Chapter Text
Benedict ran his fingers through his chestnut brown hair as he leaned wearily against the bar tapping his whisky glass. Across from him his now aggravated older brother Anthony was having a heated discussion with his wife Kate, and by the looks of it getting more and more turned on by the minute. Benedict, and all of his other six siblings, knew by now that this was some depraved kind of foreplay and he didn’t want to be here when it inevitably escalated. But he couldn’t leave…because tonight they were celebrating their sister Eloise's engagement to Phillip.
The conservatory at Annabel’s, a private members club in Mayfair, was a beautiful venue but it was now cast in neon lights and music was blasting through the speakers, way louder than what should be considered healthy for the human ear. Benedict couldn't fathom why they had turned the place into some fancy nightclub. He had rather seen that they had kept it as it was during the dinner with candlelights and lounge music, creating a much more enjoyable atmosphere. As if the changes weren't enough, the increased heat of the room now made him curse himself for his choice of clothing for the evening — black turtleneck and black jeans. It was a classic look, one he often wore, but right now the sweater clinged to him like a second skin. This was hell.
Normally, he wouldn’t have minded but he was too tired after a long day, and if he was being honest, the last couple of days had been an endless battle. Two days ago, a painting had gone missing at his gallery, only finding its way back after he had asked one of the young apprentices if he had seen it when he helped set up the exhibit. Yesterday he had been yelled at, without reason, by a woman at the coffee shop near his gallary, which led to him zoning out on the tube and therefore missing his stop. Like that wasn’t enough he had miscalculated how much it rained therefore being soaked within minutes walking the last few blocks home. To add to his misery, the only person he wanted to be here with tonight wasn’t as she was still stuck in Edinburgh. Instead he now found himself desperately trying to put a distance between himself and one Abigail Godfrey. She was an objectively beautiful blonde woman but with a personality deep as a puddle, that his mother had invited behind his back as his plus one.
About three weeks ago his mother, Violet, had approached him with her intent as she was tired of seeing her second son without anyone by his side. Benedict had argued that he wouldn’t even entertain the idea and he had several valid reasons. Much to his chagrin he had not been able to disclose the main one as they had agreed to wait a little while longer to go public. He had hoped that the heated discussion had been enough to deter his mother, but he should have known that he wouldn’t be able to refuse the stubborn Violet Bridgerton. Benedict knew that his mother could be meddlesome and while this definitely wasn’t the first time she had tried to “help” him — to him it felt like his own capabilities to manage his own life were questioned.
For the evening Violet had rented out the entire venue of Annabel’s so she could present the newly engaged couple to polite society. Eloise had of course tried to shut the whole spectacle down since as she put it ”it only serves as an opportunity to flaunt the family’s wealth.” She wasn’t wrong about that as their mother seemed to have invited half of London's socialites, among them the Godfreys — an old noble family like their own. Benedict had conveniently found himself seated next to their eldest daughter Abigail, who had filled him in on how excited she had been for, as she called it, their date. ”This will be a long evening,” he had muttered to himself behind his napkin.
Abigail had on multiple occasions tried to take pictures with him, preferably with them sitting as close as possible — at one point she had almost dragged one of the photographers to their table. As the evening progressed Benedict had politely dismissed her several times, she seemed to only have taken that as a challenge. Now as he took a sip of his whisky, Abigail was talking animatedly beside him about how they had met a couple of times before at some charity events and that they had so much in common — she had visited the Louvre in Paris once and had apparently loved seeing the Mona Lisa.
“It was such a pretty drawing. Leonardo Dicaprio is such a talented actor. I didn’t know he could draw as well.”
“Leonardo Da Vinci is the one that painted the Mona Lisa.” Benedict corrected, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“What?”
“You said Leonardo Dicaprio is the artist behind the Mona Lisa, which is wrong as it was Leonardo Da Vinci. And to my knowledge Dicaprio doesn’t paint, he had an impressive art collection that unfortunately was destroyed in 2017. But first and foremost he is an actor.”
“Aren’t they the same person?”
“Then he must be a vampire.”
“What do you mean?”
“Da Vinci was born 1452 so if he is the same person as Dicaprio he must be a vampire because he would be 573 years old.”
“Oh, an honest mistake.”
“No, it’s not.” Benedict muttered under his breath and took another sip of his whisky, all while he was looking at his older brother who now seemed to be about one clever retort away from starting to salivate.
