive somewhere.

That night he stared at the barely started portrait of Sophia Among the Irises.

“Sir,” Nelson entered the room, “you required something?”

Benedict nodded, “Yes, I need this portrait put away. I’m done with it.”

Nelson looked at the barely started painting, “If you wish, we can dispose of-”

“No,” Benedict said firmly. “I’ll come back to it… someday.”

And we watched as the image of his lovely Sophie disappeared behind a white sheet.

For now at least.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Happy Ending

MIKA

Two o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind

Can't get no rest, keep walking around

If I pretend that nothing ever went wrong

I can get to my sleep, I can think that we just carried on

This is the hardest story that I've ever told

No hope, or love, or glory, happy ending's gone forevermore

I feel as if I'm wasted

And I'm wasting every day

This is the way you left me, I'm not pretending

No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending

This is the way that we love, like it's forever

Then live the rest of our life, but not together

The lightning cracked and the house shook as the storm raged on. Aubrey Hall was filled with the screams of Violet Bridgerton as to absolutely no one’s surprise, she gave birth early. Thankfully it was only two weeks early, but as Billie, Winnie, and Georgie had all left with their husbands, and the Danburys and the Ledgers had left (much to Lord Ledger’s objections) that left Anthony, Benedict, and Sophie as the only family members “old enough” to run things.

Violet was not doing well. It was like a ghost haunted the rooms of Aubrey Hall as Violet moved around in a daze. Gregory would scream to be picked up and held by his mother, only for her to act as if she hadn’t heard him. Eloise would instigate fights with Daphne and Francesca in hopes of getting Mother’s attention, but nothing would rouse her.

Sophie had taken over the role of Mother in Violet’s stead. She spent most of her days cuddling her crying siblings and working with Mrs. Wilson to run the things Anthony and Benedict could not.

In a strange way, Benedict had stepped up to the role of Lady of the House, planning meals, writing correspondence, managing staff, planning the gardens and the mourning clothes. Anthony of course was overwhelmed with the Viscount duties and those of Lord of the Manor. But between Benedict and Sophie, they lifted what burdens they could from Anthony.

The three of them made a good little team, except for the awkwardness that lingered from the rejected proposal and the unmade love confession.

But the thing that worried Sophie was that Benedict was going back to Cambridge in the Fall. Colin would be returning to Eton, so in a way that was one burden offset from the house, but they would really miss that third pair of hands that Benedict leant.

Due to the death of Edmund, the family forwent the Season that year. Vivian Ledger insisted she attend the Season, which is why the Ledgers could not stay with the family. Winnie and Hugo had their lives in Bath and Georgie and Nicholas had theirs in Edinburgh, and Billie and George were busy with their firstborn daughter, Miranda was debuting that year.

In a small moment of panic, Sophie worried that Anthony might try to propose to his cousin, Miranda (only a year younger than him) but thankfully his failed proposal seemed to have knocked some sense into him. Anthony had three – possibly soon four – younger brothers, an uncle, and a handful of male cousins after him in the line of succession. The Bridgerton name was at no risk.

And so it was that Sophie, Benedict, and Anthony in their little trio tried calming down the other children as Violet labored.

“How is Mother?” Benedict asked as Anthony emerged from the room (looking in absolute shock.)

“In pain,” Anthony announced in a whisper to Sophie and Benedict. “I don’t know if it’s normal though.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow, “Have you not been through this seven times before?”

“Have not you been through this once before?” Anthony shot back.

“No,” Sophie was not ready to back down. “I was at Penwood when Gregory was born. I wanted to come, but Araminta prevented me.”

“Remind me again why we haven’t destroyed that woman’s life?” Benedict asked.

Their banter was interrupted by an absolutely blood curdling scream from Violet.

This visibly frightened the children and Gregory began wailing. Sophie raced over in an instant and took him in her arm.

“Oh, little Duckling,” she rocked Gregory in her arms. “Shh, shh, I’m here.”

She felt something grab her leg only to look down and find Francesca gripping her leg.

“Come here,” she somehow managed to shuffle them over to a chair where she tucked Francesca and Gregory to each side.

Eloise raced over and tried to jump on Sophie, only to be caught by Benedict.

“There’s no more room with Sophie,” he gently said.

She pulled a face, and then to everyone’s surprise, she ran over to Daphne and clutched her. For a moment, Benedict and Daphne shared a confused look, but then Daphne’s motherly instincts took over and she held her sister tight.

“It will be okay, Eloise,” Daphne pet her head, far too young to have stepped up into this role. Three Bridgertons had became parents after Edmund’s death, they couldn’t force Daphne into this role too.

Eloise sniffed, “I’m so scared. We just lost Papa. What if-”

“Mama will be fine,” Daphne assured her sister. “Here, why don’t we do what we always do to feel better.”

Then Daphne’s beautiful little singing voice filled the room, trying to cover the screams.

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender's green

When I am King, dilly dilly,

You shall be Queen.”

Sophie nodded and snuggling the children in her arms tight, joined in.

“Who told you so, dilly dilly,

Who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,

That told me so.”

The girls continued to sing, Gregory and Francesca relaxing, but Eloise still on edge. For a moment, Sophie’s eyes met Daphne’s and staring back at her were orbs of fear.

Sophie’s jaw set. She would not lose the innocence of Daphne too.

Another scream ripped through the house and Anthony flinched at the sound.

Seeing his brother’s reaction, Benedict tried to reassure him, “At least they’re getting closer together. That’s a good thing, right?”

No one had an answer for him.

Anthony looked around, “Where is Colin?”

That was when everyone noticed that Colin was nowhere to be found.

“I’ll go find him, Sir,” Rose Gibson – who had been helping the family however she could – offered.

“No,” Benedict said. “Let me.”

He found Colin in his room, sitting on his bed, staring at his Rooster of Barcelos from Portugal.

“I never should have gone,” Colin said without even looking up.

Benedict quietly closed the door behind him.

Colin looked up, tears shining in his eyes, “Is it wrong that we went? He didn’t want us to go.”

“If he didn’t want us to go, we wouldn’t have been able to,” Benedict came and sat down next to his brother. “Do you feel guilty?”

“We could have spent that time with him.”

“I know,” Benedict sighed. “There’s a lot of time we could have spent with him but chose to do other things. He invited me to go on that hunt with Anthony, you know.”

“What did you do instead?”

“Spend time with Sophie.”

Colin snorted, “Of course.”

They sat in silence for a while until a distance scream came from the hall.

“I still want to go on trips,” Colin confessed.

Benedict nodded, “And so you shall.”

“It’s not that I want to run away. I want to experience the world.”

“We all know that.”

“But I should stay. The family needs me.”

Benedict looked at his brother, “You’re 14. It’s not your job to take care of the family.”

“Sophie’s 16 and she’s practically taken over for Mother.”

Benedict sighed, “You’re right.”

“I suppose it’s different for girls though,” Colin wiped at his eyes. “What do we do, Ben?”

He took a deep breath, “We live. No matter how hard it is.”

“But Mother-”

“I know. But we’re doing all we can for her.”

“Will we lose her too?”

“I don’t know.”

Another scream ripped through the house.

The boys winced.

“But,” Benedict said, “right now our family needs us. So we’re going to go back and be a family. Can you do that?”

Colin sniffed, “Will… Will there be food?”

Benedict laughed, “I’m sure we can rustle something up.”

As Benedict returned with Colin, Sophie and Anthony were huddled together talking. Instinctually, Colin made for Francesca and Gregory to comfort them as Daphne continued to sing. So Benedict approached the older siblings.

“I can’t go in, Anthony.”

“You must. She needs someone.”

“Then you go in.”

“I can’t, I’m a man.”

“You’re her son.”

“And you’re her daughter.”

Benedict frowned, “What are you two whispering about?”

Sophie looked up in surprise, but then explained, “Anthony wants me to go in and be with her.”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Benedict said, confused why this would be an issue.

But Sophie shook her head, “She’s hysterical and mourning. I would bring her no comfort.”

“The only thing that would bring her comfort would be Father,” Anthony snapped. “But that’s not happening.”

“Anthony-”

“You’re a woman, Sophie. It is your responsibility to attend to womanly things.”

For a long time, she stared at him.

She finally spoke, “You’re afraid.”

That struck Anthony dumb.

“What?” Benedict frowned.

“You were with Edmund when he…” Sophie sighed, “You don’t want to be with her if the worse should happen.”

Benedict looked at his brother sharply, “Mother will be fine.”

A scream ripped through the house.

“Will she?” Anthony asked.

