“I told you!” Anthony cries from the background. 

Ben grins. “Didn't believe him?”

“No,” Kate admits. 

He chuckles softly, waking Sophie a little more, who plays with his hair again. “Can I ask you a favor, since you stole my film buddy for the evening?” 

“You can ask,” Kate tells him. 

“Can you sub in for Sophie tomorrow at the shop so I can keep her in bed all day?” He asks. 

Sophie's hand grips his hair a little. “Ben.” 

Kate laughs. “Yes. Fine. I can handle the Hive tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Great,” Ben cuts Sophie off. “Tell Anthony I said hi. And fair warning, he does snore a little, but it's kind of cute.”

Kate laughs, even as Anthony yelps in outrage and the line goes dead. 

Ben grins and sets the phone aside, before turning his attention back to Sophie. “Hi. I just scored you a day off.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she tells him. 

He lifts an eyebrow and sits up, still gazing at her. “How long has it been since you’ve had a proper day off? No school, no work.” 

Sophie purses her lips.

“Sophie…” 

“A long time,” she admits quietly. “A really, really long time.” 

Ben nods, giving her a slow smile. “Then I think tomorrow is the perfect day for a day off.” 

Sophie huffs out a breath and reaches out for his hair again. “You.” 

t

“Me?” he asks, his smile widening. 

“Yes, you!” she cries. “You keep turning my life inside out.” 

Ben’s smile falls. “Oh.” 

“No.” Sophie sits up and climbs into his lap. “No. In a good way. In a good way.” 

He grins up at her, rubbing her sides gently. “You’re still a little drunk.” 

She sighs and slumps against him. “Yes.” 

Ben chuckles softly and holds her tightly, laying her back down on the bed. “Sleep.” 

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Sophie asks. 

“I don’t know,” Ben shrugs. 

“But we should have a plan,” she tells him.

“We don’t need one,” he responds. 

Sophie frowns up at him. “Of course we do.” 

Ben shakes his head. “Mm-mm. No plans. None.” 

She huffs and slumps back on the bed. “No work. No school. No to-do list. That feels so strange.” 

Ben grins. “Maybe you’ll like it.” 

Sophie curls in against him, her eyes closing. “Maybe.” 

***** 

She wakes up the next morning, a little foggy, but not too hungover, and looks around Ben’s room in the early morning.

There’s nowhere she has to be. There’s nothing she has to do. There’s just this bed, and Ben sleeping beside her. 

Sophie turns to look at him, taking in the expanse of bare skin; his chest rising and falling as he breathes deeply in his sleep. The soft light coming in from the windows and the fact that she has nowhere to be gives her ample time to notice things she hadn’t before. A random scar on his side. Various freckles scattered over his torso. Just how muscular his bare arms are. 

She’s never had time to just look at him.

As if on cue, he shifts and rolls onto his back, the bedsheet falling down a little, and Sophie impulsively reaches out, resting a hand on his belly. 

Araminta had always told her she was not the type of girl to attract a good-looking man. At the time, it didn’t matter. She’d had Phil, and she thought she loved him - had loved him, really, and he was handsome. 

Since she’d caught him with Araminta, she’d often wondered what was so wrong with her that he had to look elsewhere, and through long talks with friends like Alfie and Hazel, and even Kate, Sophie had come to realize that Phil hadn’t had to do anything. He’d wanted to. There was a difference. And if he’d written it off as a lapse in judgement; that Araminta had been enticing and he had been weak, and it would never happen again, maybe…

Maybe Sophie could have forgiven him.

But he’d stayed with Araminta. Had chosen her money and her status over a life they could have built together. 

A few months ago, that still would have hurt, even years later. But lying here with Ben, who is sweet and kind and funny, it’s hard to feel anything about Phil and Araminta but indifference. 

Alfie had told her a million times the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. She hadn’t paid it any mind. Alfie has had more boyfriends than Sophie has had hot dinners, after all, and he’d be the first to admit it. 

But it’s hard to deny the truth of that statement now. 

“Are you awake?” Sophie whispers. 

“Mm,” he mutters drowsily, blinking a little, and grinning sleepily as he turns his head to face her. “Hi. Feeling alright?” 

She nods, letting her thumb brush against his skin slowly. “Better than I imagined,” she comments. 

“C’mere,” he mutters, reaching out to pull her in, kissing her slowly. “G’morning.” 

Sophie doesn’t respond. She leans in for another kiss, and then another, her hands splayed against his chest, half laying on top of him. 