So yes, Benedict Bridgerton was literally in hell.
He regretted not going with his original plan to skip this part of the night – claiming old age just like his mother had done as he couldn’t very well use his sister Daphne's reason of being in her third trimester. However, he had been reminded about the fact that Eloise was his favorite sister, even if she right now was on a free fall for her choice of entertainment — an overenthusiastic new age DJ that seemed to think that he was the best thing since sliced bread. He reminded him a little of Gregory.
“Ben, Ben, Benny…Ben?” His youngest sister Hyacinth came bouncing up to him talking a mile a minute. “Did you hear that Penelope is moving back to London?”
Before he could get a word out in response Abigail's shrill voice chimed:
”Who’s Penelope?”
”She's a close family friend, almost like a sister to us,” Hyacinth's implication that Penelope would be like his sister made him wince because to him she was anything but a sister.
Penelope Featherington had been Eloise and Colin’s best friend since childhood, always at the Bridgerton house and she had spent more or less every holiday with them growing up. Unlike his younger siblings, Benedict hadn’t had a particularly close relationship with the redheaded girl during these years. This stemmed from the fact that he was nearly a decade older and that he had more or less lived on a train during his university years as he had commuted between London and Cambridge — something he still hadn’t fully forgiven his older brother and, to some extent, his mother for.
As adults they had naturally run in different circles and after Penelope graduated she had moved to Edinburgh. Since then he had only met her a couple of times a year at family gatherings. That held true until one rainy day in September last year when Benedict had received a message from her asking for his input on an article she was writing about the art’s influence on politics. As an artist himself, he had gladly leaped into a discussion with her, sharing his views on how art can set the tone for political issues and how artists historically have been persecuted due to their creative works' political implications.
They had kept in touch after that and as time went on occasional texts evolved into late night phone calls — he inwardly cursed himself for not getting to know her sooner. And about a month in, Benedict realized that it no longer was enough, he not only wanted but needed to see her. That is how he found himself booking a ticket to Edinburgh, the very next day. Their relationship had progressed quickly from there.
”So she’s moving back to London, good for her,” Benedict said to Hyacinth trying to sound nonchalant, all while gripping his glass a little tighter. He knew, of course, he was, besides her new job at Danbury Publications, the main reason for her moving back home. Not that anyone else knew about that…yet. They would soon enough as it would be hard to hide the fact that they would be living together.
Hyacinth was overly enthusiastic and was barely breathing between the words coming out of her mouth: “Yes, it is. Oh she’s going to be here tonight. She is late. I wonder why? She…she will be here though…I’m so excited. I haven’t talked to her since her last visit. I follow her on Instagram of course but that is not the same thing. Oh oh did you know…?”
He put a hand on Hyacinth's shoulder. “Hy, breathe please before you topple over.” An advice he himself should listen to because his heart had started to hammer hard in his chest and, even though the music was loud, he could hear his own pulse.
“I am breathing perfectly fine actually, see nff…ahh…nff…ahh…”
Benedict shook his head, as he observed his family, and contemplated, not for the first time, if he had been adopted as a child because he could not be related to any of his so-called siblings. Between Hyacinth's breathing exercises, Anthony's lack of normal flirting skills, Colin now telling the tale of his latest travels for the hundredth time as if it wasn’t enough that he was going to publish it in his first book, and Gregory on the dance floor trying to show of some new moves to impress a small crowd of young women, Benedict couldn’t understand why his parents hadn’t stopped after two kids. He loved them all dearly though, especially Franscasca at the moment as she was the only one behaving like she was in possession of the Bridgerton Brain Cell.
.........
Art was what had brought them together. The connection between the written word and the artistic is clear because regardless of medium – paintings, sculptures, interactive exhibitions or books – they all tell a story. During Penelope’s university years, she had taken some art history classes in parallel with her journalism and English literature studies. She had wanted to dive deeper into the artistic world and as a writer she had felt the need to be able to describe what she saw before her and to do that she needed to know how to interpret art. When she had received an assignment to write an article at her job as a columnist at one of Scotland's largest publications, she had known right away that she wanted another perspective besides her own. An artist that had stirred the political climate with his provocative work, which had made some people question what counted as art and if there should be more limitations to creative freedom.
The choice of whom to contact had been easy. Benedict Bridgerton had always been a little of an enigma. He was bubbly and extroverted in a way but he rarely let anyone in to see him – the real him. Through his paintings it was easy though as they all bared his soul. In every line and color compositions he put on the canvases his joy, his passion, his grief, and his pain were visible and ever present. She had found that she could almost drown if she stared too long at one of his works.
