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After his mother had swiftly and ruthlessly dismissed him from Bridgerton House, stating she would ensure nothing improper occurred before the wedding, Benedict was pacing pointlessly in his room at his bachelor lodgings, a glass of whiskey in hand. His apartment, which he had always viewed as a sanctuary where he lived freely, escaping society's expectations, his mother's pressure, and family responsibilities, now felt like a claustrophobic cage keeping him apart from his beautiful lover—his fiancée. Home was wherever Sophie was. Benedict belonged wherever Sophie was.
After the danger of losing Sophie almost forever, they had truly overcome daunting hurdles to gain the approval of his family, the Queen, and at least a considerable portion of society, so that they could live their relationship as they wished, without hiding or fear. Benedict still couldn't believe he had made it through all of this. That was why, deep down, he knew his mother was right. They shouldn't push their luck or risk another scandal. Yet, with a tremendous lightness in his chest, he finally wanted to be side by side with the woman he loved, to love her openly, without acting like she was a secret he had to hide from everyone. He wanted to tell Sophie how beautiful she looked in her bright blue dress all night, how he felt both immense pride and a senseless jealousy because everyone in the ballroom was looking at her, and how he had realized she was a diamond far more than the Queen had. He wanted to make her laugh.
He didn't care about Sophie's status in society, her legitimacy, or her wealth. He would have loved her in all possible lifetimes and would have still wanted to be with her. But tonight, when Sophie was essentially in the position she belonged to—the position that had been cruelly stolen from her—she shone even brighter, as if that were even possible. Despite all this happiness, Benedict felt as though he was losing his mind when he thought about the years stolen from her and the life she might have been condemned to for the rest of her days if they hadn't met—God forbid. Sophie was more beautiful, smarter, more elegant, and more accomplished than almost anyone in society. Most importantly, she possessed a special and pure heart, unlike any he had ever witnessed. Like all girls her age, she deserved to receive a top-tier education, attend balls and leave people in awe of her elegance, wear the most beautiful dresses and the most dazzling jewelry, and be treated like a princess at every moment. Instead, she had lived a life akin to a slave behind closed doors. What happened to Araminta did not satisfy Benedict. Considering what Sophie had been through, simply banishing that woman from London was nothing. If it were up to him, he would exile her to Australia and feed her to the wild animals there. Still, he shouldn't attempt anything that would risk their current situation, and he had to focus on his happiness. That was the hardest thing he had to do. Besides being separated from his Sophie, of course.
When he realized he wasn't even close to falling asleep and needed another drink, the room began to feel incredibly small. He decided to find something to channel this energy and motivation into; otherwise, it was only a matter of time before he snuck into Bridgerton House and climbed up to Sophie's window.
He first thought about sketching, but quickly abandoned the idea. The only thing he wanted to draw was Sophie. And drawing Sophie meant thinking about her beautiful face, her distinct features, and her graceful posture for a long time—imagining them. Thinking about these things only made his blood boil more. Benedict felt like a seventeen-year-old boy when it comes to her. Sophie had a powerful effect on him, one he was certain she was entirely unaware of. He felt there was nothing Sophie could ask of him that he wouldn't do, nothing she couldn't demand of him.
After the Queen's ball, in that brief moment they managed to carve out for themselves while dancing in the gazebo, they had briefly found the opportunity to chat about their upcoming wedding. When he mentioned living in My Cottage, Sophie's eyes had sparkled with excitement. Benedict remembered how she had felt a pang of sadness when talking about how much she missed the place while working at Bridgerton House. Where they would start their family wasn't a question for either of them; they would live in Wiltshire once they were married. This meant that, aside from future visits, they had a specific amount of time in London before the wedding. Benedict decided to use this time very efficiently and make up for some of the things stolen from Sophie. Once they moved to the countryside, the activities available outside their home would be quite limited—and Benedict was totally okay with that—but while they were still in London, they could do many things Sophie had been deprived of all this time. This was a good idea; Benedict eagerly sat down in his chair, grabbing a pen and a notebook.
"Hatch!"
The butler appeared at the door within seconds. "Yes, sir?"
"There are some things we need to plan, I need your help. We have a lot of work to do."
Hatch had to admit he didn't often see his boss this motivated and excited. Aside from the canvas in his studio, the desk in Benedict Bridgerton's room wasn't exactly a frequent spot for him. So seeing him scribbling things down rapidly with a pen in hand was a huge surprise. However, guessing that the subject was related to his new fiancée, Miss Baek, was quite easy.
- - -
Sophie hadn't thought she would be this tired when she returned from the modiste with Lady Bridgerton that afternoon. The last time she dressed like a noble girl in different gowns every day and dealt with modistes frequently was before her father died, and even then, Araminta tried to prevent it as much as she could. Lady Bridgerton had taken this task very seriously—naturally, given Sophie's spectacular lack of wardrobe in this regard—and had made sure she lacked nothing compared to her own daughters. From her time as a lady's maid, Sophie knew very well how many things were needed in a proper lady's wardrobe, but today in the store, as Violet listed all her needs one after another, she felt like her blood sugar was dropping. She knew she was exaggerating, of course, but for a moment she thought all the items she would own could only fit into several rooms. And yet, because they had limited time, they had postponed winter necessities for now, which meant at least another order of the same magnitude.
"Sophie, darling, you will need to visit the store a few more times for fittings in the coming weeks. We also need to start thinking about your wedding dress now. I personally made an appointment for you with the modiste who designed Daphne's gown."
For a moment, Sophie felt not like the future bride of this family preparing for her wedding, but like a servant taking orders. After all, that situation wasn't from the distant past. She nodded obediently.
Violet continued, "Also, I thought you should go to your next appointment with the modiste with Hazel, for some items you might want to order that you wouldn't feel very comfortable discussing in front of me. I want everything to be just as you wish."
Understanding the woman's implication, Sophie blushed slightly. Still, she was very happy she was being so thoughtful. "That is very considerate of you, thank you."
Noticing the young girl's embarrassment, Violet smiled softly so as not to prolong the awkwardness and changed the subject. "I know you need to speak with Benedict a bit more to plan the wedding. Please don't hesitate to voice the details and wishes you determine as time goes on."
Sophie reminded herself again that she had to put in a lot of effort not to feel overwhelmed by all this happiness. Transitioning from a maid who had nothing just weeks ago to a lady with the world at her feet was a change that wasn't easy to get used to.
"Thank you, Lady Bri—Violet." She had received a stern warning from Violet during breakfast that morning to stop calling her Lady Bridgerton. Violet had told her that calling her Violet, or even Mother if she wished, would make her very happy. Sophie hadn't used the word mother at any point she could remember in her life, so she didn't think she could call Violet 'mother'—at least not yet. So, they had agreed she would address her by her first name. Yet, secretly continuing to call her Lady Bridgerton in her head was a secret only Sophie knew. "I am grateful for your guidance and help in this matter. Believe me, I have no idea what to do or where to start, and thanks to you, I don't feel like I'm lost in an endless forest."
