🌠

"I am sketching out a new design for the bookshelves at My Cottage," Benedict responds without looking up. "I think Sophie deserves for them to be a little nicer."

Anthony blinks. "They are bookshelves."

"Boring. Dull. If my future wife is to spend a serious amount of time in that room, it should be much more beautiful than it is."

"...I do need my desk back at some point."

"Later."

*****

"I think it's sweet," Daphne says as she sips her tea.

"I think it's mad," Anthony tells her.

"He has never actually put effort into a relationship before," Daphne tells him. "But Benedict is in love, and he wants his fiancee to want for nothing. There is nothing wrong with that."

"He sent Sophie two dozen multi-colored roses yesterday," Colin comments. "The day before it was tulips. The day before that it was lilacs."

"We should all be so lucky to have such a thoughtful man in our lives," Kate comments.

Anthony blinks and looks at his wife. "What?"

She blinks back. "What?"

"Is that-is that a challenge?" Anthony asks.

Kate shrugs innocently.

Daphne laughs into her tea.

*****

"It is too much."

"It is not too much."

"Benedict."

He looks at her innocently. "It is only a bracelet."

"It looks expensive," Sophie argues as she looks down at it. Silver with three pearls, separated by diamonds shaped into leaves.

"Well, good," Benedict shrugs.

"I would have been just as happy if you'd made one from flowers in the garden," she tells him.

"I can do that, too," he offers.

"Benedict."

*****

"Benedict."

"You bought Edwina a horse and then you did not even marry her."

Anthony shuts his mouth.

"Sophie said she wanted a dog. So...Dog."

The dog looks up at Anthony and then pees on the floor at his feet.

“Lord Bridgerton!”

“Looord Berbrooke,” Edmund mutters under his breath.

The man is insufferable, and Edmund has always thought so. Maybe it’s his teeth. Maybe it’s everything else about him.

Edmund isn’t sure.

He thanks the good lord that his own sons are by and large pleasant and handsome and charming. He knows that’s mostly Violet’s fault. Doing. Whatever.

Edmund looks around and spots Anthony and Benedict and Colin and Daphne, gaggled together, looking around. Possibly discussing prospects for Daph. They’re all so wonderful. He’s so god damn lucky to have them. Anthony’s earnest responsibility and Benedict’s talent and whimsy and Colin’s adventurousness and Daphne’s grace.

Berbrooke is still talking.

“I do so enjoy your daughter, Lord Bridgerton.”

Edmond blinks and turns to him. “No.”

“I beg your-”

“No,” Edmund repeats.

“But-”

Edmund just shakes his head. “No.” With that, he steps away from the other man and heads to his children. They all greet him as they normally do. Head nods and grins. Daphne takes his arm.

“Keep Nigel Berbrooke away from your sister,” Edmund tells his son.

“Why?” Anthony asks.

“Because he makes me want to commit murder, just by existing,” Edmund explains. “Under no circumstances is there a world where I would let him marry any daughter of mine.”

Anthony straightens. “Yes, father.

Edmund grins at him and pats his shoulder and then looks at his other children. “Are we allergic to merriment? Go have a good time. Go dance.”

“Anthony has scared off five suitors,” Daphne complains.

Edmund rolls his eyes. “Then you and I shall walk and try to ease their fears.” He turns to Anthony. “I am not dead yet. Stop acting like the Viscount and enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Anthony gives him a sheepish grin. “Yes, father.”

Edmund shakes his head and pats Daphne’s hand. “You must forgive your brother. He acts like a dunce out of love.”

Daphne laughs softly. “I just do not wish to waste the queen's favor.”

“Then you will not,” Edmund promises. “We will find you a good match and wash our hands of this entire, stressful business.”

Mrs. Crabtree had fled the kitchen an hour ago, leaving Sophie to teach Benedict how to make cake, and he's mostly kind of sort of paying attention, but not enough to genuinely learn how to do this.

Mostly he's just eating the whipped cream that's mean to top the cakes when they're done.

"Benedict."

He gives her an innocent look, one finger in his mouth.

Sophie shakes her head and keeps working, slicing fruit to go on the cake as well.

But she freezes when he reaches out and pokes her nose, a dollop of whipped cream smearing there.

Slowly, she turns to him. blinking.

Benedict grins widely, licking his finger again.

And something in Sophie just...

snaps.

She reaches for the whipped cream, and scoops some into her cupped hand, watching has his grin turns to a look up shock, and amusement and maybe a little hope, which she finds odd.

And then she throws the whipped cream at his face.

It lands on his cheek with a dull splat, and they stare at each other for a long moment.

And it's all over. They both scramble for more whipped cream, throwing it and smearing it on each other's faces, laughing and yelling and squeaking.

And eventually, when all the whipped cream is on their faces and in their hair and on their clothes and hands, Benedict pulls her in and kisses her, still laughing.