Penelope had been to several of his exhibitions and she even had one of his paintings – The Blue Star – hanging in her apartment. Every brushstroke was deliberate, every color change perfectly executed, the depth and meaning was clear – it was her under a starry sky at Aubrey Hall. He had gifted it to her at her graduation and on the back he had written in his loopy handwriting:
“To the girl that has made every blue night shine like the fires of her hair and with the sparkles in her eyes made it glitter like stars in the sky.”
She had sent a message to him one rainy day and within a couple of minutes he had called her. They spent the next three hours just talking, not just about her work but reminiscing their shared history. It had been eye-opening because Penelope had realized how much they really had in common but the voices in her head had told her that this was a one time thing. Benedict had always only been Eloise and Colin’s older brother and why ever would he ever want to reach out to her ever again — her mother’s words had echoed ”Penelope, darling, you are as bland as oatmeal with an intellect of a jellyfish.” That one text to her surprise quickly developed into daily check-ins and soon they had started having long nightly phone calls.
In mid-October Benedict had come to visit her in Edinburgh. Both Eloise and Colin had done so before, already familiar but with Benedict it had been different. He stayed at a hotel near her apartment and when he showed up at her doorstep that first night he had brought a bundle of pink peonies — her absolute favorite flower. The fact he had remembered that day, almost 20 years ago when she had told him how much she loved seeing the peonies in bloom at Aubrey Hall, had stunned her.
They had spent the first week walking the city, visited The King's Gallery, watched movies and simply talked — learning about each other. One evening they had sat in her worn-down couch with blankets around their shoulders drinking tea, candles illuminating the room, filling it with ambient light, and soft music playing in the background. Benedict had reached for her hand and with a solemn expression whispered:
”Father always loved the fall the most. He used to take me and Ant, to a bonfire near Aubrey Hall each year. The year before he passed it was Colin’s first time going. He was so excited to finally be old enough to come with us.”
Penelope had held his hand tightly, stroking the back with her fingers. A deep sigh had ripped through his chest at that moment.
“As children we think that our parents are immortal and that they will be there for us. When he got sick he promised me that he would never leave, that he would fight but that was a lie. He did leave.”
“He didn’t want to leave.”
“No, he didn’t but he did.” Benedict had a slight resentment in his tone. “We were left to fend for ourselves. Mother disappeared into her melancholy while Ant and I had to take care of everyone else.”
The Bridgertons had always been a close-knit family but when their father, Edmund Bridgerton, had passed away after a year battling pancreatic cancer it had almost destroyed them. Penelope had seen what his death had done to the whole family firsthand. The first year had been so quiet. Eloise had more or less stopped talking; she wanted to be left all alone and immersed herself in her books. Colin, he was more lost than he had ever been. During the two years Penelope had known Colin, he had always felt like he didn’t fit in anywhere and that even if he was close with his family they didn’t fully understand him. This is why Penelope hadn’t been surprised that he had left the day after his 18th birthday. He had needed to find himself, to travel and stand on his own two feet.
Violet had become a shell of her former self and she more or less locked herself away for about two years, which in turn had forced Anthony and Benedict to grow up fast. As the heir, Anthony took on the mantle of managing the Bridgerton estate and stepped into the role of CEO of Bridgerton Corp, all while studying at Oxford. Benedict had taken over all the responsibilities regarding the care of his younger siblings, he saw to it that they all were fed and had clean clothes, helped with homework and patched up scarped knees and mended broken hearts. During this time he stopped painting altogether, his study in the Bridgerton House had been locked and left empty. Both Anthony and Benedict had pushed aside their own grief and had put a pause on their own lives.
“Did you know that I was supposed to move to Paris that fall?” Benedict had looked at her then with such a forlorn expression that it almost broke her.
“No, I didn’t.”
“I was accepted to the Beaux-Arts de Paris for a year. Everything was planned and I had been looking forward to it for months. I would have gotten to meet people with the same ambitions and aspirations as me,” he had paused, taking a deep breath. “Father had assured me that it was okay for me to go even if he was sick. He always was my biggest supporter, taking me to galleries, buying all the art supplies that I needed…then he died,” a harsh sob sounded from him. “I cancelled everything, of course, I wanted to be with my family. Paris could wait.”