Setting her teacup down, Violet took Sophie's hands, which were clasped in her lap like a servant—another habit the girl couldn't easily break. "Know that I am always with you, my dear. You are not alone anymore."
Smiling genuinely, Sophie gave a small nod. She wasn't accustomed to hearing beautiful words or being supported. That's why in moments like these she still didn't know what to do; she either settled for a shy smile or managed a quiet thank you. Despite her timidness, she was blessed with a wonderful man who constantly spoiled her with the rarest, most beautiful, and romantic words, and sometimes it saddened her to think she couldn't reciprocate Benedict's gestures as he deserved. She knew Benedict had no such demand, nor did he do anything expecting a return—in fact, he would scold her if he knew she thought this way—but Sophie still wanted to be able to return the affection bestowed upon her tenfold sometimes.
"Just working for a family like yours, even being around you, was a blessing I thought I would never have, and yet you welcomed me into your family. I can't believe how lucky I am."
"Oh, Sophie." Violet raised a hand, placing it on her future daughter-in-law's cheek and stroking it affectionately. "You brought immense love, first to my son, and then to our family. Seeing him this happy, knowing he shares a great love just like his siblings, is more than I could have hoped for. You are a blessing to us, too. You brought light to my Benedict's life."
Unable to hold back, Sophie hugged her future mother-in-law. Violet wasn't expecting this; with slight surprise, she laughed sweetly and wrapped her arms around Sophie. She was entirely serious in what she had said; Sophie was exactly the kind of girl she wanted for her son. Better, even.
"I suppose I'm no longer your favorite, am I, Mother?"
At the sound of Benedict's voice, the two women pulled apart and looked toward the door. Benedict was leaning against the doorframe, watching them with a massive grin on his face. The moment Sophie saw him, she felt complete and warm inside. She beamed at her fiancé. When their eyes met, Benedict looked her up and down and winked flirtatiously. Because Sophie now wore a new dress every day and styled her hair however she pleased, he would spend a few seconds carefully checking her out from head to toe during their first encounter each day.
"Welcome, dear," Violet said, waving her hand to gesture for her son to sit in the armchair across from them. "Let's just say I'm frankly surprised you didn't show up at our door bright and early."
"Well, actually..." Benedict brought his hand to the back of his head, scratching his hair. "I did come, but they told me two of you had gone to the modiste. So, rather than waiting impatiently, I went back to my apartment until you returned and went over some plans with Hatch."
Violet let out a small laugh. "Oh, of course! How could I have thought otherwise?"
Benedict rubbed his hands together with a smile. "Is there anything else you ladies need to do today?"
Sophie looked at Violet with questioning eyes; all the planning was up to her. After thinking for a few seconds, Violet shook her head. "No, I don't think so. We already spent quite some time at the modiste. There are no other plans for today."
"Excellent!" Benedict exclaimed excitedly, jumping up from his seat.
"Benedict, darling, what's going on?" Violet watched her son, who couldn't stand still, with confusion. Sophie, meanwhile, tried to guess what Benedict was thinking.
"I'm going to need my fiancée for the rest of the day, Mother. If you don't mind, I'm stealing her away from you."
Sophie's eyes widened with excitement. A sudden wave of heat washed over her face. She couldn't believe he was saying something like this in front of his mother. This man was incorrigible.
"Benedict Bridgerton! I believe we discussed this and agreed. We do not have the luxury of creating another scandal. You two cannot alone—"
"Mother, Mother!" Benedict interrupted, as the woman glared at him with a disapproving frown. "Don't worry, I won't engage in any improper behavior." He quickly glanced at Sophie and discreetly winked again. Even that small gesture made Sophie's heart race. "I was hoping to have a picnic in Hyde Park with my fiancée, completely within the boundaries two engaged people ought to observe, and enjoy this beautiful weather. I don't suppose society will find any fault in that?"
Violet opened her mouth as if to instinctively object, but then accepted there was nothing to oppose in this. In fact, it might even be beneficial for as many people as possible to witness Sophie and Benedict's courtship. Looking at Sophie out of the corner of her eye, she saw her gazing excitedly at Benedict, smiling happily. Her heart filled with affection for the young girl. Still, her rule-breaking son's suddenly developed attention to society's boundaries left a seed of doubt in her mind. "Oh, alright. Actually, that's a good idea. Plus, it will give you a chance to talk about how you're going to plan your wedding."
With a huge smile, Benedict lunged forward, squished his mother's face between his hands, and planted a massive kiss on her forehead. The poor woman was utterly taken aback. "The best mother in the world!"
Then, he extended his hand to his fiancée, who was watching them with a smile that melted his heart. The moment Sophie took his hand, he pulled her, quickly heading for the door. Just as the two lovers were walking out the door hand in hand, overjoyed at carving out a moment alone, they stopped abruptly at the sound of Violet's voice from behind.
"Enjoy your stroll in the park, as long as Hazel accompanies you!"
Benedict closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Fine, his plan hadn't worked out exactly as he wanted. It would have been too easy anyway; no one escaped Lady Bridgerton's grasp that easily. Having Hazel accompany them meant that some of the mischief he had dreamed of getting up to in the carriage and during the picnic was off the table, but he was still going to spend time with Sophie, and that was more than enough.
- - -
Hyde Park smelled delightful these days in the final moments of spring, with various flowers blooming all around, and the sun offered a wonderful light and warmth to ensure the newly engaged lovers' day went perfectly. As Benedict continued walking, he looked down at Sophie, who was holding tightly to his arm and resting her head slightly against his shoulder. There was a bright smile on her face, and her eyes were peacefully closed. She was taking her steps guided entirely by Benedict. Sophie’s trust and surrender to him filled his chest with a warm feeling. He was now someone's most trusted person, her safe haven. In the past, Benedict would have thought this was a terrifying responsibility, but right now, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. This beautiful woman was entirely his; he was the guardian of her trust and love.
"You have your eyes closed, just like that night at the masquerade ball."
Sophie giggled sweetly. Benedict finding out that she was the lady in silver hadn't ended in disaster as she had feared. She was now so happy she could talk to him about that peculiar night when her life had turned upside down. That night was no longer a secret Sophie had to keep solely to herself, but the beginning of their endless fairy tale, the night they referred to as the night she met the man she loved.
"I thought I would never see you again. Every second we shared was a magical moment I was sure I would never experience again in my life. I wanted to never forget it and to remember it every time I closed my eyes."
With his free hand, Benedict held the tiny hand of his beloved wrapped around his arm. "So why are you closing your eyes now?"
Sophie took a deep breath and tightened her grip. "Because I no longer have to keep my eyes constantly open and be on guard. Because with a tremendous relief in my heart, I can freely stroll with the man I love in the daylight and carelessly feel the sweet, blowing breeze. Because I know my steps won't lead to dark traps, but to places I trust enough to surrender myself while being guided."