Ben moans softly, smiling against her lips. “Nice to have you here…wake up to you. Nowhere to be.” 

She smiles and nods, kissing him languidly, her hands running up his shoulders and into his hair. “But don’t change my shift without asking me again.” 

He gives her an innocent look. “You were drunk. I was trying to be helpful.” 

“You were trying to keep me in bed all day,” Sophie teases. 

Benedict grins innocently. “Me? Never.” 

Sophie shakes her head and pulls him back in for another kiss that quickly becomes heated. 

“Are you alright for this?” He asks breathlessly as he presses up against her. “Not too hungover?” 

She shakes her head, feeling heat pool between her legs as she feels him start to get hard against her thigh. “I'm alright,” she assures him. 

“Want you,” he mutters softly as he gently tugs at her clothes. 

Sophie nods and kisses him harder before reaching into the nightstand for a condom, pulling one out and tugging his pajama pants down past his hips. 

Ben kicks them off and takes the condom from her. “One time I blew one of these up like a beach ball and batted it around for fun.”

Sophie blinks at him and then bursts into giggles. “Why?’

He blinks as he rolls it on. “Dunno, really. Fun.”

Sophie buries her face against his neck as she laughs harder. “Ben.” 

“I might have just ruined the mood,” he observes with his own laugh. 

She sighs and trails a hand down his belly, making him gasp. “No.” 

He smiles and rolls her onto her back, kissing downward. “I want to take my time with you.” 

Sophie pants softly, her hands gripping his hair as he settles between her thighs, pressing soft kisses to the skin there. “Oh god…” 

Ben nuzzles in against her center, licking a slow strip up to her clit before sucking it. 

He's not kidding about taking his time. She finds herself on the brink of orgasm and he eases off, blowing a soft breath against her, making her shiver. 

“Ben…please,” she whispers. 

He grins and bites gently at her thigh, making her shudder. “I'm gonna make you come, and then I'm gonna start all over.” 

Sophie gives a soft whimper at his plan, her hand tightening in his hair. “Yes,” she squeaks out. 

He smiles again and presses two fingers into her as he sucks her clit hard, and she cries out, shuddering through her release, and shuddering harder when he doesn't stop. 

Her thighs grip around his head maybe a little tighter than she means them to, but he doesn't seem bothered. He moans against her as he lavishes her with attention, his fingers thrusting hard and his tongue joining them intermittently. 

She feels the second orgasm build quicker than she thought it would, and presses against him as it crests over her in waves. 

Ben pulls away slowly, giving her a grin that she assumed would be smug but honestly just looks delighted. He crawls up and kisses her softly. “Alright?” 

Sophie nods, catching her breath as she cuddles in against him, holding him tightly. She can feel him, still hard against her leg, and she shifts to wrap herself around him. 

He moans, rocking against her. “Right. Little more desperate than I thought.” 

She huffs out a soft, low laugh, kissing him again as she reaches down to press him to her entrance. She watches his eyes drift shut and his mouth part as he enters her. She reaches up, tracing his features lightly with her fingers. 

He catches her pinky between his lips and sucks it gently before starting to thrust. 

“I think you have…have an oral fixation,” she teases as she meets his hips. 

“Possibly,” Ben replies with a breathless smile, leaning down to kiss her. 

Sophie whimpers as he angles his hips, holding onto his neck tightly as she feels a third orgasm build. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, thrusting harder. 

She's never had three in a row before, and she feels delirious. He's so big inside of her, and she doesn't mean to say that out loud, but it just comes out, spurring him to thrust harder and faster. Her legs wrap around him tighter, making the friction sting a little more, and she finds herself biting down on his shoulder as she comes, a louder whimper muffled against his skin. 

He's clearly surprised by the bite, because he follows her over the edge half a moment later, crying out against the side of her head. The way he pulses inside her, spilling into the condom has her shuddering in the aftershock. 

They lay there together, breathing hard, a tangle of limbs, and Sophie soothes the already fading bite mark. 

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I wasn't thinking.”

Ben gives her a dazed grin. “I liked it. And I didn't want you to think.” 

Sophie stares at him for a long moment. “I think a lot,” she admits quietly. “Sometimes it's hard to shut off.”

He reaches out and strokes her hair away from her face. “That's okay. But for today…it's just us. In our own little world.” 

Sophie gazes at him without responding, laying with him in the quiet for a long moment. There's no noisy tube stations, chatty customers or clinking glasses. No droning professors or flirty fellow students asking her for her number.