She had embraced him then, held him while he let it all out. Grief is personal but it’s always connected to love, they are forever intertwined. When we lose love, we grieve. Penelope’s own father, Archibald Featherington, had passed away when she was 17 years old. Her grief had been different in comparison to what she had experienced after Edmund’s passing. It had been cold and unattached. She had loved her father in some way but his neglect had created a deep scar in her heart and his memory haunted her. With Edmund, it had been like someone had dragged out her very soul and squeezed out every drop of hope in her body, and even now it was to some extent ever present. Edmund had died two years after Penelope had become a standing fixture in the Bridgerton home. He had always been nice to her and had never treated her any differently than his own children.
“Every child is a gift and you, my little dove, are exactly that.”
My little dove is what he had always called her. He had shown her how a father really should act and that love wasn’t conditional. Penelope had only been eight years old when he passed and as she got older she tried to hold on to his memory and the love that he had given her.
.........
Penelope hated flying — airports were always crowded and people never seemed to know what personal space was. She couldn’t fathom how Colin could love this so much. Discovering new places and cultures, yes, but to get there you had to shove yourself in a small tube with seats not meant for humans — even if said human was only 5 feet tall. Maybe the fact that Colin always flew first class had something to do with it, but that was just a minor detail and not relevant in her hatred towards flying.
Today she was extra irritable as she had been up since 5am trying to find another moving company that could pick up all of her things and transport them to London. The moment Penelope had received the invitation to Eloise’s engagement party she had known that she would be cutting it close. She was contractually bound by her employer up until a couple of days before the event and the chosen date for the celebration was special to the Bridgertons – the day Edmund had proposed to Violet 42 years ago.
For weeks she had everything under control but that was only until the original movers had called her yesterday to inform that they would not be able to make it today as they had somehow managed to double book. She had called Benedict crying, he had — like the Disney prince that he is — offered to come up to Edinburgh and help her. For a couple of minutes she had considered it but this was his sister's — favorite sister at that — engagement and she also didn’t want to act like a damsel in distress. A miracle had happened though as the new movers had showed up at 11am and had, to her surprise, emptied her apartment within two hours. In a rush she had given the keys to the landlord and jumped in a cab to the airport where she had booked a ticket with the first available flight to London.
At the airport she had texted Eloise:
Pen ✒️: I will make it! Got a flight at 7pm so will probably be there around 11pm.
El 🔥: OMG! Yes!! I will have someone to talk to that actually has more than half a brain.
Pen✒️: El, you know that you will have your fiancé there?
El 🔥: Oh right, forgot about him.
El 🔥: Remember to just let the host know who you are, you’re on the list hun ❤️
Pen ✒️: ❤️❤️
Penelope had thought about texting Benedict as well but opted for a surprise instead. In truth, the following week would be full of surprises because it would no longer be possible to hide her relationship with Benedict. They hadn’t actually been very discreet but everyone was so immersed in their own lives that no one had seemed to notice. For months they had talked about how they wanted to tell everyone but it had never been the right time. Their first attempt had been just around Christmas of last year, but Anthony and Kate had announced that they were having their third child. In February they had tried again, as Penelope had been in London at the time, but before they got to it Colin had told everyone that he had struck a book deal and was going to publish a series of travel books. And then during Penelope's latest visit Eloise had gotten engaged. They had therefore decided that they would officially inform everyone after the engagement party but that they would no longer even try to hide it.
She was a bit nervous as she didn’t know how everyone would react, especially Eloise. It had been quite cozy to be in their own bubble, but she wanted nothing more than to be able to show the world how much she loved Benedict and that Benedict loved her in return. She hoped that it would make her feel more at ease and that all the doubts in her head would disappear. Her mother’s voice still penetrated her mind from time to time even after years of therapy.
“Penelope, it's best if you hear this from me. You should always aim low because you will never achieve anything of value. The world will not treat a girl like you nicely. You need to understand that I don’t want to be mean, I only want to save you from heartbreak. With your unfortunate appearance and mediocre intelligence, no one will ever spare you a second thought.”
The moment she landed she rushed to the restrooms where she hastily managed to make herself presentable — full face of makeup, perfectly curled hair, high heels, and her new black dress, which had cost her more than half her paycheck but was worth every penny as it fit her beautifully. More than a few people turned their heads when she emerged, making her smirk. As she finally sat in the cab she could feel all the stress of the day leaving her body, and she sent a message to Eloise, telling her that she was on her way.