Then they heard Violet cry out, “You cannot do this. You get him back in here now!”

Doctor Lewis stepped out of the room.

“My lord,” he addressed Anthony. “You must come in.”

Anthony blinked, “Me?”

“It is imperative.”

“Ah.”

He turned and looked to his brother and sister.

“I’ll watch the children,” Benedict promised.

Anthony nodded, then looked at Sophie.

“Sophie-” Anthony began.

She smiled and took his hand, “We’ll do it… together.”

He nodded, and clutching Sophie’s hand tight, walked into his mother’s bedroom.

Violet was moaning and screaming, standing up, leaning against the bedpost as she struggled to give birth.

Doctor Lewis frowned at the sight, “All is well. Please. You must not be standing.”

“All is not well!” Violet snapped. “I have done this seven times. I know what well is, and this is not well.”

“Violet,” Sophie gasped.

Any fear she had of losing Violet was overtaken by her fear of not caring for her mother in time of pain. Without another thought, Sophie raced over to Violet, and standing behind her, helped steady her.

“Sophie,” Violet desperately grasped her hand. “He cannot do this. I will not allow it. Sophie, make Anthony stop him.”

She looked across the room where Anthony was frozen in fear.

“The baby is not in position,” Doctor Lewis explained to Anthony, not even bothering to acknowledge Sophie.

“What does that mean?” Anthony asked.

“It’s turned the wrong way,” Doctor Lewis answered. “I need to know what you'd like us to do.”

Anthony threw a look over to Sophie, as if she knew what to do, “I don't know what you...”

“I'll do my best,” the Doctor promised. “But there may need to be a choice made. Who would your lordship prefer?”

Sophie’s blood turned to ice.

“What?” Anthony blurted out.

“No,” Sophie whispered. This couldn’t be happening. Losing Edmund and now either Violet or Henry Beckett/Hyacinth Sophia. Destroying either the only Mother Sophie had ever known or the last piece of himself Edmund left in the world.

It was an impossible choice.

And 19-year-old Anthony was being asked to make it.

“What are you saying to him?” Violet shouted. “I told you, you may not speak to him. Speak to me!”

She screamed out, gripping onto Sophie until her daughter’s bones were powder. It took everything Sophie had not to cry out in pain too.

Between Epona and Violet’s labors, Sophie was starting to reconsider her desire for motherhood. After all, she had plenty of Bridgertons to quell that need; why go through this pain just for a baby of her own.

But then she thought of a baby with her the Bridgerton blue eyes looking up at her, and she relaxed… until Violet crushed her hand again.

“It is a conversation for his lordship,” Doctor Lewis snapped at Violet.

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. She was about to throw hands with this Doctor had Violet not permanently destroyed them in her vice grip.

Violet cried out, “His lordship is a child! He's my child. He was born in this very room, from this very body. It is no matter to him. Oh, Sophie.”

Suddenly Violet was bearing her strength onto Sophie, and the poor young girl could barely keep upright. Stumbling forward, she helped Violet bend over the bend, hoping helping her be in a better position.

Doctor Lewis disregarded the women and said to Anthony, “Let us speak in the hall.”

“No, Anthony. Do not leave this room,” Violet begged, pulling herself onto the bedpost.

“Mother,” Sophie pleaded.

“Mother, please,” Anthony crossed to Violet and Sophie. “Lie down, still your mind. Sophie will care for you while I will find out what he is asking of me and return immediately.”

“Anthony,” Sophie whispered, realizing that he didn’t understand the choice in his hands.

Violet’s countenance became serious, “He is asking of you to decide which one of us should live. Me or the baby.”

Anthony’s eyes widened. He looked to Sophie.

“Sophie, Mother is hysterical-”

“She is not hysterical,” Sophie said. “She’s right.”

“But-”

“You kill the baby. You save the mother,” Violet explained. “You cut the mother. You save the child. It is not your choice to make. It is mine.”

“It is his lordship's choice,” Doctor Lewis said firmly.

Done with the doctor, Sophie rushed forward – to do what she wasn’t sure – but Mrs. Wilson was faster. She grabbed Sophie and held her back.

“It’s Mother’s choice!” Sophie yelled.

“His lordship is a man!” Doctor Lewis snapped. “You are just a woman! You cannot possibly understand complex medical procedures-”

“Like childbirth?” Sophie scoffed. “Yes, what would a woman know of it.”

Doctor Lewis looked to Anthony, “I suggest you send this child from the room Your Lordship.”

“Edmund is his lordship!” Violet broke down. “The choice is Edmund's. It could only be Edmund's because he loved me. He loved me so much.”

Sophie’s heart utterly broke. She wished in that moment to trade her life if it meant Edmund could be there with them instead. The Bridgertons needed Edmund not a hang on bastard.

“This wouldn't even be a conversation,” Violet sobbed. “Because that kind of love, the answer, this choice, is obvious.”

Not a soul dared to say a word.

“I should not have to explain this to anyone!” Violet yelled. “Edmund should be here!”

She absolutely wailed and Sophie tore out of Mrs. Wilson’s arms and grab her Mother into a hug.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Sophie whispered. “I’m here, Mother.”

Violet sobbed and Sophie couldn’t tell if her presence helped even the littlest bit.

“Do what she wants,” Anthony ordered.

Sophie’s head shot up.

“Your lordship-” Doctor Lewis said.

“Whatever she chooses.”

Then to Sophie surprise, Anthony raced out of the room.

“Together,” the words echoed in her mind.

And now she was alone, holding the wailing Violet.

“I will do my best to save them both,” Doctor Lewis promised.

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. To Hell with Doctor Lewis. She would save them both.

“Do not leave me!” Violet sobbed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sophie promised. “Now come, lay down.”

Violet’s spirit was broken, so she obeyed and crawled into the bed.

“Now, Doctor,” Sophie’s eyes were steel, daring him to challenge her, “what do we do?”

“There is one thing more we can try, but it will prevent us from being able to cut her ladyship.”

“Mother,” Sophie bent down, “may I try it?”

Violet sniffled, “No. Please. Let me go. Let me be with Edmund.”

“Listen to me, Violet.” Sophie looked her in the eyes, “I know it hurts, but he wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you to leave all those beautiful children you made together. He wouldn’t want you to give up.”

“But it hurts. Without him I can’t breathe.”

“I know it’s hard,” Sophie said. “It feels like your life is over, but you’re right, Edmund would know the choice to make. He would save you because he loved you so much. I’ve never seen someone love so much another person. Edmund would have always chosen to save you because he knew you would fight as hard as you could to save your baby.”

Sophie closed her eyes and remembered what Lady Danbury had told her.

“So mourn, My Dear,” Sophie echoed. “Mourn whatever it is you have to mourn, and know that you have an army of love around you to protect you from whatever comes next.”

Violet looked up with tear-filled eyes.

“Make the choice he would,” Sophie commanded, “choose to fight.”

So Violet fought.

The baby was breech, so Doctor Lewis did as Sophie commanded and tried the risky procedure to save the baby.

“It could break the baby’s neck,” Doctor Lewis warned.

“We have to try,” Sophie accepted the risk.

A bit was placed in Violet’s mother and Sophie knew this would be bad.

Violet pushed the baby as far as she could until the buttocks was at her entrance. Then – with Violet screaming and crushing every bone on Sophie’s body – Doctor Lewis reached inside and gently pulled out the leg.

Absolutely bloody murder was screamed by Violet as the little leg was maneuvered. He reached in pulled out the other leg.

Violet nearly bit the bit in half.

“Now gentle pushes,” Doctor Lewis commanded. He told his assistant midwife, “Be careful to support the body or the weight could snap the neck. Careful, Lady Bridgerton. Push. Push.”

Then a cry filled the room that was not Violet’s.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife cried.

Little Hyacinth Sophia Bridgerton had been born.

She was examined and deemed fit. There was bleeding from Violet that they managed to tamp down. Hyacinth was deemed perfect and swaddled in fluffy white blankets. The doctor cut the cord and the midwife helped Violet through birthing the placenta.

Mother and child were miraculously healthy. The rooms flooded with tears as the maids hugged each other and Mrs. Wilson raced out the room to announce the news to the children.

“You did it!” Sophie cried, gently hugging her mother. “She’s perfect, Violet.”

The door swung open and Anthony raced in. He almost collapsed at the sight of the happy scene.

“And here you go, Your Ladyship,” the midwife handed over the baby.

But Violet turned away and said, “I… I’m sorry. I can’t.”

The happy cheers faded away.