"We made a mess," Sophie complains, laughing as well.

"Then we will clean it up," Benedict promises with a smile. "But later."

He kisses her again, and she tastes the sweet whipped cream, sticky and delicious. She threads her fingers into his hair and accidentally smears more of it into his scalp, making him laugh again.

"This is all your fault," she tells him.

Benedict smiles wider. "Yes."

“Are you going into battle?” She asks, amused.

“Possibly,” he says. “It depends on whom you ask.”

“Papa-”

“You are a young lady, out in society, looking for a husband,” he blurts out. “And…and as such there are truths that you must be aware of before you find one, because-...because!”

Daphne frowns. “Alright…”

He stares at her silently.

She waits.

“So. Intimacy.”

“Papa!”

Edmund puts up a hand. “You must let me get through this. After tonight we never have to speak of it again, but right now, let me speak, and once I am through, I will answer questions to the best of my ability.”

She does, and Edmund does his best. “When two people join…intimately. Sexually. There is a potential for the creation of new life. The man provides the seed and…and if it takes hold in a woman's womb, it fertilizes…things.”

Daphne stares at him, red in the face.

“It can be quite pleasurable when done with care,” he presses on. “Hence why you have so many siblings.”

“Papa!” Daphne cries, utterly scandalized.

He nods. “Too much. Forgive me. Forget I said that.”

Daphne looks away.

“Do you have questions?” Edmund asks awkwardly.

“I hardly know where to begin,” she mutters. “If Mama were here-”

Edmund lets out a startled laugh. “There would be a gardening metaphor and absolutely nothing else.”

Daphne purses her lips, trying and failing not to laugh.

He rubs his eyes. “I wish for you to be well prepared for your adult life, Daph. The more knowledge one possesses, the better decisions one can make.”

"So...one does not have to be married to have a child," Daphne says.

"Onviously, morally, it is preferred," Edmund says. "But...technically no."

"I see."

Silence falls over them again for a moment.

Daphne takes a breath and lets it out before getting to her feet. “Thank you, Papa.”

“You can curse my name once you leave,” Edmund promises.

Simon still doesn't move. 

“Now,” Edmund says evenly. 

And to Simon's own surprise, he does, taking a seat across from him at the desk. 

Edmund sighs and sits back, taking off his glasses as he looks at the younger man. “It is my understanding that there is something of a problem.”

Simon looks away. 

Edmund sighs. “What you are doing makes very little sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” Simon argues. 

“It is, in fact, madness,” Edmund says firmly. 

Simon scoffs. “And you would know?”

“Intimately,” Edmund tells him darkly. 

Simon looks a little chastened. 

Edmund sighs. “It is quite fashionable to believe the dead can see us. Know of our every move in the mortal world. Watch us from the beyond.” 

Simon looks confused. 

“I can confirm that it is not so,” Edmund mutters. “If it were, my wife would have barged into my study a week after her death and stabbed me with a kitchen knife for the way I drunkenly treated her oldest boys.”

Simon's face clears of confusion but just looks concerned. 

Edmund sighs. “The dead do not know, nor do they care what goes on here after they've left. Your father does not give a fucking wit whether you have a child or not. He is dead. He has other business to attend to. Likely in hell.” 

Simon can't help a small grin. 

“You have no history of illness or madness in your family,” Edmund goes on. “If you did I would better understand your refusal to have children. Your father's ill temper skipped you thanks to the kind women that raised you, including a mother who thinks you foolish.” He shrugs. “By not having children, you only really hurt one person. And that is my child.”

“She knew-” 

“A half-truth,” Edmund stops him. “You told her you were incapable of having children, and she took that to mean physically. Not philosophically. And if she, too, did not want children, we would not be having this conversation. And honestly, if your father were still alive, I may even support your wishes on this matter, but he is dead. He is dead, Simon. He will never come back. He will never be able to harm you again. And he will never, ever know what you do with your life from here.” 

They sit in silence for a long time, Simon staring at him, his expression unreadable. 

“Are we done here?” Simon asks. 

Edmund sighs heavily. “I suppose we are.” 

With that, the younger man gets to his feet and walks out the door. 

Sophie looks so happy. She dances with Hyacinth and chats with Kate and Penelope and Eloise. She nudges Anthony and he stumbles a little, nearly falling into the lake. Sophie squeaks and tugs him back, laughing and apologizing.

"You do not partake in the merriment?" Will asks as he sits next to him.

Benedict shrugs and grins. "I am content to watch my bride have a good time."

Will chuckles and pats his shoulder. "You will make a very good husband, I think, if you take that attitude in all things in your marriage."

Benedict smiles wider. "I owe you and Alice a great deal, for your support in all of this."

Will shakes his head. "It is nothing. We are friends. I am glad you are happy."