Penelope knew that she had missed the first part of the evening but she wasn’t all that disappointed about it as it would have been a grand affair, if she knew anything about Violet Bridgerton. In reality, none of the Bridgertons could ever do anything lowkey even if they tried. She was used to it though as she had grown up with them and had been to her fair share of Bridgerton events.
Bridgerton House had been a safe haven for her during her childhood and well into her adolescence. She had met Colin when she had been playing at the park at six years old. The wind had blown off her yellow scarf and it had landed in the face of a young chestnut haired boy on a bicycle. She had been so scared that he would be angry at her for making him fall, but instead he laughed. Her mother had come running and scolded her harshly when she realized who the boy really was. It was widely known that her mother, Portia Featherington, was a cunning woman who wanted nothing more than to climb the ranks. And the Bridgertons were a family that you definitely shouldn’t offend in any way. Colin had brushed the whole thing off and asked Penelope to come and play with him and his siblings. When Eloise had met her that very same day, she had declared loudly to everyone around that Penelope from now on was her very best friend.
For the first time in her short life Penelope had found people that cherished her. No one to this day, except Benedict and her therapist, knew about the neglect and psychological abuse Penelope had endured under the roof of her own childhood home. At the age of 13 she had told Eloise and Colin about an incident where she hadn’t been given dinner for a week because according to her mother she was “too fat”. That had led to Portia stopping her from visiting the Bridgertons for a month. Violet had kept a closer eye on her after that.
Penelope felt like she owed the Bridgertons so much for everything they had done for her growing up. As she now stepped out of the cab, she wondered if she would ever be able to repay them — she had tried but they always declined citing that she was family. The wind blew cold this mid-October night and she hurried up to the entrance of the grand gregorian house as she was clutching her crimson red coat around herself.
”Welcome to Annabel’s, miss. Can I please get your name?” The elderly host, dressed in a pristine three-piece black suit with a crisp white shirt, said as he prepared himself to scroll on the screen in front of him.
”Penelope Featherington.”
”Miss Featherington, they are expecting you,” he smiled and held out his arm in the direction of two large glass doors that separated the foyer from the conservatory. ”I can take your coat and bag for safe keeping.” He helped her take off her coat and she nodded demurely.
A cacophony of voices mixed with music was zippering through the air when she stepped onto the landing overlooking the bar and dance floor. Penelope let her eyes sweep over the room. Then she saw him — her Benedict — between two large palm trees leaning against the bar with a tired expression on his face and his head hanging low. She knew that the last couple of days had been a nightmare for him — the last blow being that she wouldn’t be at his side. It was solely for that reason she wanted to surprise him. Seeing him now made her body tense up and her eyebrows raised because a beautiful woman — slender, longlegged with hair the color of gold and in a tight beige dress — was clinging to his left side. Instinctively Penelope wanted to scream and run away — her breaths coming in short and hard.
Who was this woman? Why was she so close to Benedict?
A loud shriek bellowed through the room snapping her out of her spiraling mind. Penelope saw how Benedict seemed to wake from a trancelike state and how he instantly pushed away the woman draping herself over him — annoyance and frustration edged on his features. When his gaze found hers his whole body relaxed — jaw unclenched, shoulders rolled back, and eyes simmering with love. She tilted her head in question and confusion as he started to move towards her meandering between trees and people — the crowd separating them seemed to part like the Red Sea.
Eloise jumped on her a second later, folding her arms around her.
“Pen, you made it! Oh I’m so happy, now the real party can begin!”
“El, I have missed you.”
When Benedict reached the landing her heart was hammering hard in her chest and tears were threatening to fall.
“Ben.”
.........
“Are you alright, Benedict?” Abigail purred, making him jump because she was yet again far too close to him letting one hand trail up his arm. Benedict recoiled.
Why couldn’t this woman understand that he wasn't interested?
The only woman Benedict wanted touching him was his Penelope — his Nel. Nel, the nickname he had bestowed upon her one night, during one of his many visits. They had been lying in bed together, she had rested her head on his chest while he was reading aloud when he came across a passage about the mythical figure of Nuil, Nel, from Lebor Gabála Érenn. Penelope had laughed at him for his horrid pronunciations and had quickly proceeded to correct him. He had looked at her lovingly and with a smile said “I found that you, my darling, seems to be Nel personified because according to this…” he pointed to a paragraph in the book and leaned forward to kiss her on the nose. ”… he also had a thing for languages.” She kissed him deeply then and that was the night he told her that he loved her for the first time.