“My Lady?” the midwife frowned.

Violet would not take the baby.

“I…” the midwife looked to Sophie.

Then she held out the baby.

What choice did she have but to take her?

“She’s beautiful,” Anthony carefully approached Sophie holding the little baby. “I’m sorry, I-”

“I understand,” Sophie just looked down at the little baby, staring up at her with clear blue eyes. “Hello little Hyacinth.”

“Hyacinth?” Anthony asked.

Sophie nodded, “It what he wanted. Hyacinth… Sophia Bridgerton.”

Anthony sagely nodded, “A fine name. Well… I suppose we should introduce her to the rest of the family.”

“I suppose we shall.”

And as Sophie and Anthony left the room, carrying baby Hyacinth, Sophie threw a curious look back at Violet.

She was staring out the window, but not really seeing anything at all.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Thirty

What Hurts the Most

Rascal Flatts

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go

But I'm doing it

It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends

And I'm alone

Still harder getting up, getting dressed, living with this regret

But I know if I could do it over

I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart

That I left unspoken

Sophia Beckett

Aubrey Hall

September 14, 1804

~

My Dearest Benedict,

How I wish I could tell you things are well, but they simply are not. Mother is very sick in her mind. It has been four months since Father died and she still acts as if it were yesterday.

Anthony and I are doing our best, but we struggle. Some days it feels as if I did accept his proposal and became his Viscountess. I am running the house and act mother to our siblings. I am convinced that Hyacinth thinks I am her mother for I have done everything for her aside from feed her from my breast.

The others are slowly getting better, but Gregory keeps asking when Papa is coming back. But I fear more for the day that he stops asking.

I fear the Anthony we knew is almost entirely gone. I have struggled to help keep him afloat, but there is only so much as a woman and still very much a child I can do. He does not joke anymore and the only thing that makes him smile anymore is Hyacinth.

At least that is more than I can say for Mother.

Apologies for throwing this all on you, and do not take this as a sign that you should return home from Cambridge. I need you to be where you are, it is what Father would have wanted. I write to you about this because you’re a faster ear than Kate. (Not that I’m not also writing her of this.)

Anthony’s birthday is in three days and I’m not sure whether we should celebrate or not. Twenty is an important milestone, but this year… I’m not certain he would appreciate it.

Please tell me that you are finding some joy in your life at Cambridge and I shall sleep well.

Your Darling Friend,

Sophie

Benedict Bridgerton

Cambridge University

September 17, 1804

~

My Beloved Sophie,

Know I have joy in my life here but I count the days until I can be home with you and our family. Life without you is like living with a hole in my heart.

Tell Anthony Happy Birthday! I have sent him a letter and present in his own right, but I know you’ll pass on my well wishes. Hopefully you do something small to commemorate the occasion. Next year let’s do something large to celebrate his twenty-first year as for a man that seems more significant.

I worry for Mother. Not one letter has she sent to myself or (as purported in his letters to me) to Colin. Though I suspect you knew that as it has been you who has taken up the burden of correspondence with him.

I have enclosed a sketch in this letter of you holding Hyacinth. I thought you the perfect motherly figure with her, though I understand it is not your burden meant to bear. I fear the likeness of Hyacinth is no longer accurate as no doubt she has grown in these past months I have been away.

Eloise wrote to me recently, though I suspect you had physically written the letter. I would know your hand anywhere.

It breaks my heart knowing that I cannot take some of this burden from your shoulders. Living here at Cambridge is like when your father died and my father locked the doors to prevent me from coming to you.

I think about that dance we had, holding you close as we sung Lavender’s Blue together. My words were not an act that night, with me you are safe and out of harm’s way. To not be next to you is killing me.

The absence of Father is a hole in my heart I never thought I would feel. There are nights I dream of him with us and when I wake, I must remember he his gone and I have to suffer that loss all over again.

I am at least comforted you have so many of our siblings around you during this time. It is quite lonely being at university, away from the others. At least Colin has some of our cousins there with him. I am quite put out that when this family was having its children, they all decided that girls were the thing to have around the years I was born. Of course, I don’t blame Aunt Georgie much considering that I was born quite a few years before she got herself married.

Perhaps there is something I can do to cheer us both up. There is a mystery I must ask you to use what resources you have (by which I mean ask Cousin Alice, notorious gossip she is proving to be) to solve. Vincent Grovner has been rumored to have taken a debutante as a lover, but I cannot pry out of him who it is. I fear this path will only lead to ruin, scandal, and worst of all, marriage. But he assures me with a sly grin that marriage is the last thing this could lead to. Perhaps she is married? I wouldn’t ask you except he made the odd comment to me that “I assure you that you would favor this lady. The Muse certainly does.” I greatly fear he may be sniffing around Cousin Miranda.

Stay strong my Sophie. Yuletide is just around the corner and Colin and I shall be home again to help with Mother. Perhaps our presence shall help provide comfort.

Counting the days until I see you again.

Ever Yours,

Benedict

Sophie frowned down at the letter. What was Vincent on about? She would never have a friend who would compromise themselves before wedlock. Well, maybe Emmy, but only with Alexander. If it was Miranda (Sophie had never quite found the courage to call any of the Rokesby relations “Cousin,” “Aunt,” or “Uncle) she imagined Vincent Grovner would be an excellent match.

Great, now she had this to worry about. Benedict surely had not meant to throw more problems on her shoulders but even the yoke of the strongest oxen eventually breaks.

She could not break.

The baby’s screams ripped through the house only interrupted by the broken sobs coming from Violet Bridgerton’s bedroom. Sophie Beckett had been awake for thirty-six hours running between the pair and felt like she was about to collapse.

“You’ll be no help to anyone if you run yourself into the ground,” Anthony murmured as he watched her from the doorframe.

Sophie looked at Anthony with the most exhausted expression. In was two in the morning and Hyacinth wouldn’t stop crying. Sophie was rocking her in her arms, feeding her a bottle, fighting this battle with no winners.

Of course, Anthony wasn’t doing much better but the bags under his eyes and the stress lines now permanently etched on his temples.

Sophie couldn’t believe where life had led both of them. Where it had led her.

She was sixteen; this wasn’t supposed to be her days. She was supposed to be getting silly over boys and mentally designing the dresses for her season. Instead she was acting mother to six children, Mistress of a Manor, and trying to do anything to not let Violet just fade away into a ghost so much that she dissipated into thin air.

Sophie wanted to be a child again. She wanted to go riding with Anthony, painting with Benedict, dancing with Daphne, archery with Colin, shopping with Emilia, drinking with Simon, or laughing with Kate.

Instead it was two in the morning and she was caring for a baby that was basically hers.

Sophie felt the tears slide down her cheeks.

Looking at Anthony, she saw the sorrow reflected in her eyes. It had been a particularly hard day for both of them.

The crop had been poor this year and the tenants were struggling to make their rent payments. Some of the other members of parliament were making things difficult for the young Anthony. Matchmaking Mamas were trying to throw their daughters at him. He could barely take a step anywhere without someone needing him to do something for them.

For Sophie she barely got any sleep the night before, Hyacinth refusing to settle down with the nurses until her bassinet was brought into Sophie’s room. Then the siblings got her up early by Daphne and Eloise getting into a loud fight over nothing. Her day consisted of being pulled every which way by children desperate for attention while she tried anything to draw Violet out. Dinner was a mess with Daphne and Eloise continuing their earlier fight, turning it to one with food weapons. She remembered the ways her eyes had burned at Anthony as he stared at the food fight in a place faced gaze and whispered about remembering the Christmas food fight Edmund started what felt like a millennia ago. Then Sophie forced Violet (who hadn’t been at family dinner in months) to bathe, washing her hair for her as she told Violet all about the children’s development.

Violet spent the entire time just crying in the bathtub.

And now Sophie and Anthony were in little baby Hyacinth’s room, praying to God to find a way to calm her down.

“This isn’t fair,” Anthony said.

Sophie tried not to cry, “It is what it is.”

“Mother should-”

“She can’t help it!” Sophie snapped, tired of having the same conversation over and over. “She’s lost the love of her life, her other half of her heart. How can she go on?”

But Anthony would not be swayed, “She must, as we all must. Sophie, it’s been months.”

“I know,” Sophie lowered her head. “But what can we do?”

Anthony sighed, “I think it’s time to start pushing.”

Sophie was silent.

“What?” Anthony asked.

“I’m scared of pushing her. What if… What if we push her over the edge?”

Anthony looked at baby Hyacinth.

“We have to try,” he said. “If not for our sake, then theirs.”