Sophie stumbles over then, happy and possibly a little drunk. She takes Benedict's hands and tugs him to his feet. "I wish to dance with my husband."

"As if I could ever deny you anything," he responds, squeezing her hands gently, before turning to Will. "Husbandly duty calls."

Will raises his glass with a chuckle. "Godspeed."

They dance, and he drinks, and the sun starts to set hours later. Cake is cut and eaten.

"I wish to propose a toast!" Anthony calls.

"No," Colin and Gregory groan.

"Someone stop him!" Eloise cries.

"Hush, all of you!" Anthony cries. "I am good at speeches."

"Let us let Benedict make a speech," Kate suggests, taking his arm. "It is his wedding, after all."

"But I am-"

"The best man, and the best man listens to the groom," Benedict cuts in. "Yes? That is the rule, is it not?"

Anthony groans and slumps into his chair. "Fine."

Benedict chuckles and looks around at the assembled group. "Sophie and I are so very grateful for your attendance at our nuptials. We love each and every one of you very, very much. So. A toast to all of you who made the journey to Our Cottage to witness our wedding."

Everyone cheers and raises a glass.

He grins and turns to Sophie. "And to my wife...God help you, you are now legally stuck with me."

He barely gets the last word out before everyone is laughing.

"But to be serious, Sophie, you have changed my life," he says simply. "And my world would be quite empty without you." He lifts his glass. "To you."

Sophie gazes at him adoringly as everyone toasts.

Benedict takes a breath and then turns to all of the guests. "Now leave so I can start my wedding night!"

“They are children.” 

“And sweet.” 

“And children,” Edmund reiterates. 

“Is she not The Earl of Penwood’s ward?” Violet asks. 

“I believe so,” Edmund shrugs. “She is here with the Penwoods, so I hardly think it matters.” 

Violet sighs heavily. “You know, one day we will have to think about our children’s prospects.” 

“No,” Edmund responds. 

“Edmund-” 

“Anthony is eleven,” Edmund reminds her. “Benedict is ten. I am not going to think about marrying them off yet.” 

“One day, you will want to be rid of them,” Violet teases. 

“And today is not that day,” Edmund tells her.

***** 

He genuinely feels for his second son. 

Benedict has been wildly in love with the same girl since he was fourteen. She loves him back, just as ardently. 

They've been courting since the girl debuted, and still, her stepmother refuses to support a marriage. 

Edmund knows his second son inside and out. He is not subtle. Together, Benedict and Sophie are even less subtle. They've been sneaking around together for years. 

When Anthony, who had once claimed he would never marry, decides to find a wife, Edmund has had enough. 

“They've been courting for four bloody years,” Edmund reminds Richard Gun, the Earl of Penwood. They're sitting in White's, having a drink. “Whistledown has started a wager on when they might end things.” 

Richard sighs heavily, quite honestly looking depressed. “My wife was hoping for a titled suitor.”

“And it is she who wears the trousers in your house?” Edmund mutters into his scotch. 

Richard doesn't even try to defend himself. 

“Good god, man, let us put them out of their misery,” Edmund asks. “At this point we'll take half the dowry. Or no dowry. I do not care. Just approve the marriage, for fuck's sake.”

Richard hesitates. 

“It is either this, or I shove them off to Gretna Green myself,” Edmund says. 

Richard deflates. “Fine. But we will both have to put up with Araminta’s ire.” 

Edmund just takes another sip of his drink. For the happiness of one of his children he can withstand quite a lot. 

***** 

“You. Boy.”

Benedict looks up from his breakfast the next morning curiously, only for his father to shove a ring box at him. 

“Go propose to your beloved before her father loses his nerve and changes his mind,” Edmund orders. 

Benedict stares at him in shock. 

“Now,” Edmund orders. 

She knows he's in town. Danced with him twice the night before. He had promised he'd be here when she came out to society.

Sophie just wishes he was in the drawing room.

Six gentlemen come and go, leaving flowers and candy and none of them are Benedict Bridgerton.

“Two earls, and four viscounts,” her stepmother says. “You are terribly ungrateful, Sophie.”

“Mr. Benedict Bridgerton,” Alfie announces before she can respond.

Sophie is on her feet instantly, torn between being happy to see him, and annoyed that he wasn't the first one through the door.

“Forgive me,” he says, taking her hands and kissing them gently.

Araminta makes a noise; the gesture is too familiar now, even when it was not when they were children.

Sophie pulls her hands away. “I had hoped you'd be here sooner.”

“I had to wait for the book shop to unload today's shipment,” Benedict explains, pulling a book out from under his arm. “New Percy Shelly, fresh off the delivery coach, just for you.”

Sophie beams and takes the book. “You are forgiven.” She turns to Alfie. “Can you please let the other gentlemen know that I will not be seeing more callers today?”