Benedict stopped walking and made sure Hazel, who was walking ahead of them, had put a bit more distance between them. Startled by the sudden halt, Sophie opened her eyes in surprise and looked up at Benedict. There was an unusual expression on his face that she hadn't seen often before. He wasn't smiling or smirking as he usually did. It wasn't the passion-filled gaze from those few hidden moments they shared, either; it was something else. He was looking at her as if isolated from everything and everyone around them, as if reading Sophie's soul through her eyes.
"Sophie..." His voice came from very deep, she could barely hear it. "I apologize for taking so long to find you."
Sophie didn't know what to feel with this unexpected apology. The man before her had saved her from hell and promised a heaven more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Moreover, during their dance at the Queen's ball, he had frequently leaned into her ear and whispered, 'Our best days haven't even begun yet,' filling Sophie's heart with the excitement of a long life ahead of them. Despite all this, he was apologizing to her. Sophie thought that all the love she had been deprived of her entire life was concentrated in this single person.
"Benedict, how can you say such a thing? You gave me a love beyond my wildest dreams. I am the one who should apologize to you. I walked away that night of the masquerade ball without an explanation. Even though I knew you were looking for that woman, I didn't tell you who I was. Yes, there was an explanation for it all, but—" She fell silent as Benedict pressed a finger to her lips.
"You will never apologize to anyone again, Sophie, not even to me. You won't feel embarrassed or indebted to anyone. I even forbid you from feeling like you have to be grateful to anyone. I want sorrow, inadequacy, and embarrassment to leave your life from now on." He was rubbing Sophie's arms as he spoke. "You don't owe anyone an apology, the world should apologize to you for what you were subjected to."
Sophie's eyes welled up with tears. Benedict had done it again; he had left her at a loss for words. All she could do was utter his name in a feeble voice. "Benedict..."
In her brown eyes, Benedict saw things no word in any language could ever express. He didn't know how he had lived until the age of thirty without these eyes, these lips, this sweet voice, this woman. It was as if life had made him wait until he deserved her. Noticing the tears gathering in Sophie's eyes, he decided he didn't want to spend this hard-earned moment this way. To dissipate the intensity of the moment, he added a cheerful and loud tone to his voice.
"I didn't bring my beautiful lady out for a walk in Hyde Park to make her cry. Come on now, let's keep going." He wrapped Sophie's hands around his arm again and started walking. "I want you to see the beautiful fruit trees up ahead, too. If we're lucky, I can pick some for you without anyone noticing. Plus, we still have to eat ice cream." Squinting, he looked at Hazel, who was now quite far ahead. "Also, I'm aware that Hazel has put all this distance between us purely out of courtesy. Let's catch up to the poor girl before she gets lost in the park."
Sophie matched his cheerfulness. "Ice cream is enough, my dear lord. What kind of a spouse would I be if I put you in danger just to climb a tree to pick fruit for me before our upcoming wedding?" she said in a playful voice.
Benedict let out a small laugh. Adapting to every moment with her, enjoying every second was priceless. Whether it was crying during the most emotional moments or laughing during the most fun times. He leaned his head toward Sophie and whispered with a flirtatious way. "Sophie... I promised myself and my mother that I would behave, and that is already a difficult enough task. Please, do not call me 'my lord' in public spaces ever again."
Laughing out loud, Sophie pressed her face against Benedict's muscular arm. The joyous sound caused a few heads around them to turn in curiosity. While Benedict nonchalantly savored this sweet melody coming from the woman he loved, Sophie felt slightly embarrassed and tried to compose herself. She didn't think society would highly approve of young ladies laughing out loud in public. Still, no one could know how hard it was to observe social rules when standing next to a man like Benedict Bridgerton. Arm in arm, they continued walking toward the ice cream shop.
- - -
Benedict's plans to make the most of London before the wedding included going to the opera on Friday night. Honestly, Benedict couldn't say he was a big fan of the opera, but he didn't want Sophie to miss out on anything. As a young woman, he wanted to make sure she had the same experiences as Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca. Sophie had thoroughly enjoyed their Hyde Park date last Tuesday and had expressed her desire to repeat it if possible. Benedict was satisfied that his plans were working and his fiancée was happy, promising to repeat it on the first sunny day. With every moment of Sophie's happiness, he found dozens of new reasons to make this woman happy. He never thought he would experience the cliché of being happy through the happiness of the one you love so profoundly. He was going to become a devoted, boring, cliché lover who annoyed bachelors, just like his brothers Anthony and Colin, whom he frequently mocked. He didn't care; he would be anything for Sophie.
Over the past few days, they had roughly outlined how they wanted to plan their wedding and informed Violet. No one was surprised that they wanted to get married at My Cottage. Neither of them wanted anything crowded, ornate, or ostentatious. Sophie didn't have many people in her life to invite anyway. When she said she wished to see Alfie, Irma, Hazel, John, and Celia by her side on that special day, Benedict promised to make it happen. The rest of the guests would consist of the Bridgerton family and their spouses, some family friends, a few close friends of Benedict, the Mondrichs, and, of course, the Crabtrees. Benedict wasn't a titled nobleman, but it was still going to be a rather modest wedding for a member of the Bridgertons. Violet, certain that her son and daughter-in-law would have wanted such a wedding under any other circumstances as well, so she affectionately agreed to their wishes.
Anthony was going to arrange the vicar to officiate the wedding. Colin and Penelope offered to help with the refreshments. Hyacinth, eager because her age had previously prevented her from having a say in her other siblings' weddings, lightened Sophie's responsibilities regarding the decorations and requested that most of the things needing a decision be left to her. Sophie gladly accepted the young girl's offer, as it would reduce her burden in an area she had little interest or knowledge in. The family would go to My Cottage four days before the wedding, spending a few days helping with the house preparations, playing games together, and eating meals. Daphne and her family would meet them directly in Wiltshire without stopping by London. Francesca, mentioning that it helped clear her mind, offered to accompany Sophie to her dress fitting appointments with the modiste. Benedict and Sophie welcomed this with immense gratitude. They were both so focused on getting married and starting a life together as soon as possible that having responsibilities taken off their shoulders and having fewer things to decide about the wedding was definitely a win for them.
Benedict was waiting for his fiancée in the entrance of Bridgerton House, wearing a perfectly fitted dark suit. When they had told Sophie the previous day that they were going to the opera, she had been very excited and said she would ask Francesca for help on what would be appropriate to wear. Francesca knew that Sophie's evening gowns were still in the tailoring phase, so she sincerely gave her one of the dozens of dresses she had never worn. After a few minor adjustments by the servants in the house, the dress looked like it belonged entirely to Sophie.
Colin walked up to Benedict and threw an arm over his shoulder. "I'm glad a new rookie has joined us in the business of waiting for ladies. Welcome to the club, brother."
Benedict laughed and rolled his eyes. "If it were up to Sophie, she would have been ready long ago, but since this is her first opera performance, Mother and Hyacinth want to make sure everything is perfect for her. I'm not allowed to go up to them, but I just received word that they're having her hair redone for the third time and they haven't been satisfied with any jewelry she has tried on for the last half hour."