And Sophie couldn’t disagree.

Sophie thought it was a terrible idea, but she still accompanied Anthony the next day to find Violet and try to talk some sense into her.

Anthony opened the door to the drawing room, and they spotted Violet on the couch, dressed all in black, embroidering.

“Mother,” Anthony said. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” her voice sounded so cold and broken.

As they settled across the room, neither Anthony nor Sophie knew what to say.

“You look well,” Anthony tried.

“What have you gotten up to today?” Sophie asked.

Violet’s eyes were dead as she recited, “I slept. I bathed. I went for a walk outdoors. I saw the children. I went to chapel. Now I'm making myself useful with embroidery.”

Sophie sat on the couch across from her, “What are you embroidering?”

She looked down and her heart froze: it was nothing but hyacinth flowers and bees.

Sophie looked up at Anthony – he too shocked at the design – and her eyes begged him to say something.

“Perhaps join us for family dinner?” he suggested.

Violet winced. Sophie did too. Asking her to take that responsibility back was maybe a bit too much.

Anthony seemed to recognize his error but pressed on, “I know this is hard. I know you miss him.”

Violet couldn’t look at either of them, “Please...”

“But we all miss him,” Anthony said. “And I think-”

“Anthony, this is it,” Violet snapped. “This is my best. I am doing my best.”

Sophie grabbed his arm and rubbed it soothingly as their mother began to sob.

“Every day, I get up, I get dressed, I feed myself, I try to breathe in and out.” Violet looked at Sophie, knowing what her daughter had been doing in her absence, “I force myself to stop by the nursery. And I think about how sorry I feel for little baby Hyacinth because she will never know Edmund's laugh.”

Sophie hung her head in shame, Edmund’s laugh echoing in her mind. She wished she could bottle it up and share it with her sister, or better yet, the Mother that needed it so.

“Or the way he smelled, or what it is to be hugged in his arms,” Violet couldn’t get Edmund’s touch off her mind no matter how hard she tried. “I feel even sorrier for myself because, most of the time, all I am thinking is that this little baby did not do me the kindness of killing me so that I could be with my husband.”

Anthony closed his eyes, unable to stand those words coming from his mother’s mouth. Couldn’t they all be enough for her?

Sophie openly let the tears fall because as a woman she was afforded the privilege. She couldn’t imagine that night when the storm raged of what would have happened if Violet – the only mother she had ever known – had left them too that night.

It would have been impossible to cope.

“Edmund was the air that I breathed. And now there is no air,” Violet choked. “So, do not ask me about family dinner. I am doing my best.”

But no, Sophie realized. They would have coped. They had coped, because they were Bridgertons and they would always endure.

Yet as Sophie and Anthony left the drawing room, Sophie didn’t know the way forward.

“You said this time would be different,” Sophie scolded Anthony as they left. “You said it was time to push her.”

“We had to try,” Anthony said. “She can’t be like this forever.”

Sophie grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, “Anthony, I don’t think you understand what it is to lose someone you love so dearly. To have that other person as the other half of your heart and have to watch them walk away.”

He narrowed his eyes, “You better not be talking about Harcourt.”

“No, of course not. I’m talking about-”

But she stopped.

Who was she talking about? She could understand the feeling of losing her other half because her heart knew what it was like to be given to another person.

But who had that been?

It wasn’t the Earl for sure. But then who?

“I don’t… You’re right,” Sophie said. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. But you don’t know either.”

“Sophie-”

“Don’t you Sophie me. Honestly, Anthony, it’s Mother needs to move on this and Mother should be better by now that. You see the children cry – your own mother cry – and you don’t stop to comfort them. You criticize her for not coming to family dinner but where are you when I’m dealing with the Governess over Daphne’s failing work or handling the gardeners when Eloise has torn all of the Hyacinth’s out of the front garden?”

“I have more important responsibilities that required my attention than that.”

“It’s why you wanted me to marry you, isn’t it? So that someone would be forced to take care of those hard parts for you. So someone can run the house and raise the children so you don’t have to face it all.”

Anthony’s jaw set, “Face it all? What do you think I do all day? Just sit in the office and sip brandy? I’m being pulled in so many directions at once, I don’t have time for the responsibilities of…”

He trailed off, but Sophie knew what he was going to say.

“Of women,” Sophie said flatly. “It’s a woman’s responsibility to run house and rear children while the men do the important work.”

“You have no idea the things required of me as the Viscount,” Anthony snarled. “I’m not Benedict. I can’t just play with the children all day and then waltz off to university.”

“Play with the children?” Sophie shot. “Do you think that’s what Benedict and I spent all summer doing? Playing with them? They lost their parents! They’ve been screaming, crying, fighting, acting out, breaking things! No one’s slept through a night! I certainly haven’t! They don’t even ask me anymore before crawling into bed with me! How many afternoons have I had to sit with an inconsolable Daphne and explain to her why God took away her Papa and Grandmama for no reason? Where were you all those days they’ve cried in my lap, begging to know why this happened when I don’t even have an answer myself? Whose bed did Francesca sleep in for five nights after Benedict and Colin left for school and you went to Parliament because she was terrified I was going to leave her too? And who had to deal with the fallout of Eloise getting jealous and cutting off Francesca’s hair so that I would pay even a slight bit of attention to her, even if it was negative? And when I told you what happened? You barely even cared! Just stared at me numbly and told me to discipline her however I saw fit! And now you’re trying to tell your mother to get over it like I haven’t been working at pushing her every single day? Like you don’t give up and leave the room when the emotions run too high? Honestly, Anthony. It’s like some days this loss didn’t even affect you.”

“Didn’t affect me? How dare you!” Anthony yelled. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past months! The sacrifices I have made for this family and the sorrow I’ve had to push through because there simply was no time or space for me to dwell in it!”

“I think I know a lot more than what you do. I’ve been through this sort of thing before. When the Earl died, I-”

“What? You think because you lost the Earl that somehow makes you master of the subject of mourning?” Anthony bit. “That our losses have any equivalencies? The Earl was cold, and cruel, and distant to you. My father was none of those things. Don’t you dare tell me that I’m not mourning properly in whatever definition you have carved out.”

“Then don’t you tell your mother how she should mourn either!” Sophie snapped.

“She should be here for the family!”

“So should Edmund, but sometimes that’s not how life works!”

In the distance, they heard the cry of Baby Hyacinth. Some cringed, the tears swollen in her eyes as she knew the nannies would be at her heels any moment.

It just never stopped.

“We are falling apart, Anthony,” Sophie sobbed. “I… I can’t keep doing this. You told me not to let you drown, but I can’t keep holding you afloat while the tide is dragging me under.”

Tears shone in Anthony’s eyes, “I don’t know what else I can do. It seems one way or another we just keep flailing in the water. I’m so tired of swimming, Sophie. I want my feet back upon the shore.”

Sophie sighed and folded her arms across herself for comfort. Anthony’s heart broke for his sister, and he couldn’t help but pull her into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head and just held her as Baby Hyacinth’s cries came from the nursery and Violet’s came from the sitting room.

“I- I miss him so much, Sophie,” Anthony confessed. “I feel like I’m letting him down. He loved her so much and now I can’t save her like he would want me to.”

“He would never be ashamed of you, not for one moment,” Sophie murmured. “Well… maybe if you had a poor showing at Pall Mall.”

Anthony laughed.

“Oh Anthony,” Sophie listened to the comforting sound of his heartbeat in his chest. She loved doing that with Benedict and though it was soothing with Anthony, something was not quite the same as doing it with Anthony. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you.”

“It’s alright,” Anthony held her tight. “Siblings fight, and it was actually kind of nice to have another one. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong about some of your remarks. But… it’s hard, Sophie. You have no idea the things I have given up, that I lost all in one moment.”

“Tell me.”

Anthony quirked a smile, “Did you know that I wanted to travel?”

“Really? You?”

“I was so jealous that you all got to go to Portugal. I’ve barely gone anywhere in my life, and Simon and I were going to spend next summer traveling all over Europe. France, Italy, Spain-”

“You know that you as a British citizen legally can’t get into those countries because of Napolean’s war, right?”

“Well then, Africa or Indian. Just, get out somewhere other than here… I can’t do that now. Probably not until I marry and go on a honeymoon now.”

“Oh, I see. Your proposal was just to get a vacation,” Sophie teased.

Anthony laughed, “Something like that. Sophie, I want to apologize again for-”

“No, don’t. I understood why you proposed. I hold no reservation against you for it.”

“I’ll find you a husband. A good one who will take care of you.”