Araminta huffs out a breath. “That is unwise.”

“I think it very wise, actually,” Benedict grins. “We have poetry to dissect.”

Sophie smiles at him.

*****

They've always been inseparable, since they were children, and Benedict knows that if he ever marries, it will be to Sophie Gun. That she is the only person who has ever truly understood him.

They exchanged letters all through his Eton years. When he went to Cambridge, the ordinary letters of their youth quickly turned into love letters.

Now that she is of marriageable age, he can hardly wait to make her a Bridgerton. His family adores her. Even his difficult to impress father thinks Sophie “clever” and “exceedingly tolerable.”

He courts her for months, fully knowing her stepmother does not - and will never approve. Flowers, piles of books, drawings, outings. A few secret rendezvous that, as far as polite society is concerned, never took place.

There is no one else for either of them. He knows every inch of her. The taste of her lips, and the noises she makes when he's pleasuring her and the smug look on her face when she returns that very intimate favor.

Daphne comes out and still, he can't seem to get her family to approve.

But Benedict decides to pledge himself to her anyway.

He enlists Hatch and Alfie, filling the conservatory at Bridgerton house with candles and flowers.

Sophie arrives late that night, in secret, looking a little confused, but stops when she sees him, standing there amongst the fruit trees and flowers, waiting for her.

“What is this?” She asks as she steps up to him.

“I…I know your family doesn't approve,” Benedict says. “That without their say so, we cannot marry. But I wanted you to know…to understand, that there is no one else. Will never be anyone else.”

“We will both have to marry at some point,” Sophie reasons sadly. “If your brother decides on a solitary life, your father will still need an heir, and eventually Araminta will tire of me and force me into a match.”

“Then we will leave,” Benedict tells her. “But until the day comes when we must make that choice, I…I wanted to do something to show you that I am serious about this. About you.”

Sophie cups his face, and he closes his eyes, nuzzling into her touch. she swallows. “We will give them until the end of next season. If, by then, they do not approve, we will take action.”

Sometimes the wind was too strong. Sometimes the chill in the air was too much to bear, and they'd be ushered back inside to warm up with tea. Once, they'd got a kite up in the air, but it had stuck itself in a tree and that was the end of that. Sophie had offered to climb, but her dresses - that had progressively grown heavier over the years - only weighed her down. She fell and he'd caught her in his arms, making her promise she'd never, ever, ever climb trees again.

"Not without you." she'd giggled.

The wind whistled through the treetops. It must've coursed through high valleys, long plains and wherever Sophie must've gone to, to come and keep his kite afloat. It kissed the side of his face and he welcomed it so eagerly in fact, he could've taken flight himself. Greedily, he tried catching the air, searching for traces of Sophie. Nan used to say winds carried unspoken words. What sort of words would my beloved send me? Benedict wondered. Will she ever tell me where she's gone? Where are you, Sophie? Where have you gone? Why have you come now to lift my kite and kiss my cheek? Why aren't you here with me?

Nan used to liken the heart to that of a glass without a bottom. It emptied its contents back into the world. The heart, a cold mass of muscle, felt so much that it could have anyone believe in falsehoods and fables, if it came from their heart. Such was its duplicitous power. It could not be trusted to hold memories, for it would erode it with what the heart thought of it. Sophie might've been a friend he'd dreamt up all along to alleviate himself of his loneliness, to give himself a lover just so he could experience the many joys of kissing her. Yet, even if she were a consequence of his dreams, he'd do anything to hold her again.

No one remembered Sophie, who she was or where she'd come from.

Benedict did not wish to live anymore. He'd tried to search for morsels of true happiness in the ever-giving earth around him, but what was his life worth, against a moment in Sophie's company? His life was true, yes. He had a mother and a father who seemed to spare some love for him. He could feast on cake all day and salve himself with its everlasting sweetness. Next to such universal certainties, Sophie was but a whisper in the wind.

He let the breeze caress the locks of his hair, begging for more of her kisses.

The kite danced in the sky. He ran with it, snatching the paltry joy but Sophie would not let him have it. The string snapped against a low branch and the kite fell down on a bed of rocks. Like an animal at the butcher's, its appendages shattered; the thin twig holding it together wasn't enough. Father would be cross, came the first shot of thought. The kite was a property of the family's, bought for the children and he was no child. He wasn't even meant to be flying it but he'd stolen it from the playroom. Colin had wanted to demonstrate his kite-flying to his sisters, and alas, he'd never get the opportunity.

Benedict struggled with repairing the kite, pricking himself against the sawtooth-like edges of the twigs. He tried to repair it, soaking up some spit on a nearby leaf and chewing a stem to tie it together but it had shattered itself into a million pieces. He retreated, his hands blood-soaked and face stricken with uncontrollable tears. He knelt, face to the ground where no one could see him and cried until his breaths came up short, until his heart was no longer a solid muscle but a pool of grief that drowned him from within. How could he move? How could he be expected to move on? How could he be expected to forget, to convalesce from his childhood fantasies and pretend as if Sophie had never existed? How could he stomach his own sorry existence?