Colin chuckled in response. "Don't let your chest puff out thinking all this effort and preparation is for us, brother. The ladies spend this much time entirely to look beautiful for themselves and each other." He leaned into Benedict's ear and spoke with the air of imparting secret information. "I got this information from the retired writer of the city's best gossip sheet. She happens to be my wife."
"When I first fell in love with Sophie, she was wearing a glamorous ballgown, and when I fell in love with her again, she was wearing a worn-out maid's uniform, brother. So I don't really care much about what she wears; all my attention is on the one wearing it," Benedict said, thinking first of the lady in silver at his mother's ball, and then of the desperate girl he had rescued at the Cavender house. He truly didn't care about the dresses Sophie wore or the jewelry she put on. Yet, over the last ten days since she stopped wearing a maid's uniform, he had caught Sophie eagerly looking at herself in the mirror like a little girl, wearing the dresses she borrowed from his sisters or those finished and sent by the modiste. Seeing her so happy and pleased with herself was worth the world. The woman he loved deserved the best of everything, the most beautiful dresses.
"Wow," Colin said loudly at these unexpectedly romantic words, then slapped Benedict hard on the back. "All these romantic words made me miss my own wife, we'll be waiting for you in the carriage. I'm off." As he walked with quick steps toward Penelope, who was waiting for him in their carriage, he silently prayed for Sophie to be delayed another ten minutes.
Even though Benedict hadn't shown it to Colin, his back stung from the impact of the slap. When his brother disappeared from sight, his hand went to his back to do some damage control. Then he heard voices at the top of the stairs and straightened his jacket, standing upright again. If they didn't want to be late, they needed to leave within a few minutes. If they hadn't come for a while longer, he wouldn't have been able to endure it. He would have raided Sophie's -new- room and told his mother and sister to free his fiancée. But when he lifted his head and looked in the direction of the voice, his mouth went dry. Sophie's deep purple dress, which perfectly hugged her waist, offered a magnificent plunge toward her chest with its square neckline. The color of the dress and the tone of the girl's skin were in such spectacular harmony that for a moment, Benedict thought her wedding dress should be purple, too. The silver jewelry and the shawl draped over her arms were gleaming. Her eyes, accentuated by makeup, pierced straight to his soul, while the pinkness on her sweet cheeks turned even more vivid when she caught Benedict's gaze. Her hair was swept back, with a few wavy curls framing her face. Beside her, Hyacinth was holding Sophie's hand, looking at her with the pride of someone admiring her own masterpiece. Benedict's feet moved involuntarily toward the bottom of the stairs. He was at the bottom, and Sophie was three steps above, looking down at him.
Benedict wanted to read her poetry, but he had forgotten all the poems he knew. He wanted to serenade her, but no melody remained in his mind. All compliments turned into ordinary, simple words next to this woman. Therefore, he just looked into her eyes and hoped she would understand.
"Ta-da!" Hyacinth said, opening her arms and gesturing to Sophie. "What do you think of my masterpiece, brother? I picked everything."
Smiling sweetly, Sophie looked at Hyacinth, clasping her hands in front of her and swaying slightly where she stood. Hyacinth truly had an extraordinary taste; Sophie was sure that if she had had to choose all these pieces herself, they would have been late to the opera out of indecision. After everything was finished, she had been very pleased with the woman she saw in the mirror.
Benedict smiled at his sister and took another step forward. His eyes slowly, yet without dawdling, swept over Sophie from head to toe. "The masterpiece is already very beautiful, sister." He raised his hand and extended it to Sophie, just like the first night they met. "But you've helped it shine even more by choosing a beautiful frame, thank you."
Sophie didn't know what to do and lowered her eyes. What was she going to do with this man? Regardless of the place, setting, or who was around, he never held back from saying exactly what was on his mind. She held Hyacinth’s hand. "Thank you, with your help I feel wonderful."
Hyacinth smiled broadly. She had loved Sophie since the days she was her lady's maid, and now, being her sister-in-law had only multiplied that love. She was thrilled that she could make Sophie happy. Sophie planted a sweet kiss on Hyacinth's cheek, then took Benedict's hand and descended the remaining steps.
- - -
Benedict, Sophie, Colin, and Penelope had taken their seats in the balcony box at the opera house. The stage was visible from a highly favorable angle. Sophie was not accustomed to such places, but she thought they had a very nice seat for her first opera experience. When the performers took the stage and the show began, all the murmuring ceased, and hundreds of faces began to look intently in the same direction. The hall was almost entirely full. Sophie was astonished by the crowd she saw. Her life had always consisted of so few people that, despite all her academic knowledge, she could never truly fathom how many people there were in the world. There were masses of people, a society created by those masses, and rules created by that society. Those rules had decided Sophie's fate the day she was born as an illegitimate child, condemning her to a small life. She wondered if her father used to spend time in places like this on the days he wasn't home in the past. While Sophie found solace in the affection of the servants at home, her father must have been attending the high society events befitting an earl. All these balls, operas, and park strolls she was experiencing thanks to Benedict were the other side of her father's life, from which he had separated Sophie with a sharp line.
"I am not sure I am pleased with where your thoughts are taking you."
At the sound of Benedict's voice, she pulled her eyes away from where she had been staring and turned her face to him. He had leaned in slightly, speaking close to her ear so she could hear. She was doing him a disservice by not living in the moment. A senseless feeling of guilt washed over her, and she immediately placed her hand over Benedict's, which was resting on her knee.
"I suppose I got swept up in the grandeur of the venue for a moment, pardon me."
Benedict smiled tenderly. He knew Sophie wasn't telling the truth. If there was one thing his fiancée was terrible at, it was lying. Which only gave him another reason to love her even more. Still, he didn't press the issue, instead bringing her delicate hand to his lips and pressing a deep kiss to it.
When Sophie turned forward and focused her attention back on the performance, it was Benedict who was now distracted, and he decided to have a little fun. Using the index finger of the hand resting on Sophie's knee, he began making circular motions over the fabric of her dress. Glancing at Sophie out of the corner of his eye, she didn't seem to notice much. Benedict pressed his lips together to suppress a smirk. His finger slowly began to travel up from her knee toward her thigh. Sophie looked at him without turning her head, and when the finger retreated back to the safe zone of her knee, she returned her gaze to the performance. Benedict began tracing his finger up toward her thighs again, then back to the knee. Each time, his finger's excursion ended a little higher before returning to the knee. Sophie started to feel hot, as if she had been placed over a roaring fire in a cauldron. She opened the fan Violet had gifted her and began fanning herself gently. Benedict seemed highly pleased with himself; his finger would inch toward dangerous boundaries, only to retreat to its starting point before Sophie could intervene. With the sensations awakening within her, Sophie pressed her legs together. The voices of the opera singers faded behind the ringing in her ears. As Benedict's fingers neared the upper limit of her thighs, she fanned herself faster. She prayed the sweat gathering at her hairline wouldn't ruin her makeup. The man's provocative touches were becoming increasingly unbearable just as the first act ended, and Benedict, like everyone else, removed his hand from her leg to applaud. Sophie let out a deep breath.