Sophie smile, “How about I find myself a good husband and you just agree to sign off on the consent paperwork no questions asked?”

“Oh, now you go too far,” Anthony teased. “Your future husband must undergo a rigorous interview to approved by me first. Especially with the dowry that’s been left for you.”

She blushed. Edmund had left Sophie a sizeable dowry, not the same amount as his natural born daughters, but combined with the one the Earl left, Sophie would be a rather desirable match for any man.

“Mark my words, Anthony Bridgerton,” Sophie grinned, “you’re going to force me to run off to Gretna Green when it comes time for my marriage.”

“As if I wouldn’t chase you straight across that border.”

“Bring it on then, Brother.”

They laughed together.

“Are we going to be alright?” Sophie asked.

Anthony sighed, resting his chin atop her head, “I think so. So long as we don’t keep lashing out at each other. But I don’t know how we can avoid that if we both keep drowning.”

“Then we swim for the shore. It just may be a different shore than we initially aimed for. The current won’t stop pulling us down the river, but maybe we can find somewhere better to end up. After all, who knows what else life is going to have in store for us?”

“Alright, but I think we do need to continue to push Mother. Together?”

“Together.”

Anthony hugged her tight, “Things are going to be better, Sophie. They have to.”

And he was right, they would get better.

But first they were going to get a little worse.

Chapter Text

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter deals with themes of suicide and mental health treatment in the 1800s. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

To provide a safe reading space, this chapter has been entirely designed to be skipped if the reader is unable to read said content. Only a handful of mentions will be made to the events in the rest of the series.

As a two-time suicide attempt survivor, I strongly advocate for the safety and help of anyone who is struggling with suicidal thoughts and other mental health issues. If you or anyone you know are struggling not to take your own life, please reach out to https://findahelpline.com/ for resources.

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Thirty-One

Come to Your Senses

Alexandra Shipp

Signals fading

Can't be found

I finally open up

For you, I would do anything

But you've turned off the volume

Just when I've begun to sing

Come to your senses

Defenses are not the way to go

And you know, or at least you knew

Everything's strange, you've changed

And I don't know what to do to get through

I don't know what to do

Violet Ledger – Age Seventeen

“I tell you, Violet,” Miss Mary Filloby said with unconvincing certitude, “it is a good thing we are not raving beauties. It would make everything so complicated.”

Complicated how? Violet wanted to ask. Because from where she was sitting (at the wall, with the wallflowers, watching the girls who weren’t wallflowers), ravishing beauty didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

But she didn’t bother to ask. She didn’t need to. Mary would take only one breath before imploring:

“Look at her. Look at her!”

Violet was already looking at her.

“She’s got eight men at her side,” Mary said, her voice an odd combination of awe and disgust.

“I count nine,” Violet murmured.

Mary crossed her arms. “I refuse to include my own brother.”

Together they sighed, all four of their eyes on Lady Begonia Dixon, who, with her rosebud mouth, sky blue eyes, and perfectly sloped shoulders, had enchanted the male half of London society within days of her arrival in town. Her hair was probably glorious, too, Violet thought disgruntledly. Thank heavens for wigs. Truly, they were the great levelers, allowing girls with mousy brown hair to compete with the ones with the shiny, curly locks of gold.

Not that Violet minded her mousy brown hair. It was perfectly acceptable. And shiny, even. Just not curly or gold.

“How long have we been sitting here?” Mary wondered aloud.

“Three quarters of an hour,” Violet estimated.

“That long?”

Violet nodded glumly. “I’m afraid so.”

“There aren’t enough men,” Mary said. Her voice had lost its edge, and she sounded somewhat deflated.

But it was true. There weren’t enough men. Too many had gone off to fight in the Colonies, and far too many had not come back. Add to that the complication that was Lady Begonia Dixon (nine men lost to the rest of them right there, Violet thought morosely), and the shortage was dire indeed.

“I have danced only once all night,” Mary said. There was a pause, then: “And you?”

“Twice,” Violet admitted. “But once was with your brother.”

“Oh. Well, then that doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does,” Violet shot back. Thomas Filloby was a gentleman with two legs and all his teeth, and as far as she was concerned, he counted.

“You don’t even like my brother.”

There was nothing to say that wasn’t rude or a lie, so Violet just did a funny little motion with her head that could be interpreted either way.

“I wish you had a brother,” Mary said.

“So he could ask you to dance?”

Mary nodded.

“Sorry.” Violet waited a moment, expecting Mary to say, “It’s not your fault,” but Mary’s attention had finally been ripped from Lady Begonia Dixon, and she was presently squinting at someone over by the lemonade table.

“Who’s that?” Mary asked.

Violet cocked her head to the side. “The Duke of Ashbourne, I believe.”

“No, not him,” Mary said impatiently. “The one next to him.”

Violet shook her head. “I don’t know.”

 She couldn’t get a very good look at the gentleman in question, but she was quite sure she didn’t know him. He was tall, although not overly so, and he stood with the athletic grace of a man who was perfectly at ease in his own body. She didn’t need to see his face up close to know that he was handsome. Because even if he wasn’t elegant, even if his face was no Michelangelo’s dream, he would still be handsome. He was confident, and men with confidence were always handsome.

“He’s new,” Mary said assessingly.

“Give him a few minutes,” Violet said in a dry voice. “He’ll find Lady Begonia in due course.”

But the gentleman in question didn’t seem to notice Lady Begonia, remarkable as that seemed. He loitered by the lemonade table, drinking six cups, then ambled over to the refreshments, where he gobbled down an astonishing amount of food. Violet wasn’t sure why she was following his progress through the room, except that he was new, and she was bored.

And he was young. And handsome.

But mostly because she was bored. Mary had been asked to dance by her third cousin, and so Violet had been left alone in her wallflower’s chair, with nothing to do besides count the number of canapés the new gentleman had eaten.

Where was her mother? Surely it was time to leave. The air was thick, and she was hot, and it didn’t look as if she was going to gain a third dance, and—

“Hullo!” came a voice. “I know you.”

Violet blinked, looking up. It was him! The ravenously hungry, twelve-canapé-eating gentleman.

She had no idea who he was.

“You’re Miss Violet Ledger,” he said.

Miss Ledger, actually, since she had no older sister, but she didn’t correct him. His use of her full name seemed to indicate that he had known her for some time, or perhaps had known her quite a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, because she’d never been good at faking an acquaintance, “I . . .”

“Edmund Bridgerton,” he said with an easy grin. “I met you years ago. I was visiting George Millerton.”

He glanced around the room.

“I say, have you seen him? He’s supposed to be here.”

“Er, yes,” Violet replied, somewhat taken aback by Mr. Bridgerton’s gregarious amiability. People in London weren’t generally so friendly. Not that she minded friendly. It was just that she’d grown rather un-used to it.

“We were supposed to meet,” Mr. Bridgerton said absently, still looking this way and that.

Violet cleared her throat. “He’s here. I danced with him earlier.”

Mr. Bridgerton considered this for a moment, then plopped down in the chair next to her. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since I was ten.”

Violet was still trying to recollect.

He grinned at her sideways. “I got you with my flour bomb.”

She gasped. “That was you?”

He grinned again. “Now you remember.”

“I’d forgotten your name,” she said.

“I’m crushed.”

Violet twisted in her seat, smiling despite herself. “I was so angry . . .”

He started to laugh. “You should have seen your face.”

“I couldn’t see anything. I had flour in my eyes.”

“I was surprised you never exacted revenge.”

“I tried,” she assured him. “My father caught me.”

He nodded, as if he had some experience with this particular brand of frustration. “I hope it was something magnificent.”

“I believe it involved pie.”

He nodded approvingly.

“It would have been brilliant,” she told him.

He quirked a brow. “Strawberry?”

“Blackberry,” she said, her voice diabolical with only the memory of it.

“Even better.” He sat back, making himself comfortable. There was something so loose and limber about him, as if he fit smoothly into any situation. His posture was as correct as any gentleman’s, and yet . . .

He was different.

Violet wasn’t sure how to describe it, but there was something about him that put her at ease. He made her feel happy. Free.

Because he was. It took only a minute at his side to realize that he was the most happy and free person she would ever meet.

“Did you ever find the opportunity to put your weapon to use?” he asked.

She looked at him quizzically.

“The pie,” he reminded her.

“Oh. No. My father would have had my head. And besides that, there was no one to attack.”

“Surely you could have found a reason to go after Georgie,” Mr. Bridgerton said.