Just a quiet bedroom in a quiet flat. 

“I never realized how noisy my life was before,” Sophie tells him conspiratorially. 

Ben grins slowly. “Believe me, I get it. Try growing up with seven siblings.”

“What was it like?” Sophie asks, curling in against him.”

“Loud,” he laughs. “But…comforting. You know. When bad things happen, we're there for each other. As illustrated the other night.” 

“But you've had to do that for them, too, I'm sure,” Sophie points out. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ben chuckles. “I’ve had to pick up Colin from parties and save Eloise from bad blind dates. That kind of thing.” 

Sophie smiles at him. “My stepsisters don’t really…well. We’re not really close.” She shrugs, her smile falling. “I wanted to be, but Rosamund takes her cue from my stepmother, and they don’t really let Posy do what she’d life…and they’re still pretty young.” 

He nods. “Well. You can share my sisters, if you’d like. They’re a pain in a lot of ways.” 

“I like your sisters,” she laughs. “They’re funny. And they love you, you know.” 

Ben nods, rubbing her hip absently. “I love them, too. And things seem to be getting a bit better with them. Since I met you, oddly.” 

“I haven’t done anything,” Sophie tells him.

“Well, then maybe you’re just my good luck charm,” he tells her. “Are you hungry?” he asks, reaching for his phone.

Sophie giggles. “Ben. Condom.” 

“What?” he blinks. “Oh!” He laughs and rules over to dispose of it. “Shower, then food?” he offers. 

Sophie nods, still giggling.

***** 

They get distracted in the shower, and by the time Sophie is curled up on the couch in her own jeans and one of Ben’s undershirts, it’s later than she thought it was.

“Someone got an eyeful this morning,” Ben jokes as he steps out of the bedroom in his own jeans and t-shirt, Picasso the dragon under his arm. “He was on the floor by the bed.” 

“Poor dragon,” Sophie smiles. 

He flops down next to her and leans in, kissing her softly. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she mutters against his lips, resting against him, her foot resting against the coffee table, jostling a piece of paper there. She looks down and picks it up. “What’s this?” 

Ben sighs softly. “Uhm…it’s a letter. From Henry. I got it yesterday.” 

Sophie frowns. “Can I read it?” 

He nods and hugs Picasso a little tighter. 

She watches him for a moment and then turns to the letter, reading slowly. To Henry’s credit, he seems genuinely apologetic. “Was he there that night?” Sophie asks Ben.

He shakes his head. “No.” 

Sophie turns to him. “Do you think he would have done the things he said in the letter had he been?” 

Ben shrugs. “I…yes? I think?” 

“But you’re not sure,” Sophie says. She purses her lips. “Paul had antipsychotics?” 

Ben nods slowly. 

Sophie stares at him. 

He holds Picasso a little tighter still. 

“Paul could have put a stop to the whole thing, quickly,” she says slowly. “And instead, he left you laying on the floor.” 

“Yeah,” Ben says quietly. 

“You knew he had antipsychotics at the time?” Sophie asks. 

Ben nods. “I was too out of my head to ask for them.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. She feels furious for him a way she didn’t know was possible. It’s a helpless kind of anger, because there’s no one to direct it towards. She supposes she could show up at Paul and Rupert’s door and let them have it. Or text him. Write her own letter. It all just feels so useless. 

None of those things would change what happened, and they certainly wouldn’t make Ben feel any better about any of it.

Sophie clears her throat a little. “Have you…have you responded to Henry’s letter?” 

“No,” he tells her. “I don’t know what to say.” 

She reaches out and puts a hand over his. 

“My mum thinks I should press charges,” Ben shrugs. “I don’t want to.” 

Sophie nods. “Then you don’t have to. Sometimes the best way to heal is just to do it on your own terms, in your own time, without involving the people who hurt you. You don’t owe your mother a fight, and you don’t owe Rupert and Paul and Tessa your forgiveness. But you owe it to yourself to work through all this. Whatever that looks like, Ben.” 

“I love you,” he blurts out. 

Sophie stares at him. “That’s off-topic.” 

Ben huffs out a breath, his expression turning sad. “Yeah.” 

She stays frozen in place for a long time, watching him look down at the plush in his arms still. Watching him wait for her response. She drops the letter on the floor and rugs him in, kissing him tenderly and then brushing her nose against his. “I thought we weren’t saying it yet.” 

Ben shrugs sheepishly. “Felt right.” 

Sophie nods. “I love you, too. You knew that already.” 