"Sophie, what do you think? Did you enjoy it?" Penelope said, turning toward her. "This play has been very popular in Paris for many years. I've been waiting a long time for it to come to London."
Sophie looked sequentially at the three faces waiting for her answer, her throat dry from excitement. "Y-yes, I liked it very much." Another failed lie. She hadn't been able to fully focus on the performance—the first few minutes because of her own thoughts, and the last ten because of Benedict's provocations. When she looked at Benedict, the man was smirking cheekily with a look that said, 'I know exactly what I'm doing to you.' Sophie felt she was treading a thin line between strangling him and jumping into his lap.
"Benedict mentioned your French was excellent. I'm sure you thought that watching it in its original language would enhance the enjoyment throughout."
Benedict was now covering his mouth with one hand to stifle his laughter. Sophie tried not to show she was annoyed. Keeping her smile intact, she looked at Penelope. "Actually, my French isn't perfect; for obvious reasons, I haven't had the opportunity for proper practice in years." Then she turned to Benedict and spoke in a pointed tone. "But Benedict's is so atrocious that it made me feel as if I were born and raised in Paris."
Colin and Penelope burst into laughter. Penelope brought her fan up to her mouth with the air of a lady accustomed to such environments, while Colin nonchalantly threw the intensity of his laughter right back in his brother’s face.
Benedict raised his eyebrows, giving Sophie a 'so that's how it is' look. He adored these assertive, confident moments of hers when she kept up with his banter. He had finally managed to pull her attention away from those endless, hurtful thoughts and allowed her to have fun. Minutes passed as Colin talked about the opera houses in Paris and Rome, and Penelope explained that they planned to travel to France once Elliot was a bit older. Following the commotion signaling the start of the second act, everyone settled back into their seats. Sophie, on the other hand, was intent on getting her revenge.
Benedict seemed more behaved now. He was holding one of Sophie's hands in both of his hands upon his own leg, playing with her fingers as he watched the performance. Sophie watched his handsome face and his inability to keep his hands off her for a while. If there was one thing she was certain would not exist in their marriage, it was personal space. After making sure Colin and Penelope's attention was also on the stage, she put her plan into action.
She slipped her hand out from between Benedict's. Benedict looked at her at the loss of contact, but Sophie , simply tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with an incredibly natural demeanor. Benedict turned back to the front. Pressing her lips together, Sophie slowly placed her hand on Benedict's upper thigh, he didn't react. Sophie then took her hand on a mischievous journey toward dangerous territories, just as Benedict had done, but unlike him, she didn't make short, quick visits. Her fingers lingered on his upper thigh for a long time, tapping out the tempo of the music playing on stage. Benedict's eyes widened as he looked at her, but Sophie never diverted her attention from the stage, all while trying to suppress a smile. Sometimes she moved her hand closer to his groin, feeling his vitality there with the movements of her fingers, and other times she stroked the very top of his thighs with a touch so feather-light it was barely there.
Benedict's small, warning coughs grew more violent as Sophie's touches shifted in location and intensity. On one hand, he wanted this torment to end; on the other, he couldn't find the strength and willpower within himself to remove her hand from there. During one of the minutes when he felt his trousers growing tighter, Sophie's pinky brushed such a spot that he suddenly coughed violently and jolted.
Seeing that not only Colin and Penelope but several other people had turned to look at him, he raised his hand to signal everything was fine. "Excuse me."
Once people's attention returned to the stage, his eyes darted to Sophie. Her brown eyes sparkled with a playful glint. Approaching Benedict with an air of oblivious innocence, she asked, "Are you alright, my love?"
Benedict leaned in to Sophie's ear and whispered in a deep voice. "You have started a war, Miss Gun. Prepare for the next round."
When he pulled his head back from her neck and looked at Sophie's face, he saw she was crimson, and he grinned broadly. It was turning into an opera date where they paid zero attention to the art on stage, but Benedict found himself on the front lines of the war that had just begun, like a soldier eager to lay down his life.
- - -
On Monday, before midnight, everyone had retired to their rooms, and almost all the lights in Bridgerton House were out. Benedict had stalled as much as he could, narrowly escaping his mother's attempts to send him back to his bachelor lodgings. Once he was sure Violet was asleep, he fetched Sophie from her room and took her to the swings in the garden. The two were now sitting side by side on the swings, swaying gently, enjoying the sweet coolness of the night.
"A few months ago, while sitting on these exact swings, I told Eloise that no one would ever love me, that no one would give me their heart."
Sophie's heart ached at Benedict's unexpected confession. He was the most worthy of love of anyone she knew, and the last person in the world who should think such a thing.
"Benedict... why would you say something like that?"
"It was during the days I searched for you everywhere after the masquerade ball and couldn't find you." His voice trembled slightly. "It was as if you had gone to far-off lands, to entirely different worlds. When my searches yielded no results, I began to think you were intentionally running from me. In fact, after a certain point, I felt as though I had never met you that night, that everything was just a figment of my imagination."
Sophie could never have guessed she would experience something like this that night. That bold escapade, which she had promised herself was only for one night, had become her greatest torment in the following days. Knowing he was looking for her yet being unable to do anything, even seeing him at Penwood House and not being able to go to him and say, 'Here I am,' was like torture. Hearing that Benedict had suffered a separate torture of his own reminded her of how deep-rooted the prices they paid to be together were.
"I am so sorry, Benedict." She reached out and took his hand. "I was afraid of exposing myself and disappointing you... And when we finally met again, I was the one who was disappointed."
"What immense stupidity it was not to realize who you were when you were right in front of my eyes for days while I searched for you everywhere. I still can't understand it."
Sophie smiled bitterly. She leaned her forehead against the ropes of the swing.
"I didn't tell you this to make us sad, quite the contrary; I wanted to remind us of how far we've come. Right here, where I said months ago that I thought no one would ever love me, I am now sitting with the love of my life—the person I love more than I have ever loved anyone, and who loves me more than I have ever been loved." He planted a warm kiss on the palm of Sophie's hand.
"Sometimes, all of this still feels surreal," Sophie said, giggling. Benedict smiled, too, and they swayed gently, hand in hand, for a while.
Sophie's question broke the silence after some minutes. "Why me?"
"I-I beg your pardon? I didn't understand," Benedict said, unsure if he had heard correctly.
For a moment, Sophie regretted her question, but she couldn't help wondering either. Not when they were alone, but in the crowded environments, gatherings, and events they had started to attend more frequently, this question always lingered in a corner of her mind.
"Why me?" she repeated. "I know it's silly for me to ask this, maybe even unfair, but I can't help thinking about it. You are a Bridgerton. Throughout your life of over thirty years, you've been in circles I can't even fathom. You went to Eton, then Cambridge... You went to art school. And..." She continued with slight hesitation. "...from what I've read in Lady Whistledown over the years, you've had quite a colorful and active life. All those crowded, free-spirited parties filled with diverse characters..."
Benedict—especially after meeting Sophie—wasn't particularly proud of his past. He smiled with slight embarrassment and bowed his head.