“I don’t attack without provocation,” Violet said with what she hoped was a teasingly arch smile, “and Georgie Millerton never floured me.”

“A fair-minded lady,” Mr. Bridgerton said. “The very best kind.”

Violet felt her cheeks turn ridiculously warm. Thank heavens the sun had nearly gone down and there wasn’t much light coming through the windows. With just the flickering candles to light the room, he might not realize just how pink her face had gone.

“No brother or sister to earn your ire?” Mr. Bridgerton asked. “It does seem a shame to let a perfectly good pie go to waste.”

“If I recall correctly,” Violet replied, “it didn’t go to waste. Everyone had some for pudding that night except me. And anyway, I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Really?” His brow furrowed. “Strange that I don’t remember that about you.”

“Do you remember much?” she asked dubiously. “Because I . . .”

“Don’t?” he finished for her. He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I take no insult. I never forget a face. It’s a gift and a curse.”

Violet thought of all the times—right now included—that she’d not known the name of the person in front of her. “How could such a thing be a curse?”

He leaned toward her with a flirtatious tilt of his head. “One gets one’s heart broken, you know, when the pretty ladies don’t remember one’s name.”

“Oh!” She felt her face flush. “I’m so sorry, but you must realize, it was so long ago, and—”

“Stop,” he said, laughing. “I jest.”

“Oh, of course.” She ground her teeth together. Of course he was teasing. How could she have been such a dolt as to not realize it. Although…

Had he just called her pretty?

“You were saying you have no siblings,” he said, expertly returning the conversation to its previous spot. And for the first time, she felt as if she held his full attention. He didn’t have one eye on the crowd, idly scanning for George Millerton. He was looking at her, right into her eyes, and it was terrifyingly spectacular.

She swallowed, remembering his question about two seconds too late for smooth conversation.

“No siblings,” she said, her voice coming out too fast to make up for her delay. “I was a difficult child.”

His eyes widened, almost thrillingly. “Really?”

“No, I mean, I was a difficult baby. To be born.” Good heavens, where had her verbal skills gone? “The doctor told my mother not to have more.” She swallowed miserably, determined to find her brain again. “And you?”

“And me?” he teased.

“Do you have siblings?”

“Three. Two sisters and a brother.”

The thought of three extra people in her often lonely childhood suddenly sounded marvelous.

“Are you close?” she asked.

He thought about that for a moment. “I suppose I am. I’ve never really thought about it. Hugo’s quite my opposite, but I would still consider him my closest friend.”

“And your sisters? Are they younger or older?”

“One of each. Billie’s got seven years on me. She’s finally got herself married, so I don’t see much of her, but Georgiana’s just a bit younger. She’s probably your age.”

“Is she not here in London, then?”

“She’ll be out next year. My parents claim they’re still recovering from Billie’s debut.”

Violet felt her eyebrows rise, but she knew she shouldn’t—

“You can ask,” he told her.

“What did she do?” she said immediately.

He leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam. “I never got all the details, but I did hear something about a fire.”

Violet sucked in her breath—in shock and admiration.

“And a broken bone,” he added.

“Oh, the poor thing.”

“Not her broken bone.”

Violet smothered a laugh. “Oh no. I shouldn’t—”

“You can laugh,” he told her.

She did. It burst out of her, loud and lovely, and when she realized people were staring at her, she didn’t care.

They sat together for a few moments, the silence between them as companionable as a sunrise. Violet kept her eyes on the lords and ladies dancing in front of her; somehow she knew that if she dared to turn and look at Mr. Bridgerton, she’d never be able to look away.

The music drew to a close, but when she looked down, her toes were tapping. His, too, and then—

“I say, Miss Ledger, would you like to dance?”

She turned then, and she did look at him. And it was true, she realized; she wasn’t going to be able to look away. Not from his face, and not from the life that stretched in front of her, as perfect and lovely as that blackberry pie from so many years ago.

She took his hand and it felt like a promise. “There is nothing I would rather do.”

Violet Ledger never dreamed about how much this man would come to mean to her.

And how it would all be taken away in the beat of a heart.

Sophie Beckett - Age Sixteen

The rain poured hard and the howling wind clattered the windows. Sophie was lying awake in her bed and for once it wasn’t because of the children. That didn’t mean there weren’t children snuggled up against her; Francesca and Eloise were snuggled up on either side. Hyacinth was somehow snoozing peacefully in her bassinet through the roaring storm. But Sophie was wide awake.

Her gut told her something was wrong.

Violet had been odd that night, more distant, more calm. She said nothing as Sophie had bathed her, chattering on about the children. She did nothing as Anthony and Mrs. Wilson tried to get her to eat her dinner, just staring ahead barely even blinking.

It hadn’t been much different than usual but still there was something in Sophie’s mind that said something was wrong.

Maybe it had been the letter. Violet had surprised Sophie during their daily sit together and sewing session when Violet unexpectedly stood and went to her writing desk. Sophie had followed and watched from a distance as Violet determinedly jotted down a letter. But the odd thing was when she finished and sealed it: instead of handing to a servant to post, she put it in her desk drawer and locked said drawer.

Sophie stared at the ceiling; why had Violet locked the drawer?

A boom of thunder rattled the windows and at her side, Francesca moaned and cuddled into Sophie’s side.

Violet hadn’t written a letter in months. Why now and to whom?

Something was wrong. She knew it in her heart.

Sophie wanted to sleep, just forget for a moment, but she couldn’t. Go to her her head pounded. Go before it’s too late.

She pushed aside the covers and careful not to wake the children, Sophie pulled on her night robe and opened the door.

To find Mrs. Wilson with fist raised to knock upon the door.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sophie asked, closing the door behind her.

“Something’s wrong,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I know it.”

Sophie nodded, “I think we should go to her. Just in case.”

In case of what, they didn’t know.

“My Lady?” Mrs. Wilson gently knocked on the door.

No answer came.

“Violet?” Sophie called, knocking a little firmer.

Nothing.

Nerves beating the need for respecting privacy, Sophie pushed open the door.

Violet was nowhere to be found. Her bed was made, her night robe hung on the hook, and sitting plainly on the side table was a small brass key. The key to her writing desk.

“Where is she?” Sophie looked to Mrs. Wilson was if she had the answer.

She did not.

Thinking the key a clue, they took it to Violet’s office, but she was nowhere to be found. Sophie stared out the large windows to overlook the lake as Mrs. Wilson fumbled with the desk. Lighting hit the lake and Sophie felt the dread in her stomach as a thought simmered in her brain.

Then came the drawer sliding open, the flutter of paper, and Mrs. Wilson’s gasp.

Sophie didn’t need to read the letter to know what it said.

A frantic pounding came from Anthony’s bedroom door and he flung it open to find a terrified Sophie and Mrs. Wilson.

“She’s heading for the lake,” Sophie said.

And he needed to know no more to understand.

The rain pelted them at them as painfully as hail as the lighting and thunder cracked across the sky. But none of them cared, bundled barely in coats and boots as the trio raced towards the lake.

She was already in, the image of pale Ophelia as her draping white clothes floated behind her, sinking deeper with every step.

“Mother!” Anthony screamed as he caught sight of her.

They ran across lawn faster than the steeds of Helios as the shivering vision of white disappeared deeper beneath the water.

Her head disappeared beneath the tide and Anthony dove in.

He could see her weightless body in the murky water, floating like an angel, ready to welcome death. Their eyes met as she waited to lose consciousness. Her eyes were apologetic but set in their course.

Then the darkness fell across her vision, and the last thing Violet Bridgerton registered were arms locking around her waist.

When she woke, she saw the eyes of her husband staring back at her.

Eyes set not in the head of Edmund, but rather Anthony.

She was tucked in her bed, a roaring fire in the hearth and dozens of blankets wrapped around her. Anthony, Sophie, and Mrs. Wilson sat around her crying.

And Violet wept.

“What do we do?” Sophie asked when Violet finally fell asleep.

Anthony sighed, “This has gone too far. Her mind is too sick for us to handle. I’ll send for the doctor in the morning.”

“No!” Mrs. Wilson surprised them all with her sharpness. “You cannot.”

Sophie and Anthony frowned at her.

Mrs. Wilson took a deep breath, “My son was solider. He proudly went to fight for King and country but when he came home, he had changed. His mind was different. He was sick. One night, he tried to end his life but I found him and stopped him. I sent for the doctor to help him, but…”

“But what?” Sophie asked.

She shook her head, “They took him away to a place where those sick in mind were treated… It was a place worse than death. They tortured him and made him live in squalor. I’ve never forgiven myself for letting them do the things they did. The doctors don’t know how to treat mind sickness. If we call for one and tell them what your mother tried, we sentence her to a fate worse than death. We cannot let anyone know about this.”