His shoulders loosen up and he wraps his arms around her, tugging her into his lap with Picasso falling to the floor again. “S’nice to hear.” 

“Poor Picasso, he can’t catch a break this morning,” Sophie giggles. 

“Both,” Kate tells him. “You need a life, Ben. You’ve done nothing but take care of Charlie.” 

“Someone had to,” Ben points out. “Tilley left, and-” 

“You could have hired-” 

“No,” Ben says firmly. “I’m not interested in someone else raising my son.” 

Kate sighs softly. “I know. But being a dad has taken over your whole life. It’s time to get some of it back.” 

“I haven’t been unhappy,” Ben promises. 

“I know you haven’t,” Kate says. “But you could be a lot happier.” 

Ben sighs. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right.” 

Kate nudges him gently. “I know I’m right.” 

Ben chuckles softly. 

***** 

“What are you doing?” 

Sophie Baek blinks and looks up from the blanket she’s lounging on. 

She’s been laying on this picnic blanket for the last hour, gazing up at the sky, letting the premise for her next book wash over her as she picks it to pieces and puts it back together again. The clouds pass her by as she tugs and pulls at plot threads.

Until a shaggy-haired little boy comes into her view, blue-green eyes gazing down at him curiously. 

“I am thinking,” she tells him. “What are you doing?” 

He smiles. “We are on a picnic! Do you want to join our picnic?” 

***** 

Ben stops mid-sentence as he looks around and realizes that Charlie is no longer running around with Anthony and the other kids. “Not again.” 

Kate looks around too and chuckles a little. “The ambassador is at it again,” she says, pointing Charlie out.

Ben jerks to attention. “Not again.” He scrambles to his feet and heads over. “Charlie!” 

His son turns to him and smiles widely. “Dad! I made a new friend!” 

“Of  course you did,” Ben says with a shake of his head as he approaches. “I am so sorry about the ambassador. He has no stranger danger whatsoever, and I cannot change it.” 

The woman sitting on the blanket smiles at him, looking amused. “It’s okay. He’s sweet.” 

Ben reaches them and scoops Charlie into his arms, patting his son’s tummy. “How many times, you? You can’t bother strangers on a whim.” 

“Sophie is nice!” Charlie squeaks and wiggles. “She is writing a book!” 

“Is that so?” Ben asks, looking down at Sophie. “Hi. I’m Ben. This is Charlie. Sorry again.” 

She smiles at them. “It’s really fine. It was nice to have a little break from working.” 

Ben blinks and looks around, not finding even her phone out on the blanket, let alone a laptop, notebook or tablet. 

Sophie taps her head. “I really am writing a book. I’m keeping the current details up here.” 

“Ah.” Ben gives her a sheepish look. “If I tried to do that, my entire life would be on fire.” 

“Dad’s smart, he doesn’t let anything bad happen!” Charlie announces. 

Ben gives a startled laugh. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s four and his perception of a ‘bad thing’ is when he drops his action figure in the toilet. 

Charlie looks sad suddenly. “Poor Bluey.” 

“Aaand on that note,” Ben says. “Time to go back and put some food in you.” He grins down at the woman. “Nice to meet you. Sophie, yeah?” 

She nods. “And you are…?” 

“Charlie’s dad,” he says automatically, and then shakes his head out. “Ben. I’m Ben.” 

Sophie grins. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Dad, I told Sophie she could come to our picnic,” Charlie stage whispers. 

“That’s very nice, but I’ve still got some planning to do,” Sophie assures him. “Maybe another time.” 

Charlie huffs and slumps against Ben, going completely slack. “Fine.” 

“Oh, he gets heavier when he does this,” Ben chuckles, adjusting the boy in his arms. “Okay. Well. Bye, Sophie.” 

She smiles and waves. 

Ben nods and lets him in, closing the door. 

There’s not much talking after that. He allows his brother to take a shower while he grabs some blankets to set up the guestroom, and tidies up a little. 

Once Anthony gets done with the shower, he wanders out into the living room slowly,  slumping down onto the sofa, while Ben takes a comfortable chair. 

“So?” Ben asks.

“Fucked up,” Anthony tells him. “It was a stupid fight.” 

“About?” 

Anthony blows a breath out through his nose. “Kids.” 

“Ah.” 

“Neither of us are ready for it,” Anthony tells him. “We both know that. I just- I said some-things.” 

“What kind of things?” Ben asks. 

Anthony gives him a guilty look.

Ben nods slowly. “The kinds of things you say when you’re fucking terrified of repeating your own parents’ fate?” 