Sophie continued. "I can't even imagine the people you might have met. Perhaps adventurous gentlemen who traveled the world, or maybe lady artists experienced in every sense... Sometimes, among all these possibilities, I can't understand how you chose a wounded maid who had been imprisoned for years."
Benedict looked into Sophie's eyes for a while without answering. He understood the reasons she asked such a question, but he felt very angry at the life that made her think this way. Simply promising Sophie the best future he could offer was not enough for him; he wanted to heal her past wounds, to erase them from all her memories.
The silence made Sophie regret her question, perhaps there wasn't a clear answer. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked." She looked down at her hands, which were clasped in front of her. "Actually, this isn't because I don't believe in your capacity to love, but because I don't believe in my own lovability."
Benedict smiled tenderly; he knew. Despite living completely different lives, they were wounded from the same place. He took Sophie's hand and pulled her to her feet. While the girl looked at him in surprise, he gently pulled her onto his lap sideways and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.
"I have met thousands of eyes in my life, but no one truly saw me, Sophie. No one truly saw or loved me without my putting on an act, following the rules, compromising who I am, or fulfilling expectations. Often, even in this house..." Sophie followed his gaze toward Bridgerton House. "When I look into your eyes, I see the purest version of myself. Your gaze tells me that I am understood, that I am loved, that I am enough. I... had never experienced anything like this before."
Sophie reached her hand toward her fiancé's hair and affectionately combed it backward from his forehead with her fingers.
Benedict continued. "Besides, I've never seen anyone as real as you. It's as if you are both too unreal to belong to this world, yet completely pure, like cleanest water. You are entirely as you are. You have a loving, compassionate heart, the courage and pride to stand on your own two feet without needing anyone, an incredibly sharp mind, and a truly admirable intellect. Your perspective is like a torch that sheds light on everyone around you. You can see the things around you as no one else can. Like the chandelier at the masquerade ball, like my old paintings in the library at My Cottage, like me..."
Sophie couldn't quite say she had made much progress in accepting or responding such words yet. But fortunately, she had a perfect man who could help her. And they had a whole lifetime ahead of them to share together.
With a grateful smile, she stroked Benedict's cheek and kissed him, felt Benedict's smile against her lips. When they shared intimate moments, it was both as easy and complementary as two bodies accustomed to each other's touch for centuries, and as searing and passionate as if they were touching for the first time. Benedict tilted his head and deepened the kiss; one arm was wrapped around Sophie's waist, while his other hand wrapped around her leg beneath the knee. When he pulled Sophie closer and pressed her against his chest, she let out a deep moan. At that sound, which disabled all of Benedict's senses and logic, he increased the movements of his tongue. After kissing for a few minutes, Sophie pulled away with the need to breathe, but didn't move her face too far back, leaving them close enough for their foreheads and noses to touch.
Her lips were slightly swollen and red from being kissed, and her cheeks held that sweet pink flush that was visible even in the moonlight illuminating the garden. She was taking quick, shallow breaths. Benedict savored this beauty he possessed for a while. Then he asked in a flirtatious voice.
"I wonder, Miss Gun." As much as he was glad she had finally attained this surname she deserved and belonged to, deep down he didn't really enjoy addressing her as such; he wanted her to become his Mrs. Bridgerton as soon as possible. "May I know your reason too? Why me?"
Sophie let out a breath with a laugh. It was a good thing that the passionate moment from just now had dissipated somewhat; otherwise, she didn't trust either herself or Benedict regarding where things would lead. After promising not to cause another scandal, doing the deed in the garden of Bridgerton House wouldn't be ideal.
"Hmm. Let's think." She took on a serious role, placing her fist under her chin. Benedict raised his eyebrows and looked at her with a cheerful smile on his face.
Sophie began speaking in a playful voice. "You're tall, handsome, and from what I've experienced, you have a great body..." Benedict's smirk widened. Sophie continued. "You're rich, you have an enormous cottage," she said, emphasizing the word cottage. The mischievous tone in her voice increased. "And also you're a Bridgerton. Well, Anthony and Colin are married, and Gregory is too young. That leaves you."
Benedict burst into a loud laugh. "Is that so, Miss Gun?" he said, acting shocked. He adored these playful sides of hers.
"It is," Sophie said, grinning with her teeth showing. She looked like a little girl trying to be cute.
"Well then..." Benedict said, and suddenly started tickling her.
At the fingers attacking her waist, Sophie's back arched like a bow, and she burst into loud laughter. In a sudden reflex to keep from falling, she wrapped both her arms tightly around his neck. Gasping for breath between laughs, she shouted, "Stop! Benedict! I'm begging you, stop! Benedict, please! Someone will hear!"
Benedict was thoroughly enjoying himself, but if she kept squirming in his lap like this, either his physiology would misinterpret the scene and react, or they would lose their balance and fall off the swing. So he stopped tickling her -even he didn’t want to-, and wrapped his arms tightly around her slender waist. Buried his nose in her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. Benedict could swear that no substance had ever intoxicated him so quickly and completely.
- - -
During their art excursion at Somerset House, Benedict realized that the artworks he had once admired—wishing he were the artist behind them—now seemed incredibly shallow, simple, and meaningless to his eyes. With her sea-green dress, the white hat that somehow managed to make her look even more adorable, her deeply concentrated expression, slightly parted lips, and her arms clasped behind her back as she studied the artworks, his beloved was currently the most artistic piece in this entire building. Benedict felt a mad desire to take down all the works on the walls and hang various portraits of Sophie in their place. Sophie with the evening sun hitting her face; Sophie unknowingly smelling the flowers in the garden; Sophie sleeping completely naked and innocent, with one of her breast exposed outside the sheets; Sophie in the bathtub with her back to him, parts of her face visible through her wet hair; Sophie unconsciously sticking the tip of her tongue out while focused on taking notes in her journal; Sophie with her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment... Benedict was certain that once they started living in the countryside, he wouldn't be bored for a single second.
"Benedict, look, the brushstrokes in this painting resemble your style," Sophie said excitedly, snapping him out of his reverie. As Sophie gazed at all these paintings with admiration, it was taking everything in Benedict to keep it a secret that he was painting a portrait of her in secret at his bachelor lodgings. But he was determined; that painting would be a wedding gift for his beautiful bride.
"Let me see," he said, clasping his arms behind his back as he stepped up behind his fiancée. Sophie had been the very first person to see his work. He would never forget those moments in the library at My Cottage. She had left him utterly astounded with her unexpected artistic knowledge and had immediately understood what he was aiming for in his painting with just a single glance. Her observations were so astute that she could detect traces of Benedict even in someone else's painting.
"Yes, you're right. If it were me, I would have done the shading exactly like this. Unless—"
"But I am not sure about the colors. I think the composition in this piece would have shown a more successful cohesion with the cool tones of a sunrise rather than the warm tones of a sunset," Sophie interjected.