As he stood at the bar reminiscing he could almost still feel her lips and how her warmth always enveloped him. It had been two agonizing weeks since he last saw her. But according to Hyacinth his Nel would be here tonight and his whole body was aching with his longing for her. She hadn’t told him that she was coming and he couldn’t understand why. When they had talked yesterday she had cried because she was still stuck in Edinburgh, the movers had never showed up as they had double–booked. He had offered to come up and help her but she had declined with the motivation that she was a strong independent woman with money who could pay real professionals, even if said professionals now were anything but.
”I’m okay, thank you” Benedict sighed as he continued backing away from Abigail. He desperately tried but failed to make eye contact with Colin — who was half sitting on a barstool near him, having a conversation with their distant cousin.
”Are you sure?” She breathed all while she followed after him reaching out for his hand and batting her long eyelashes at him. “You seem to be so tense. Maybe I could help you with that?”
Benedict’s patience finally snapped and he shouted: “Abigail! I have a girlfr…”
Suddenly he was interrupted by a loud shriek from Eloise that somehow echoed through the room. She had abandoned her slightly confused fiancée on the dance floor as she rushed through the crowd of people. Benedict, equally confused, let his gaze follow her. Then he saw her:
His Penelope!
His Nel!
His love!
His heart!
His everything!
She was standing on the landing near the elevated entrance — long, wavy hair, the color of autumn leaves, cascading down one shoulder, lips red as sin, and a black dress that accentuated her every curve, curves that would make any classical artist salivate. His jaw dropped and everything else ceased to matter because Benedict could only see her. She was an angel…no, a goddess in human form and he was only a mere mortal that was put on this earth to worship the ground she walked on. Benedict could faintly hear people talking around him but nothing registered — he was in a total daze — until Abigail with a slight disdain in her voice piped up:
”Who’s that?” She was somehow plastered to his side as she let a hand rest on his chest. An unpleasant shudder went through him and he untangled himself quickly. He had started to question the sanity of this woman. ”Mother can really pick them.” he muttered to himself.
”Benedict?”
“WHAT?!”
“Who’s that woman?”
He didn’t look at Abigail, his gaze locked with his Nel, as he answered in a voice so full of love and awe: “That…that is Penelope.”
Penelope had a bewildered expression on her face that made his whole body tense with worry. And without a second thought he left Abigail at the bar, fully aware that she was probably following him with her gaze as he made his way through the throng of people separating him from his Nel. What he didn't notice, however, was that she wasn't the only one gauging his reaction.
As soon as Benedict reached Penelope he enveloped her in a tight hug — in that moment he didn’t care if anyone saw them. She instantly relaxed against him and he wanted to kiss her there and then but he held back against every fiber in his body. With a deep breath he inhaled her scent — almonds, citrus, and something that was just Penelope. It was intoxicating.
“Ben,” her voice so soft that his eyes teared up.
“Mon cœur, tu es tout…God, I’ve missed you so much, Nel,” he whispered, stroking her back. And for the first time this evening he was thankful for the loud music drowning out every sound they made.
“I’ve missed you too.”
Their moment was cut short as a slightly angry Eloise pushed Benedict.
“Ben, let her go! Why the hell are you acting so weird?”
Benedict wanted to tell Eloise everything but by the pleading look Penelope gave him he thought better of it because tonight was not about them. He could tease his sister though. So reluctantly he let go of his Nel but stayed close and with a lopsided smile on his face he turned to Eloise. “Just like you, dear sister, I have missed her.”
“What’s wrong with you? You two have barely had a full conversation.”
“What do you know about that, El?” With a smirk Benedict winked at Penelope. While he could feel Eloise’s blazing eyes on him he, as discreetly as possible, risked letting his hand rest on the small of Penelope’s back. She leaned in to his touch, pushing herself back a little against his palm — the heat seeping through her dress almost burning him. At that moment he wondered if she also was thinking of their FaceTime call from last night, when he had watched her come undone by the way he had described how he wanted to kiss and lick every inch of her beautiful body and to make her tremble with need. Seeing how she let her eyes trail up and down his body with cheeks flushed and shifting slightly, he drew the conclusion that she very much was. It had been too long and Benedict wanted to drag her out of this godforsaken club and ravish her.