Anthony nods slowly. “That- what if -” 

“What if you died, and left a mess in your absence,” Ben supplies. “Except you’re not Edmund, and Kate sure as fuck isn’t Violet.” 

“I know,” Anthony groans, rubbing his face. “I know! I just…” 

Ben nods. “I know.” 

They sit in silence for a long time.

Ben looks at him again. “You haven’t told her a god damn thing, have you?” 

“She knows enough,” Anthony argues. 

“Which means she knows fuck-all,” Ben bats back. “She knows Dad died and we were sad.” 

Anthony doesn’t respond. 

“Anthony,” Ben moans. “How is Kate supposed to respond in a way that makes sense without all of the information she needs to effectively have a response?” 

“Why do I have to relive all of this shit?!” Anthony cries. “Why am I not allowed to just let it fucking go?!” 

“Because you haven’t,” Ben responds simply. “You haven’t let it go at all. If you had, you would have told her.” 

Anthony goes quiet again. 

Ben sighs. “We can fix it. If you let me take the wheel.” 

“You-” 

“Just let me help,” Ben requests. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll take the blame, but just…let me try. Okay?” 

It takes a long moment, but Anthony eventually nods.

*****

Which is how Kate and Sophie wind up on Ben’s sofa the next night, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, looking at their boyfriends as they stand before them.

Ben takes a deep breath. “It’s come to my attention that we haven’t given either of you any real information about the events that took place directly after Edmund Bridgerton’s death, and why the both of us are a little…insane, when it comes to things like having children and serious conversations about the future.” 

Sophie gazes up at him worriedly. “Ben…” 

He holds up a hand. “Just- let me get through this. Please hold all questions and commentary til the end. Hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. Here we go.” 

And he tells the story of Edmund Bridgerton’s untimely death, and how Violet Bridgerton checked out completely for a very long time, mostly locking herself in her room, until she gave birth to her eighth and final child, and then locked herself away again, but not before letting the household staff go.

“And I know that’s rich people shit,” Ben interrupts himself. “But when there are eight children, it really is important to have help. So she let go of the housekeeper, the two maids, the nanny and the cook. And Anthony was five months from being eighteen, which means that he didn’t have access to the money yet. So we were utterly, completely fucked. It was Anthony and I trying to make sure no one died or killed one another, and we were very, very bad at it.” 

Which is how he gets into what happened three weeks before Anthony turned eighteen, when a severe stomach flu ripped through seven out of eight siblings, sparing Hyacinth, and not one other sibling. How both of them did the best they could to care for their siblings, when they, themselves, were terribly ill. How they would knock on their mother’s door multiple times a day and get no answer. How things just kept getting worse and worse and worse, until finally, Ben called their grandfather.

“So Grandad shows up - our mum’s dad - and he takes one look, sympathy vomits into a potted plant, and then gets to work,” Ben explains. “Calls a couple of doctors for a house call. Calls a cleaning service to disinfect the house. Gets everybody out of the woods. Bangs on Mum’s door, tells her to get her shit together, or he’s having her committed, and once we’re all well enough, stuffs us into a car and takes the lot of us to the countryside to finish getting better. We stayed in the country for three more weeks. When we got back, Mum was at least trying. But…uh…the damage was done. So yeah. We uh…Anthony and I, we get a bit messy when it comes to these things.”

Silence falls over the room, and Kate hesitantly raises her hand. 

“Yes!” Ben grins. “A question.”

Kate swallows. “Why didn't you call an ambulance?” She asks. 

“Because they would have asked why eight minors were edging suspiciously close to sepsis with no adult seemingly present,” Anthony says quietly. “And also, we were idiots.”

Kate nods, seemingly out of questions. She reaches out for Anthony's hand. 

Sophie raises her hand next.

Ben smiles again. “Yes.” 

“Do you forgive your mother?” Sophie asks gently, gazing up at him worriedly.

Ben’s smile falls and he opens his mouth and then closes it and then looks to Anthony.

Anthony takes a breath as he plays with Kate’s fingers gently. “Most days. Not every day.” 

Ben nods in agreement, giving Sophie a sheepish look.

Kate and Anthony leave shortly after, and when Ben gets back from seeing them to the door, Sophie is still sitting on the couch. 

She holds out her arms for him, and he walks over, settling next to her, letting her crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. 

“Hi,” he says. 

Sophie smiles at him sadly. “Hi.” She strokes his hair gently, gazing at him. “Are you alright?” 

