A Place To Follow Bridgerton

Countless balls and parties and dinners to attend, filled with people he either doesn't know or doesn't very much like. Tea times, usually spent with his beautiful, clever wife, often in their bedroom, now spent apart while she calls on people. The expectation that their son, still so new, will spend the majority of his time with a nanny instead of in the blanket-lined basket that Sophie settles him in while she works in the garden, or in the linen sling tied around Benedict's chest as he paints in the study.

Yes, he's glad to see his family and friends. And he's starting to receive commissions, which means good money.

But he deeply misses the country. The home he and Sophie have made for themselves and their son at Our Cottage is full of warmth and love and ease. Restrictions are few.

Here in town...

Well.

He only agreed to promenade if he could bring Charlie along. Strapped to his chest securely in his little linen sling. Sophie is mostly amused by the demand, but everyone else is less so.

The new Lady Whistledown has dubbed them the "unfashionable Bridgertons," and while that worries Violet and Hyacinth and Anthony a little, Sophie and Kate and even Penelope had a good laugh about it.

"Oh no!" Sophie had cried between gasps of laughter. "Whatever will I do with my devastatingly handsome husband and sweet baby and our lovely and fulfilling life now that I know we are unfashionable?!"

God he loves that woman.

This woman who decided that some sunshine would do them all some good.

So they walk.

He should be paying more attention, but he gets distracted when the sunlight hits the park just so.

"Sophie."

The tone is disdainful, and draws Benedict's attention immediately.

The sister. The sour one. Rosie? Roberta?

"Rosamund," Sophie greets back.

Ah! That's it.

He says quiet, watching the two women carefully.

"I am surprised to see you out," Rosamund comments. "Brave of you to show your unfashionable face."

Benedict sees red, beginning to step forward. "Hold on-"

But before he can defend his wife, the woman in question starts laughing.

Loudly.

She can't seem to contain it. Just like the other day in the drawing room with his brother's wives.

Rosamund looks deeply offended. "What on earth-"

"Oh," Sophie breathes out. "Oh forgive me, Rosamund. It is only that the very idea that I am concerned about my fashionability, when I am wed with a baby to care for and an entire happy life to live feels very, very silly."

Rosamund now looks confused. "But what if you stop receiving invitations?"

"Then we will away back to the country and enjoy the strawberries growing in the garden," Sophie smiles. "And spend more time with our son. Whom you have not met. Would you like to-"

Both Benedict and Rosamund recoil at the suggestion.

"Thank you, no," Rosamund snaps.

Sophie nods, sobering up a little. "How is the marriage mart this year?"

Rosamund glowers. "It is...fine. I have a lady's companion since Mama decided to stay in the country."

Sophie nods. "I wish you luck."

"I shall not need it," Rosamund tells her.

"I believe the correct phrase you were searching for," Benedict comments darkly. "Is 'thank you.'"

Rosamund stares at him, shocked. She huffs out a breath, gives a swift curtsey and then rushes off in the other direction.

Sophie blinks and turns to him. "Did I know you could be that menacing?"

"You watched me beat the tar out of Philip Cavender."

She blinks. "That is true." She sighs and leans up to peak at Charlie. "He slept through the entire thing."

Benedict grins. "Just as well. Shall we head back?"

She has mixed feelings about birthdays. After Araminta and her daughters moved into Penwood Estate in the country, they stopped celebrating her birthdays. when her father died and she became a maid, Irma would make her a special little chocolate tart just for her to mark the day.

But largely, it went unnoticed, and she...

Well, she got used to it.

And she knew that telling her husband her birthday meant that it would never go unmarked again. That he would insist on celebrating, and celebrating in big loud ways.

So for now, it's nice to have a moment of quiet before he wakes up.

It doesn't last long, though; Benedict shifts, cuddling in against her and nuzzling against her.

"Morning," he mumbles.

"Good morning," Sophie whispers.

He smiles against her shoulder. "Happy birthday."

She smiles a little; she can't help herself. He's so sweet. He's so excited. "Thank you."

He starts to press soft kisses to her skin, shifting over her, pressing more kisses all over her face. "I love you," he tells her. "I am so very grateful for you."

Sophie flushes and holds onto him tightly.

Benedict gazes down at her, a little concerned. "Sophie?"

"Mhm?"

"You do not seem thrilled for your birthday," he points out gently. He frets a little. "When was the last time anyone truly celebrated your birthday?"

She looks away from him.

"Sophie..."

She gently pushes him off of her and onto the mattress and then turns away from him. "I do not wish to make a fuss."

Benedict lays behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder carefully. "Can I...Can I make a little fuss?"

She doesn't quite know what to say. She purses her lips and doesn't face him.

He moves closer. "I know it is difficult. With all that you have been through. But you do not have to stay in that difficult place. You can dip your toe into some birthday merriment."

Sophie slowly turns over to face him. "How do you propose I do so?"

"Well," he says gently, wrapping an arm around her. "There may be some cake later, after dinner tonight."

She can't help smiling a little.

Benedict smiles back. "And I have bought you some new books."

That earns him a snuggle, Sophie scooting closer to him and cuddling into him.

"And I have made you something," he finishes.

"Made me something?" she asks.

"Mhm," he confirms. "When I was very little, my grandfather used to make us all birthday crowns. They were always very cheerful. Fun for small children. But I thought perhaps..." He leans over to his side of the bed and pulls a pale mint green crown out, covered in cloth vines and delicate pink cloth roses. "I am absolutely certain the man would take a look at this and accuse me of showing off. But I am an artist, after all..."

Sophie blinks, gazing at the crown quietly for a long moment.

"You do not have to wear it," he assures her gently. "I just thought..."

She sniffles, her eyes shining with tears.

"Sophie..."

"You always do this," she blubbers a little. "You are far too sweet for your own good."

"I only want to make you happy," he confesses.

"You are terribly good at it," she tells him, wiping her eyes. "Ooh...Irma used to make me a little chocolate tart, but other than that, birthdays have been...well. Largely..."

"Forgotten," Benedict concludes.

Sophie nods.

He grins at her sheepishly. "My family forgot mine a couple of times. After my father died. So...so I do not know quite how you feel, but..."

"But you can guess," she concludes, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

Benedict nods.

Sophie snuggles him more. "I love my crown."

He grins. "Good."

"I like cake."

"I know."

"I should like for this birthday to be...good."

"Then it will be."

"Thank you, Benedict."