Benedict witnessed in astonishment as the exact comment he was about to make fell from the lips of the woman he loved. He already admired her artistic vision, but the fact that they were on the exact same page was truly magical. He pursed his lips in feigned offense, taking a step back and placing a hand over his heart. "Now my heart is truly broken."
Sophie pulled her eyes away from the painting in surprise and turned to him. "Why? Did I say something wrong?" Her hands had instinctively clasped together over her chest in worry.
"No, quite the contrary," Benedict said with a mischievous smirk. "You are making me experience the greatest tragedy an artist can endure. My fiancée has a much better vision than I do." Gesturing to himself, he spoke dramatically. "Miss Gun, have mercy on me. Allow there to be at least one thing I am better at than you, just one thing. Otherwise, my fragile male ego will be crushed by the reality that I am not worthy of you and that I am marrying far out of my league."
Giggling, Sophie lightly swatted Benedict's arm with her fan. "You are mad. I only said what seemed logical to me."
Benedict laughed, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. "I know, and I adore that logical brain of yours."
Sophie linked her arm through Benedict's and started tugging him along. "Come on, we still have sculptures to see."
Benedict leaned down to Sophie's ear, compensating for the considerable height difference between them despite her short heels. "If you host me in your room tonight, I can show you those sculptures very closely. And it's better than in this museum; touching is completely allowed."
"Benedict!" Sophie gasped in a shocked voice. She quickly checked around to see if anyone could have possibly heard them. Then she looked back at him, speaking with feigned anger. "You are incorrigible."
"What did I say?" Benedict asked, acting as if he had no idea what he had done. Yet, the massive smirk on his face gave him away entirely, proving he was fully aware of what he had said. He held Sophie's hand resting on his arm, and they continued walking.
Natural daylight streaming through the high windows illuminated hundreds of paintings hung closely together from ceiling to floor. The massive, magnificent oil portraits and dramatic historical scenes placed in the upper rows added a dignified air to the room, while the delicate landscapes and pastel-toned nature depictions at eye level offered a soul-soothing contrast. The smell of turpentine and varnish in the air mingled with the heavy rose and lavender perfumes worn by the strolling ladies, creating a distinct atmosphere unique to the venue. This was a grand stage not only for art but also for London society to display itself. The crowd gathered around the sculptures in the corners and corridors of the hall drew as much attention as the artworks themselves, wearing clothes that unabashedly paraded their status and wealth. Gentlemen in impeccably tailored dark jackets engaged in serious artistic discussions while looking at the exhibition catalogs in their hands; ladies, turning the hall into a moving garden with their silk dresses and feathered hats, scrutinized both the artworks and the people around them with sharp gazes. The splendor of the art on the walls, combined with the firm sounds of footsteps echoing in the hall, the rustling of fans, and the elegant whispers of gossip, transformed the space into a living experience.
"Benedict Bridgerton? Good Lord, are my eyes seeing correctly?"
Benedict let out a soft sigh, turning around with a hint of disappointment at the interrupted moment with his fiancée. The widowed Lady Tilley Arnold, who had occupied a brief but stormy place in his life last season, stood before him with her usual flirtatious gaze. She was wearing a daring, deep ruby dress. Her famous, assertive smile was on her face. Yet, what was truly striking was the handsome, eager-looking young lord tightly clutching Tilley's arm, clearly much younger than her and likely newly titled. He had sandy-brown hair and a tall but slender build. Next to Tilley's commanding presence, he looked rather timid and withdrawn.
"Tilley," Benedict said, maintaining his politeness but adding a distant tone to his voice. "What a coincidence."
Sophie observed the alluring and beautiful woman, whom she guessed to be quite a bit older. She truly possessed an allure that would make anyone passing by turn and look at her again. It hadn't escaped her notice that she and Benedict addressed each other by their first names. While deciding on wedding guests with Violet, she had had the opportunity to learn about the Bridgertons' relatives, family friends, and those they were close to in society. But she didn't recall any mention of someone named Tilley or anyone fitting the description of the woman standing before them. She instantly caught the subtle tension hanging in the air. She wondered what had happened between her and Benedict, yet she decided to remain silent.
Tilley's eyes dropped from Benedict's face and slid to the elegant silhouette right beside him—to Sophie. Within seconds, her gaze swept over Sophie's sea-green dress, her modest posture, and finally, the dazzling engagement ring on the hand wrapped around Benedict's arm. One of her eyebrows arched slightly. She had heard some rumors about Benedict getting engaged, but she hadn't thought they could be true, having heard from his own mouth not too long ago that he didn't want anything serious. Now, the view before her stated the exact opposite. So, this young, petite woman standing in front of her was the fiancée of the free-spirited man she had once wanted to keep solely for herself. In her opinion, the girl didn't have a particularly striking appearance, yet she was certain she hadn't seen her anywhere before.
"I am not surprised to see you here, Benedict," Tilley said, widening the mocking curve on her lips. She gestured toward Benedict and Sophie's intertwined arms with her eyes. "But finding you in this manner is certainly surprising."
Benedict's jaw clenched momentarily, but he didn't break his posture. He unlinked his arm from Sophie's and wrapped it around her waist, gently pulling her to his side in a protective manner. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée. Miss Sophie Gun. Sophie, my love, this is Lady Tilley Arnold and..." Benedict shifted his gaze to the young man.
"Lord Stanton," the young man quickly interjected with an eager nod. With the excitement of his youth, he looked exceedingly proud to be strolling with such a charming woman on his arm.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Sophie said with the flawless elegance of a lady. After giving her a brief smile, Tilley's gaze returned to Benedict. That overly comfortable familiarity in her eyes, the suggestive smile on her lips... Sophie realized this woman was a part of Benedict's colorful and active past. The tension in the air stemmed from shared history, perhaps from things left unfinished... A brief, icy wave of insecurity washed over her; not toward Benedict, but toward herself.
"Fiancée..." Tilley murmured, weighing the word in her mouth. She was having a hard time believing that Benedict could marry of his own free will. She voiced the only logical explanation that came to mind. "Ah, I see. It seems Lady Bridgerton's efforts to marry off her last bachelor son have finally yielded results."
Benedict closed his eyes and swore internally. Of course, his mother's enthusiasm for marrying off her children was something all of London knew about—especially considering he was the eldest remaining bachelor. And of course, after telling Tilley just last year that he wasn't looking for anything serious and even avoiding establishing a monogamous relationship, the woman had now attributed his engagement to an arranged marriage orchestrated by his mother. When he glanced at Sophie out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't read anything from her expression. Yes, she wasn't radiating joy right now, that was clear. But she didn't look specifically angry or sad, either. He would never let anything or anyone make her doubt his love for her.
"Actually, Tilley... when I started dreaming of marrying my fiancée, my mother didn't yet know about us." He turned his eyes to Sophie. "In fact, I don't think I was even aware of it myself, but deep down, from the very first moment I saw her, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her."
Sophie looked at Benedict with warm eyes, while Tilley looked at him with a slightly surprised expression. Both women understood that he wasn't putting on an act, he wasn't speaking to impress anyone; he was entirely sincere. The man was in love, there was no question about it.