Eton had taught him all there was to teach him about death. It was a horrible mistake on their part, to teach a child of fourteen such crude ideas. The masters had introduced him to worldly concepts that only fed his grief. Benedict wished it would come quicker. When he was eight, he'd foolishly assumed only a few would be selected to live as adults and the rest would stay frozen as children. He'd prayed everyday for it, to spend his life as a boy with his arms wrapped around his heart, his Sophie and feed her sweetmeats forever. To spend afternoons abed on a soft patch of grass, gaze longingly at the clouds and entwine themselves to each other by making drawings out of stars. To sing to her, to hear her sing, to live!

Oh, what he would give to live with the love of his life! He would give his very life for an hour with her! No, a mere second with her in his arms! That would resolve his agony, keep him happy in the cavernous, desolate houses of death. He would be the happiest man in hell. Even if he was condemned to burn, he would not be damned in the name of love. He'd never love anyone.

"Benedict! Oh Benedict!" came Anthony's shout, shaking him awake. "Are you — are you well, brother?"

"The kite — the kite — it is gone— Father will—"

"What?"

"The kite, Anthony!" Benedict spat angrily.

"All this for a kite? I thought you were bloody well murdered, with how you were screaming!"

"Father will—" he heaved.

"Breathe, Benedict, for the love of everything holy! Up you get!"

"Father—"

"Father will not mind." Anthony assured him. "Kites are for children anyway and we can buy a hundred kites."

Anthony hauled his brother up to his feet. Benedict went to reach for the broken kite.

"Come on. Leave it here. The servants will—"

"No. I'll — I have to take it."

"What has got into you?"

"Nothing! I need to — I need to take it."

"Have the footmen deal with it. Now come! It is the middle of the night, you stupid twat!"

"I'm taking it!" he cried, taking the injured kite in his arms.

"It is broken! We can buy a hundre—"

"You've made yourself clear, Anthony, thank you but-"

"I'm not leaving you behind to indulge in whatever this is -"

"I'm not leaving it for the footmen to- deal with it. I'm following you, I'm coming all right? But give me a moment, will you? Please!"

"Ben?"

"Yes, egg?"

"Will you fix this kite for me?" Gregory held up an old-looking cloth.

"Is that supposed to be a kite?" Benedict laughed. He took it carefully from his brother's hands, observing it against the candlelight. "I've got some reading to do now. Maybe later?"

"You pro-mise?"

"Yes, I pro-mise." he replied with the same intonation. "Do you want to read Latin with me?"

"No. But you will be going away." Gregory said, climbing up to sit on his table. "To - to Cambridge. When will you fix my kite?"

"Your kite?" Benedict teased.

"I found it! Finders are keepers. Eloise says so."

"You know it was mine before it was ever yours?"

"Everyone says that." he scoffed. "Colin says my books are not my books because he's read them first. Francesca says I'm not the first to play the pianoforte because she has already done it, but Daphne says she did it first and Eloise says my arrows aren't mine because she had them first. I hate it all!"

"All right, it is yours."

"Thank you. I'll take good care of it! I promise!"

"I have no doubt you will, egg."

Benedict cracked open his book, but Gregory didn't seem to show any signs of leaving. Instead, his little brother launched himself at him.

"I'll miss you. Can you not go?"

"You make a compelling argument."

"I'm very serious."

"Hm?"

"If I can keep you, Anthony and Colin with me forever, I will."

"Mm, what did Mamma say to that?" he asked. No doubt Gregory would've shared his concerns with his mother. He told her everything, every last one of his secrets that his little four year old heart could contain.

"She says kidnapping is against the law."

Benedict laughed.

"She also says I should stop following in my brothers' footsteps."

"That you will do very, very well. I know."

"You don't talk so much anymore." Gregory remarked.

"How do you mean?"

"When you come back for summer and Michaelmas and — and Christmas and the new year, you come back changed. Anthony always talks and everyone else talks too but you don't talk to anyone. I don't like it."

"I talk! I talk plenty! Just last week, I'd earned Mamma's wrath by boring her to death about what I'd learned!"

"No, you don't talk to me."

"I'm sorry, egg. I guess I haven't been very cheery as of late."

"Is it Cambridge that's worrying you? Why aren't you studying in Oxford like Anthony?"

"I don't know."

"See? You don't talk so much! Not to me!"

"I've never talked much in my life, do you know that, egg?"

"Really? Why?"

Benedict shrugged, indifferent.

"Promise me you will fix my kite."

"I will," He mussed his hair. "I promise."