Anthony swallowed hard, but nodded, “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“But there are going to be questions,” Sophie said. “What if she gets a flu from being in the water during a storm?”

“Then she got a flu the same way anyone else did,” Anthony said. “We tell no one what has happened here tonight. Not even our other siblings.”

“But Anthony-”

“None of them can know. Not even Benedict or Colin. This secret doesn’t leave this room.”

Sophie took a deep breath, “Then what do we do?”

“There is one option,” Mrs. Wilson suggested.

Violet Bridgerton woke to the disappointed gaze of Agatha Danbury.

“What-”

“Your son sent for me,” Lady Danbury explained. “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so awful. I’m so glad you’re still here.”

The tears welled up, “I’m not. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can and you will.”

But Violet shook her head, “Not without Edmund.”

Lady Danbury sighed and took her hand, “I remember that first time we met. You were strong and lively despite the strains you were under as a women and as the daughter to your mother. Do you remember?”

“Yes. I-”

“I remember thinking how wonderful this young lady was. How grand a future she had before her. And a grand future you have had. It’s a future whose story has not ended.”

“But-”

“Your life did not begin the day that Edmund Bridgerton walked into it, Violet Ledger. And it shall not end the day he departed from it.”

Violet looked down in shame, “I just don’t know how to bare it.”

“And that is why I am here: to show you how.”

From that day on, Lady Agatha Danbury was a constant presence in the house. She never left Violet’s side. They took meals together, walks together – or rambles as Agatha insisted they be called – and spent hours talking.

But Agatha didn’t baby Violet in the way that the others had grown to. She treated Violet more as if she were a stern Governess. Agatha would watch her at meals, refusing for them to be ended until at least half the plate was finished. She would sit with her during baths, but instead of washing her hair for her, she would hand Violet the soap and wait until she had done it herself.

Agatha made Violet pick out her own clothes, made her work in the garden, and even made her plan the weekly meals with the cook. She made her play the pianoforte, and actually helped Violet quite improve her skills.

They slept in the same bed together and if Violet tried to leave the room at night, the hall staff were instructed to wake Lady Danbury too. Eloise as quite puzzled by this development, and Sophie tried to wave it away by saying that Lady Danbury was helping Mama.

About a month into this arrangement, Lady Danbury invited her daughter, Anne St Clair to come stay with them too and bring her children with her. George and Gareth became fast playmates of the children. Francesca and Gareth being the same age became best friends, and Gareth also had a special fondness for Baby Hyacinth, asking to hold and play with her whenever possible.

The days went by and slowly but surely Violet Bridgerton came back to life.

Life would not be easy to endure without Edmund, but endure it she eventually could and she would.

Near the end of November, on a night when all the children were asleep, Violet with her children Sophie and Anthony, and her friends, Mrs. Wilson and Lady Danbury, together they watched as Violet threw her suicide note into the fire and watch it burn.

Together they would face the future.

And they never told Benedict about what Violet had tried.

Content Note: This story is set in 1800s England where mental health help was not available. The recovery of Violet Bridgerton from her suicide attempt and depression is not meant to be an accurate picture of recovery. The author’s hands are tied by the resources available at the time to depict one going through a mental health journey in the 1800s. In no way do I wish to trivialize or handwave the recovery of Violet as she would have had to go on a long, hard, and secretive journey to wellness. Additionally, the depiction of not seeking out mental health help from professionals is not an endorsement by the author to not seek it out in modern times. Anyone who is suffering from mental health issues I whole heartedly advocate seeking help. We are not in the 1800s anymore and there is help.

If you or anyone you know are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please reach out to https://findahelpline.com/ for more resources.

Chapter Text

An Offer Between Gentlemen

Chapter Thirty-Two

If I Were You

Collin Raye

You want to know where we go from here.

So many roads, but none that seem clear.

Is what we have enough to last a whole life through?

Who knows? Baby, who knows?

So you're asking me 'what do we do'?

Cause time moves so fast, and the chances seem so few.

Is it too much to think that we could have it all?

Who knows? We may never know.

But if I were you I'd promise to live life for all it's worth.

Take all that you've been given and leave your mark upon this earth.

Trust your heart to show you everything you'll ever need.

And if I were you, I'd fall in love with me.

The fabric fluttered down and pooled in an onyx pile at Sophie’s feet. It had been over six months since Edmund Bridgerton died: the children were now officially out of mourning.

But the death of Edmund was a scar on their hearts that would never fully heal.

She looked over at the corner where Violet was embroidering, and her mother gave a small smile.

Sophie smiled back, thankful for even some measure of joy in Violet’s eyes. As a widow, Violet still had six more months of black garb in her future, but she had insisted that she help Sophie pick out her new wardrobe for the season.

“I think we should do a palette of greens, silvers, and blue,” Violet announced to the modiste taking Sophie’s measurements. “Especially blues.”

“You Bridgertons would,” Sophie chuckled. She paused thoughtfully as she viewed herself in the mirror, “Perhaps purples has well? Lilac and lavender?”

Violet nodded sagely, “I think that would look quite well on you. “Are you excited for the season?”

“Yes and no. I’ll only be seventeen, so it’s still a practice year. But maybe after the events of the past three years, I can actually complete a season for once.”

Between Harcourt and the dropping dead of multiple fathers, Sophie didn’t exactly have a good track record of Seasons.

Nervously she bit her lip; she only had one more year before she was properly out in society. Eighteen was the year that Richard Gunningworth had paid for and if she didn’t make a match her first season… well, it was very likely with her true status of birth that she could find an actual match. True, she had a substantial dowry between Richard and Edmund’s wills, but the last thing Sophie wanted was to have to settle for some fortune hunter.

Her mind drifted back to not one but two conversations she had had with Benedict.

“I’ll even take you to Gretna Green and marry you myself if I have to.”

“If you reach five and twenty unmarried, I’ll marry you.”  

Her lips quirked for a moment in a smile, but she pushed it down. Benedict didn’t mean it, and even if he did, the last thing she wanted was to forever be the Bridgerton charity case. She would rather be spinsters with Emilia than Benedict’s pity wife.

Besides, if she wanted to marry a Bridgerton she could have held Anthony to his offer.

No, next year she would find herself a good husband and settle down. That had been the gift of her fathers: the chance to have a chance of happiness or at least something resembling it.

Her true happiness would always been home with the Bridgertons.

She just wished she could make her home there forever.

Benedict knew it was important to have an education, but he was so thankful to be on his way home. He missed his best friend so dearly and it had been agony without them by his side through the school year.

So when his carriage pulled up to the club in London where he was staying for the night, Benedict practically ripped the carriage door off its hinges and raced inside.

And there at a table in the corner, his best friend waited.

“Vincent!” Benedict exclaimed.

The former Eton roommates hugged, glad to have survived yet another school term apart.

“I’ve missed having you around. You should have been a Cambridge man,” Benedict chastised as they took their seats.

“I would have been,” Vincent Grovner winked, “had I not had standards.”

Benedict playfully swatted at Vincent.

They settled in and ordered their drinks before tucking into the tale of their respective years at Oxford and Cambridge.

“It’s a pity that Anthony didn’t return this year,” Vincent said, finishing his stories of Oxford. “He was a great help to me last year.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Benedict paused, “The helping you last year, not the absence this year. I didn’t have anything to do with-”

“Relax Bridgerton, I’m not stupid enough to think you actually meant to suggest you had anything to do with your father’s death. Mourning’s over now, isn’t it?”

“Officially at least.”

“I heard your mother took things rough.”

“Anthony and Sophie had it in hand,” Benedict waved off. “They had to call in Lady Danbury for a bit there, though I don’t know why.”

“They keep you in the weeds?” Vincent asked as their waiter arrived with the drinks.

“I don’t think so. It was just odd that they brought her in. I suppose it must have made sense to Sophie, having been taken care of by Danbury when the Earl passed.”

“Oh yes, the Earl who was absolutely not her father. No siree.”

“What? You suddenly have the cadence of Emilia Sinclair?”

Vincent chuckled, “Oh, believe me, I have my secrets locked down. Even from you.”

“Yes, the mystery woman,” Benedict leaned in. “Come on, aren’t you going to at least give me some hint?”

“The hint,” Vincent leaned in, “is that you would never guess it in a million years.”

“…Posy Reiling?”

Vincent blinked, “Who?”