"I can understand you’re surprised," Benedict continued. "I, too, didn't think I would marry until a short while ago, until the person who made me consider it." His eyes met Sophie's, and he saw his own Sophie in her gaze again. He felt relieved. "I must confess that I am counting the days until our wedding; I fight with myself every day not to whisk her away and elope to Gretna Green," he said with a laugh.
The pointless tension in the air broke as everyone let out small laughs at Benedict's words. Sophie knew that the last sentence was absolutely not a joke. Benedict was more than ready to elope at her slightest hint.
"Good Lord..." Tilley murmured, with a tone that accepted defeat but was pleased by it. The disappointment she felt at not having won Benedict wasn't because she was in love with him or anything of the sort. Besides, Tilley wasn't the kind of woman to ruin herself chasing after love like a young, inexperienced girl; she wouldn't stoop to that. She simply had never been rejected before, and the situation had bruised her ego. "You truly are in love, Benedict Bridgerton. I must say I am very happy for you." Then she turned to Sophie. "Please accept my best wishes for your happiness, Miss Gun."
Sophie smiled, giving a polite nod. The woman seemed quite sincere, but Sophie still couldn't tell if there was an underlying implication.
Tilley continued. "I must also congratulate you. Transforming London society's most incorrigible bachelor into such a man in love is commendable. Believe me, I am genuinely very happy for him."
"You are very kind, Lady Arnold," Sophie said. She did not compromise her politeness but kept her distance. "Thank you for your good wishes."
After giving Benedict one last friendly nod, Tilley gently guided the oblivious young man on her arm, who had merely been witnessing the events around him, and disappeared into the crowd.
After watching them walk away for a few seconds, Benedict and Sophie linked arms again and continued their tour inside the building. Benedict whistled softly, observing his surroundings with a pleased demeanor. When he looked at Sophie, he saw her gazing at him with her beautiful, sparkling brown eyes. He smiled softly.
"Sophie, I was completely serious about what I said just now."
Sophie smiled, taking Benedict's hand and stroking it with her thumb. "I know, my love. My trust in your love—"
"No, Sophie," Benedict said, cutting her off. There was a very serious expression on his face. "I was very serious about Gretna Green. Two months is far too long for a mere mortal like me to endure."
Sophie's jaw dropped; seriously, what was she going to do with this man? He stood before her, grinning broadly. He was truly impossible. "Benedict!" she said with a laugh, playfully swatting his arm. "Behave yourself and show me the rest of this place. I want to see more artwork before we exceed the time limit your mother gave us."
- - -
"Is it not finished yet?" Sophie asked impatiently for the third time in the last ten minutes.
Benedict was entirely focused on the work before him, replying quite seriously. "If you hadn't ruthlessly tossed the first one I gave you into the roaring fire, this might have taken much less time."
"Benedict, I told you!" Sophie whined softly. "It felt impossible for us to be together back then, and I didn't want to look at that drawing and feel even more devastated.’’
"Very well, let us draw a well too, just in case of any potential fires." Winking playfully at Sophie, he returned to his sketching.
They were in the study at Bridgerton House. Benedict was seated squarely at the center of the desk, while Sophie sat in the chair right beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she watched his skillful hands with admiration. Since the first drawing of Our Cottage that Benedict had gifted Sophie had fallen victim to a tragic end, he was now sketching a new one at her insistence. This time, as he drew, they talked about how they envisioned their home and what they wished to do there, with Benedict adapting the sketch accordingly. For instance, there were far more flowers in the garden this time; Sophie had requested an abundance of tulips rather than roses. She hadn't told Benedict yet, but she had chosen tulips because she worried that rose thorns might prick the hands of their future children. Benedict had also drawn an easel in a corner of the garden for sudden bursts of inspiration and his outdoor sketches. New trees had been added to the garden, and bushes bursting with red berries surrounded the house so that Sophie could make jams and tarts. She had also made him draw two swings hanging from the thick-trunked tree on the right side of the house—both to recreate the joy of their swing ride from the other night, and for the children...
"Could you draw a dog as well?" Sophie asked suddenly.
Benedict looked at her with a smile; she had asked the question so sweetly and innocently, like a five-year-old child, that for a moment he wanted to bite her pink cheeks. "You want a dog?"
"Well, yes..." She suddenly felt shy about her abrupt enthusiasm. "When I was a child, I had a very old dog at our house in the countryside. Unfortunately, he passed away before we returned to London." Sophie sadly recalled how that dog had been her only friend for the longest time. "I love dogs; their companionship is so precious. Plus, they are very skilled at protecting their owners and keeping them company."
If Benedict were tasked with a single duty for the rest of his life, he would want it to be fulfilling Sophie's wishes. She wanted a dog? Then, of course, they would have a dog. Even several, if she wished. To be honest, if Sophie had wanted a dragon rather than a dog, Benedict would have pushed the limits to get her one "Drawing it right now," he said, leaning over the paper. When he glanced back at Sophie, he saw her happily studying the sketch. He lightly tapped her tiny nose with his index finger. "And you should start thinking of a name for it already."
Sophie bounced in her seat with pure joy and gave a short clap. Cupping Benedict's face in her hands, she pulled him toward her and planted a huge kiss on his cheek.
The pencil in Benedict's hand came to an abrupt halt on the paper. He turned to Sophie with a flirtatious look, raising his index finger as if to warn her. "Ma’am, if you continue to motivate the artist in this manner," he said, deliberately dropping his voice to a huskier, whispered tone, "this drawing might never be finished. And to be perfectly honest, as the person drawing the picture, I wouldn't complain about that in the slightest."
Sophie giggled, tilting her head slightly with that sweet pink flush on her cheeks. "I merely wanted to thank you. Please, return to your drawing, Mr. Bridgerton. I am very curious to see what our new friend will look like."
Trying to suppress his smile, Benedict turned back to the paper. With confident strokes of his pencil, he added the silhouette of a sweet, fluffy, medium-sized dog with slightly perked ears, excitedly running right beside the tulips in the garden. After finishing the final details, he set the pencil down entirely and carefully lifted the paper, angling it so Sophie could see it perfectly.
"There," he said proudly. "Our Cottage, new edition."
As Sophie looked at the drawing, she couldn't stop her eyes from welling up with tears. This piece of paper had to be the most precious thing she had ever owned in her life. The life she dreamed of with the man she loved had fit onto this rectangular sheet of paper. It was her very own home. A few months ago, when she thought of this house, the only thing that came to mind was that fairy-tale-like week they had shared, which she had believed was impossible to ever repeat. The phrase Our Cottage used to signify nothing but the disappointment and sorrow of a life she could never live. But now, every single corner of this picture was filled with hope, love, and the dreams she was building together with Benedict.
The drawing did not remain in this final state forever; it was updated over time as Benedict sketched new ones. Over the years, their numbers grew, the voices multiplied, the laughter loudened, the trees bore fruit, the swings swung higher, the flowers bloomed in full color, and the picture was finally complete.
end.
hope you enjoyed :)