Benedict examined the sprawled-out kite in front of him, like that of a carcass of an animal. He didn't like how it looked, coated with dust from the attic, shattered beyond recognition. He remembered he must've felt very much for this kite, but he couldn't exactly place it in his memory.

He ran a finger through the wind-kissed fabric, pressing it to his lips to encourage a recollection. Nothing came up, though he felt an emptiness in his heart. He'd been feeling that for quite sometime, perhaps even longer. As if he took it from himself and forgot to put it back, as if it were a pair of Father's spectacles.

He knew he must've loved the kite so, but couldn't remember why. He was a boy of eighteen, but he felt as though he was reaching the end of his days. There was a profound desolation in his spirit, that he and Anthony had attributed to years of boarding school. Clearly some of his memories would have been eaten away in the process, but Benedict did not expect to utterly fail at remembering anything of his youth.

A gentle breeze interrupted the brothers, nearly extinguishing the candle and plunging them into darkness if not for Benedict saving the flame from the wind's way. It kissed his cheek. He placed a hand to his face where the breeze had cast its damage, taking note of its fury. The night grew longer these days, creating upsetting cold and harsher weather. It was not at all suited for kite-flying, but Gregory was so hopeful with his watery eyes that he couldn't help but do it for him. Yes, he'll fix the kite, he swore an oath to himself.

Gregory looked up at him — Anthony's eyes, Benedict's hair and his Mother's nose — and asked, "Where did you find the kite? Does it have a story? Mamma says all nice things have a story. I think she says it because she doesn't want me to feel so bad about having toys that Daphne and Eloise and Francesca have used or reading Colin's books with his name on it. She says it is a nice way of looking at things."

"I don't know. It appeared one day. I actually um, don't remember much of it." he said, taking a sip from a bottle of gin and absinthe that he was forbidden from consuming. Egg wouldn't know, of course, for he would never assume the wrong thing about anyone.

Summer cascaded into autumn, sweeping with it a chillness in the air. Sophie watched as about a dozen footmen walked in and out of the servants' entrance, carrying large trunks and suitcases to the carriages. The horses were busy being brushed, distracted with sweetmeats in order to get them to obey. Benedict was given his own carriage, following his brother Anthony's. Both of them shared the same breed of horses, with the same rich, brown mane, the same fast legs, but Benedict's were more uncooperative.

They had overheard snatches of conversations between the footmen and the stable-keepers; if they should consider changing the horses for their rebellion would prove inconvenient on the long journey. Alas, there were no more horses left. The Lady Bridgerton's horses were patient and would not adapt well to the long road, as opposed to the languid streets of Mayfair. Lord Bridgerton's horses were Lord Bridgerton's, and no one could even bring themselves to make such a request to him.

Benedict had already named his, even though it was only for a short while that he'd find themselves in their company.

"I will have to take some sweetmeats for Waltzer," he said, but nothing in his tone suggested a particular excitement. "For Horse, I do not know. He'll not find the grass to his liking at Eton."

"I am sure Horse will be just fine." Sophie placed a hand on his, giving it a squeeze.

"If say, Horse — runs away—" Benedict shrugged. "— and um, if I were to chase after him and also find myself lost, then will I be exempt from going to Eton?"

"I do not think it works like that."

"I will be sparing myself the heartbreak. I suppose I'll always feel a little unwelcome."

"You are a Bridgerton." Sophie said, a little aghast and a little offended on his behalf.

"Even more so as a Bridgerton." he heaved a sigh. "I don't want to leave."

"I'd always wanted an education," Sophie expressed. "My stepmother made it very clear I will not receive one, at least not the way Rosamund and Posy or any other young lady of the ton would receive. I must fend for myself in that regard. You must consider yourself very fortunate."

"I will rather have you take my place."

"Benedict, you are being a fool." Sophie laughed. "What is not to like about an education? You'll learn all about the arts and the sciences. You will learn everything that a gentleman will learn! Isn't that wonderful? Do not tell me you wish to stay thirteen forever!"

"No, I wish to be eight forever." he corrected her. "I wish to spend my summers with you. Now that possibility gets only dimmer and dimmer with each passing day. I don't want to be a gentleman."

"Then whatever will you do later in life?"

"Be your suitor?"

"I'd rather have my suitors well educated."

"I am — knowledgeable plenty! And besides, whatever can you learn in some strange little school with masters with sticks as tall as them that you cannot learn out of a book at home? Out of nature? From Nan, even? I think Nan's the most brilliant of them all."

"But it is no school."

"I suppose I am — worried that people will hate me. Anthony has found his cohort of friends, and he's Anthony. I'm not him. I lack his knowledge. I lack his precision. I lack everything that is formidable about him. The boys at Eton are from all sorts of families, with all sorts of stories. I don't have any secrets to spare. I'll be the most uninteresting person there ever was, and I will not have friends for people will hate me so."