“Never mind.” Benedict sipped his drink. “I just can’t believe you of all people would want to settle down.”

“I never said anything about settling down,” Vincent frowned. “Believe me, it’s not happening in this lifetime. But speaking of settling down, a little birdy told me that you haven’t been seen in the company of a woman this entire term.”

Benedict scowled, “Alright, who are you paying to keep tabs on me?”

“Like I said, I’m a man of many secrets.”

“Isaac Saltersford?”

“Actually, Noel Fielding. He’s much cheaper.” Vincent leaned in conspiratorially, “Tell me is this absence of lovers because you’ve got your heart set on someone or have you found the underground world of buggery? I could see it either way for you.”

“Vincent, I’m not- I’ve never- Why would you think-”

“Relax Bridgerton,” Vincent held up his hands in defeat. “I was making a jest, though lips are sealed if you do.”

Benedict didn’t know whether to glare at his friend or thank him.

“So, spill,” Vincent sipped his drink. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, “I think… I think I’m in love.”

“…Oh,” Vincent said carefully. “And, uh, whom is the lucky… well, I suppose we established Lady.”

Benedict was about to answer, but then he caught something in his friend’s eye.

“You know!” Benedict said aghast. “How do you know?”

“So it is The Muse,” Vincent grinned. “Good. It’s about time.”

“Vincent, how did you know?”

“Everyone saw that coming. I have a damn pool on when it will happen between you two. Speaking of, when did you get together? There are very specific dates at play here.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Really? Because what part of this seems out of character for the people you consort with? Now, come on. When did you tell her?”

Benedict avoided his eyes.

“Oh, good God!” Vincent exclaimed. “You haven’t told her!”

“Not so loud,” Benedict hissed, eyes flicking around the club and the unwanted attention. “Besides, it’s not really my fault. I was going to tell her and then Father died and it just wasn’t the right time.”

Vincent nodded sympathetically, “I can understand that. I’m truly sorry for what you’ve been through this year. I wish I could have been there more for you.”

“I don’t grudge you anything.” Benedict paused, “Except maybe the pool.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, if you and The Muse haven’t gotten together yet, then I have lost my stake.”

“You poor thing,” Benedict said dryly. “Who’s left?”

Vincent grinned, “I’ll tell you who all played when it’s over.”

Somehow he thought revealing to Benedict that Maria Burberry, Simon Bassett, and his own grandfather, Charles Ledger being the front runners wouldn’t go over well.

“So?” Vincent prompted.

Benedict frowned, “So what?”

“When are you going to tell her?”

He thought of the painting shut up in the attic, Sophia Among the Irises. “I… I think this needs to be put away for a while.”

“You’ve been holding onto this for a while, huh?”

“I was going to tell her on the day my father died. I was about to and then…” He sighed. Benedict couldn’t go on with the story. Of Mother’s screams. Of Anthony’s proposal. “I don’t even know if I should anymore. She’s lost so much.”

“She wouldn’t be losing anything if you told her. There’s only something to gain.”

“What if she rejects me?”

Vincent gave a loud snort.

“How supportive,” Benedict glared.

“Come on,” Vincent rolled his eyes, “you and The Muse are far closer than anyone unmarried should be. You’re always touching and hugging her, and she’s happy to accept it. She wants you as her first dance and first confidant.”

“She’s danced with many people, you included.”

“Yeah, but if I hugged her, do you think that would go over well?”

Silence.

“Thought so,” Vincent said.

“So is that the trick then? To solve the mystery of your lover, just see who you touch in public?”

Vincent laughed, “I would have a death wish if I touched her in public.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“Not a chance.”

Benedict rolled his eyes and signalled to the waiter for another drink. As he looked at the waiter, he caught sight of Alexander Parr sitting in the corner. Curly hair fell over his eyes as he stared forlornly at his glass of whiskey. It was no hardship to guess what was on his mind.

“Now there’s a man who let love drag him down,” Vincent commented. “Shakespeare wished Romeo and Juliet were as tragic as Parr and Sinclair.”

“Actually, Romeo and Juliet is more about the folly of youth. It’s quite easy to argue that the pair weren’t even in love.”

“God, you’re insufferable sometimes.” While Vincent shared Benedict’s love of art, it did not extend to his love of poetry and literature. “Should we invite him over?”

“What? Parr?”

“No, Shakespeare. We can use his skull to enact that Hamlet soliloquy.”

Benedict shook his head, “I’ve barely really spoken to Parr before. He’s more in Sophie’s sphere.”

“Exactly, he’s practically your friend-in-law thanks to The Muse and Sinclair.”

Benedict sighed and then called out, “Parr! Over here!”

Alexander’s head shot up, then he frowned as he saw who was waving him over. When the pair were insistent, Alexander picked up his glass and carefully approached.

“Parr, pull up a chair,” Vincent gestured to the empty spot. “Bridgerton and I were just talking about you.”

“That doesn’t exactly lighten the spirits,” Alexander muttered.

Vincent laughed, “He’s a quick one, Bridgerton. Now sit.”

Awkwardly Alexander accepted the chair.

Silence uncomfortably fell across the group as they all stared at each other.

“So,” Benedict broke the silence, “your family in town for Yuletide? Grovner and I were just meeting up before we headed to our estates.”

Alexander avoided their eyes, “Father thought town was better to keep us- me from, well…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; everyone knew how close the Sinclair and Parr estates were and how the two families would always share Christmas.

“They’re really locking down on the two of you, huh?” Benedict said sympathetically.

Alexander sighed, “The Sinclairs want Miss Emilia married off this season. Their animals were not very productive this year, and there weren’t as many calves, lambs, or piglets as usual. They had to use part of her season money to reinvest in their farms. If they have another year like that, they’ll have to start using her dowry.”

“And your father is still struggling with his own finances?” Vincent asked quite bluntly.

His gaze hardened, “I’m sorry that we can’t all have wealthy, titled families to get us through every hardship.”

“Ok,” Benedict cut in, “let’s not fight.”

But Vincent was not a man to back down from a challenge, “You have no idea the hardships I have been through, Parr. You’re not the only man with problems.”

Alexander seemed to consider Vincent’s words and then nodded sagely, “I’m sorry. I just don’t really have any way to push back on things and sort of lashed out.”

“You really want to marry her, huh?”

“More than anything.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t,” Vincent said sincerely. “God has always had a dark sense of humor when deciding the affairs of the heart.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Alexander lifted his glass in a cheers.

Vincent was happy to clink glasses and share a drink.

“So,” Alexander decided to change the subject, “Bridgerton, I heard that you haven’t been that involved with the women this year. Something going on?”

“He finally realized that he’s in love with Miss Beckett.”

“Oh, finally.”

Benedict scowled, “Does everybody but me know about this?”

Alexander shrugged, “I think Emilia hasn’t exactly put it together yet but would be delighted when she does realize.”

“Well, at least there’s one person,” Benedict grumbled.

“So?” Alexander asked. “Are you and Miss Beckett an item now?”

“Not… exactly.”

“He hasn’t told her yet,” Vincent cut in.

“What? Really?” Alexander was surprised. “I thought you’d be shouting it out the windows of Aubrey Hall when you did.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t shout,” Benedict said defensively. “We have neighbors.”

“Yeah, like a mile away,” Vincent rolled his eyes.

“So you really haven’t told her?” Alexander asked.

“No,” Benedict said.

Alexander stared at him, “Want me to tell Emilia to tell her?”

“What? No!”

“Hey, don’t knock the idea,” Vincent said. “It’s actually a good one.”

“I’m this close to getting up and leaving you dunces behind.”

“Do what you want,” Alexander shrugged, “but you may want to consider something.”

“What’s that?”

“You just told me.”

Benedict looked at him in confusion, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s just, I’m close with Emilia, who is close to Miss Beckett.”

“So?”

“All I’m saying is that I’m not particularly good at keeping secrets. Eventually I’m going to break and tell Emilia, who is going to immediately tell Miss Beckett.”

Benedict and Vincent stared at Alexander Parr in utter surprise.

“Is that a… a threat?” Vincent asked in amazement.

Alexander sipped his drink innocently, “All I’m saying is that eventually Emilia is going to talk to Miss Beckett about it. I highly suggest that you tell her before Emilia does.”

Benedict blinked, “I… I think I have to go.”

And the two men laughed as Bridgerton scurried out of the club.

Vincent looked at Alexander, “Would you really do it?”

“No,” Alexander said slyly, “but he seemed like he needed the push.”

And pushed Benedict was. The mourning was over, and the clock was ticking.

It was time to tell Sophie how he felt.