“Pen, you’re here?!” Colin’s happy voice rang out, abruptly interrupting Benedict's musings. Penelope was suddenly pulled from his side and into his brother's open arms. He stared at them, the hug was too tight for his liking. Nel was his! He knew of course that he had nothing to worry about — Colin and Penelope were best friends and there was nothing romantic between them. That didn’t help tame the jealousy he felt now though.
“Colin! I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world. Got everything settled with the move this morning quicker than I anticipated and bought a WAY overpriced plane ticket to get here.”
“We’re so glad that you made it. I’ve missed you!”
“Enough, she’s my best friend and it’s my party so go back to whatever corners you two came from.”
“El, we have a right to greet her too!” Benedict and Colin protested, sporting the exact same exasperated expression on their faces. At this moment no one in their right mind could ever doubt that they were brothers.
“Fine! Col, she is your friend but MY best friend. Ben on the other hand should just go back to his date. She is starting to look very lonely over there.” Eloise nodded in the direction of the bar. Benedict winced and he could see how Penelope's whole demeanor changed as she glanced at him with a pained look.
“You…you have a date?”
“Oh yes! Mother thought it best to intervene so the brooding artist wouldn’t die alone.” Eloise chimed.
“Eloise!” Benedict warned, and he noticed that Colin was closely studying him.
“What? You two have been cosy at the bar all evening. In my opinion, they seem to have hit it off quite well.”
“I wouldn’t say that at all.” He leaned in to whisper in Penelope’s ear who had gone completely still. “Nel, I haven’t…”
“Oh look! Here she comes now.” Eloise exclaimed. Abigail, like a cougar locked in on her prey, sidled up to him and put a hand on his arm. An unpleasant shudder went through his body and he quickly pulled back so that he could move closer to Penelope. A flicker of disappointment passed on Abigail's face but it was gone in an instant as she seemingly collected herself.
“Hi, Penelope right?”
“Yeah…yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Abigail. Benedict here has told me so much about you.”
Colin raised his eyebrows at him. Benedict shook his head as he again risked getting caught by putting a hand on Penelope’s back. The tension in her body seemed to ease somewhat but she gave him a questioning look before turning back to Abigail.
”Oh, he has?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t he? He has such a large family that he has talked about all night and you are part of that like an extra sister.”
“That was actually...” Benedict tried to object, as he was stroking Penelope’s back in a comforting motion but Eloise, bored by the conversation, intervened.
”Come now. We need a drink, Pen!”
As his sister hauled a confused Penelope away from him, Colin silently asked if he needed help. After a slight wave of Benedict's hand, his brother disappeared down the stairs but he could see that he lingered at the bottom. A deep sigh reaped from Benedict's chest and he turned slowly to Abigail who had a large smile on her face. She sauntered over to him, swaying her hips, and reached out her hand to him. He didn’t take it; he just stared at her.
“Finally, we’re alone,” she said with a sultry voice.
“Abigail! You need to listen to me. All evening I have made myself clear that I’m not even remotely interested,” he took a deep breath trying to ground himself. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, Penelope is my girlfriend and the woman I love. I’m sorry…no I’m not actually sorry at all. I beg you to leave me and her alone!”
“But Benedict!” She took a few steps towards him. “She didn’t seem very happy to see you the way she let herself be dragged away from you. And she's not right for you at all.”
Anger surged through him – heart pounding and fist clenching so tight that his nails were digging into his palms. With flames in his eyes, he looked straight at Abigail.
“Stop, just stop right now for the love of God!” He backed up not wanting to be near this woman even a second longer. ”I don’t know you, Abigail. I don’t want to know you. As I said leave me and Penelope the fuck alone!”
Benedict rapidly left her by the entrance before she could think of a response — he needed to find Nel and do it fast. He knew that she was spiraling. It had taken him a long time to make her fully believe that he in fact was in love with her, every part of her. Damn her mother and her sisters for making the most beautiful woman in the world believe that she had to change to be worthy of love. Everyone knew that Penelope wasn’t close with her family and that her mother was nothing like his own. Violet might have her flaws but her actions always came from a place of love. Portia on the other hand believed in authoritarian parenting but the fact that this only extended to her youngest daughter and that it included daily weigh–ins, portion control, — some nights no food at all — and clothes two sizes too small, was a well-kept secret. The full extent of her neglect and abuse of Penelope was something Benedict only found out recently and it made his blood boil because if he or anyone in his family had known at the time they would have tried to get her out of her mother’s house. He had to find her. Quickly.