"Hate you why?"

"I just think people will."

"People can't hate you even before they know you. In fact, the people who tend to hate you the most would have loved you first, even if it is for a short while."

"Do you hate me?"

"For leaving? Yes, I do."

"I'm sorry."

"It is all right."

"Will you forgive me?"

"I don't know," Sophie crossed her arms. "Maybe."

They watched the footmen load another large trunk into the carriage. The horses struggled with each new chest.

"Nan told me about past lives and future lives. That we'll be born as other things. We don't leave the earth when we die." Benedict said, watching Waltzer nearly bite the hand off the poor footman. "Even if I'm unworthy of your forgiveness in this life, I hope in the next, you have the heart to forgive me. I hope in the next we get to be flowers or vines.. I hope I never part with you. I hope we find each other always."

Sophie thought Benedict was jesting. He had a grand proclivity for saying all the wrong things at the wrong time, making a joke out of any situation. It had always offered her comfort, for Penwood House was always so bleak in appearance, so much so she'd found herself recollecting his japes when she suffered from sullen moods. But when she turned to look at him, Sophie noticed fresh tears in his eyes. He let them flow freely and before she knew it, he was weeping. What had the world come to, to make the happiest boy in all of England, cry as if he'd lost everything? He cried so hard, the skies above them dimmed sympathetically, promising rain.

Sophie wrapped her arms around her dearest friend. He rested his head against her shoulder, wheezing and howling. His breaths came up short. Sophie could feel his struggle against her own heart. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a few servants take notice of the incident but left them alone. They were more interested in the cloudy skies, conversing with each other if it was wise to postpone the journey by a few hours until the clouds seemed to pass.

"I don't want to go." he wept in her arms. "Is this goodbye? Will we never see each other again?"

"No, of course we will. Of course we must!" Sophie cradled his head, but she was not strong either. She let a few tears fall, as her shoulders took her burdens. He steadied her by embracing her even more tightly. "You'll come for the summers—"

"No, Father — he — he's — he will not," Benedict shook his head. Whatever argument had broken out between father and son, Sophie did not know but the consequences were awful.

"And I'll be here. I'll always be here!"

"We've seen each other every moment of every day. How can I digest a day without seeing you?"

"As if I'll ever let you forget me so easily."

"No, I will. I'll forget it all."

"It is only for a few months!"

"Many years, Sophie. Many. And I will be expected to go to university and — and — I'll never return home. Not before Father is satisfied with my improvements."

"Your Mamma will never allow that."

"But does it matter what she feels? She'll always choose what is right."

"You should come home. You ought to!"

"But what if I like it? What if I never want to come home?"

"That will be a good thing, yes?"

"You're always important to me."

"So why doubt it? There's room in your heart for all sorts of things!"

"But I am —" he laughed dryly. "I'm not very good at liking multiple things at the same time, because I only want it to be you."

"You do not want that."

"No one should give their hearts to me. I'll just end up crushing it." he mourned.

"No, you do not mean that!"

"But I do," he spoke into her hair. "I am awful at things. Father said so himself. I'm not like Anthony or — or even Colin, who seems to be interested in one thing and devote themselves solely to it. Colin's seven and he spends his days reading with Daphne and Eloise and — and the Featheringtons and I'll never be serious and no one will like that 'cos if you want everything, then you don't actually want anything. And I hate it because I only ever want it to be you, and I don't want to love anything else more than you."

He kissed above her ear, refusing to leave his embrace.

"Come on, Benedict," Sophie attempted at a jest of her own. "Let go of me."

"Never." he mumbled.

"But you must or otherwise—"

"I just want to hold you and nothing else."

"Eton is only a few hours away."

"A day's trip." he supplied.

"This isn't farewell." Sophie refused.

Benedict nodded, sniffling angrily. "Yes. My Nan says that we'll say goodbye when we least expect it. It isn't a goodbye if we're both aware that this is a goodbye."

"Eton is too small to contain your deviousness." Sophie chuckled.

"I'll always be a bit of a bastard, I suppose."

Sophie stiffened.

"If that's the case, then we must've already said our farewells to each other, when we were eight years old. You've changed a lot since then, you know?"

"But we do meet."

"Not everyday, didn't we? Maybe you misremember. We didn't meet last week."

This time, Benedict stiffened. He broke off his embrace and kissed her forehead and her cheek, and every inch of her face, save for her lips. Sophie looked at him, really did and felt her heart sink. Tears: deep, cutting tears, made its mark down his chin, as if someone had took a knife to his skin. His ears were red and his cheeks were swollen from all that weeping. It hurt her. It hurt him just as much, but it hurt her doubly so. He was always ever happy, ever gentle and he'd known nothing but joy. It positively dripped out of him. Sorrow and grief gorged on him, turning him from a boy with a full heart into a man with none. If the prospect of Eton was enough to purge him of his joy, then goodness knows what a year under rigorous, meritocratic schooling would do to him.

"We didn't meet." she repeated slowly. "But that is all right because you're off to Eton now and I'll be off— doing something else too and we'll be well and everything will take its natural course!"

"I want to go home."

"But you're home, silly."

He hugged her again.

"Now, yes."

Sophie shook her head.

"Even if you — you find better things, I will not hold it against you. I want you to be happy, Benedict." she said. "You've shown me a great amount of love, and I want you to feel the same way."

"Not if it is not from you. No. I'll never love anything. It isn't right to you."

"That is stupid. You're stupid."

"Will you forgive me?"

"No." Sophie said, angrily, breaking off the hug. "There is a whole world out there, waiting for you and you still cling onto your childhood. If I were you, I would leave it all behind! I would seize the opportunity and run! Do not use me as your excuse. I am not your reason. I'm not anyone's reason!"

A beat.

"You'll leave me behind?"

Sophie's breaths came fast and quick.

"As you also should!"

"Do not turn this on me. I've made myself clear, haven't I?" His voice was full of sorrow.

There was an unseemly quietness in the air.

"Forgive me, I should have never — I should have never said that. But Sophie, if you wish to part from me, I will not hold you back. If you — if you do not lo— if you do not want to — I — you've always dreamt of big things and — if I'm the one anchoring you back to a memory you don't want to revisit, you are free to cut me off. I'll go to Eton and I'll try my best to forget you for your sake, if that is what you want."

"Of course I do not want to! How can you ever say that?"

"But you—"

"I'll burn that stupid school to the ground! You're going away for good! You'll never come back again! I'll never have a friend again! I'll never love again!" Sophie cried. It was her turn to weep as loudly as possible. "Why can't you make it easier and leave? Why did you ask of me to come here just to say goodbye to you? Why would you punish me like this, reminding me of what I've lost? I'll never forget this day. I'd have forgotten summers past, but not today. I will not forgive you."

Sophie stood up, composing herself but when Benedict stood just as well, she sank into his embrace yet again. Once, they'd both been the same height. Sophie could touch his forehead, muss his hair and kiss his cheek without needing to stand on her toes. But today, he was at most, a foot taller than her. Sophie crashed into his arms, seeking warmth. She said horrible things about him; her insults muffled, with her lips to his chest. She squirmed and thrashed, and all the grief she held in her heart came pouring out. She called him a bastard, she called him awful names that Araminta had called her once, she hoped for his horses to run away and for the carriages to sink into the ground. She hoped for him to come home the next day and the day after, for eternity. Benedict stood still as a tree, but Sophie could hear his heart crack into itself.

"Please don't go." she said, softly. "I don't want you to."

"Then I won't. I'll go tell them no. We can go away, you and I."

"And what, live in the trees? Eat kites?" she laughed.

"It will be infinitely better than anything I've ever dreamed of."

"But it is good you're going. We'll only have a slow and bitter separation if you stay. Best to be done with our goodbyes knowing the other is in good hands. Best to be — offered a quick mercy instead."

"No. Don't say that."

"We will be changed beyond recognition as time passes—"

"I'll always love you."

Sophie pushed him squarely in the chest.

"What?"

"I've already given myself to you. You'll always have me, even if you do not want it." Benedict wiped the corners of his eyes.

"I don't want it." Sophie said, furiously. "Stop it now at once."

Benedict stared at her in disbelief. Then he tore into laughter, prompting a smile out of Sophie as well.

"I despise you. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if you were like me, with no prospects, born into an unfortunate sex and into an even more unfortunate family. But those are just childish fantasies, but I would be a liar if I didn't tell you that."

Benedict tilted his head to grab a better look at her. "I wish I were like you too. I'd find a lot more to love about myself, then."

"Mr Bridgerton!" came a voice. One of the footmen approached him frantically, but despite his vexation, he still had the patience to notice Benedict and Sophie's intertwined hands. "You're required in the drawing room. Lord Bridgerton sent for you and your brother. Are you aware of his whereabouts?"

"No, I'm sorry. But I do think he might be with friends in the market."

"Very well, I shall um, find him to the best of my abilities. As for you, I request you to please be away at once." he said, casting a warning glance at their hands again. "Lord Bridgerton wishes to offer you a few private words before we depart for Berkshire.. and alone, if you will. Um, I - do not think he will let you arrive.. accompanied."

The footman took his leave, calling out instructions to his friends to send for Anthony.

"I don't want to say goodbye." Sophie spoke. "I'm holding it from you. You will not have my goodbyes till the end of your days. Even then, I will not offer my farewells. I will not."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." He let their foreheads kiss.

"See you tomorrow?"

Benedict placed her hand over his heart.