Ben nods slowly, his arms wrapped around her. “Yeah. Mostly. I didn’t tell that story for…for sympathy or anything, I just…Anthony and Kate were fighting, and he hadn’t told her anything, so they were just gonna keep fighting.” 

She nods and presses gentle kisses to his face before landing on his lips, kissing him tenderly. 

He pulls away a little and gazes at her, his expression earnest. “And I wanted you to know. Because…because I’m serious about this thing with us.” 

Sophie nods and cups his face. “I am, too. I’m glad I know. It helps to further paint the whole Ben picture.” 

Ben smiles. “And do you like the whole Ben picture?” 

She pokes at the straw in her shirley temple, making a cherry bob up and down in the liquid, before turning to look towards the door.

Only to find all six of her oldest siblings walking in.

Hyacinth squeaks and hops to her feet without thinking, making a mad dash towards them, only to wind up being scooped up into a hug by Ben, who holds her tightly.

“Isn’t it past your bed time?” he asks teasingly.

She flings her arms around him. “I don’t have one on Saturdays when there’s a thing to go to!” She pulls back to look at him. “Mummy said none of you were coming!” 

“Change of plans,” Daphne smiles at her. “And really, how could we miss the opportunity to see you looking so very pretty?” 

“She’s alright,” Eloise teases. 

Hyacinth glowers at her. “I’m so pretty.” 

“Yes, you are,” Anthony agrees, smiling at her gently. He leans up, pointing to his own cheek. “Ahem.” 

Hyacinth giggles and kisses his cheek noisily before hugging Ben again. “I’m so glad you all are here. I was dying of boredom!" 

“Mummy not letting you drink yet?” Colin teases. 

“She says it will cause premature wrinkles,” Hyacinth explains.

Francesca frowns, and leans into Eloise. “Is that a joke I don’t understand? Like a…a humor joke that’s gone over my head?” 

“No,” Eloise tells her, patting her hand. “That’s just Mum.” 

“Speaking of, where is she?” Daphne asks, looking around. “I see Gregory playing his Switch in the corner…” 

“Who are they?” Hyacinth asks, pointing to Sophie and Kate, who follow their grandmother into the room. Hyacinth gasps at the sight of her. “Gran!” 

Alexandra beams and walks over, easily taking her youngest grandchild from Ben’s arms. “My darling little girl. Don’t you look devine?” 

Kate smiles as she watches and takes Anthony’s arm again. “Another sibling?” 

“The youngest,” Anthony explains, leaning in. He stops then, looking at Kate. “I don’t mean to sound odd, but…” 

Kate lifts an eyebrow. “But…?” 

“Your perfume is very nice,” he tells her.

She smiles. “Why thank you. I saved up for something nice for my birthday last year.” 

“Hm.” 

Ben offers Sophie an arm and grins at his youngest sister. “Hyacinth, this is Sophie. She’s my girlfriend. Sophie, this is the youngest of us, Hyacinth.” 

“Girlfriend?!” Hyacinth cries. “Really?! Not just somebody you ‘hang out’ with?” 

Ben flinches. “Well…no. Girlfriend.” 

Daphne looks just as stunned. “Really?” 

“Tonight is going to be stressful enough,” Alexandra warns them. “Don’t dogpile your brother over his love life, he’s doing his best.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Hyacinth,” Sophie smiles. “I love your tiara.” 

Hyacinth beams and reaches up to touch the sparkling headpiece. “Thank you. Mummy says it’s French.” 

Colin shakes his head. “I’m off to find the food, and get Gregory out of the videogames.” 

“Godspeed,” Anthony nods, still looking around the room. He spots his mother by the bar, looking immaculate as always, in a deep blue gown. She’s speaking to a number of men who are all giving her their undivided attention. 

“We should go say hello,” Eloise says. 

“Must we?” Francesca asks worriedly.

“You are all being ridiculous,” Daphne chides. “Mum will be happy to see us.” 

“You,” Ben corrects her. “She’ll be happy to see you. The rest of us are a toss-up.” 

Sophie squeezes his arm. “It’ll be alright.” 

He smiles at her gratefully and leans in, kissing her cheek.

Hyacinth giggles. “Oooooh. Kissing.” She looks over to Kate and Anthony. “Are you kissing, too?” 

“No,” they both snap in unison. 

“Kate is a friend,” Anthony insists. 

Kate nods in agreement. “It’s nice to meet you, Hyacinth.” 

Hyacinth purses her lips. Obviously she doesn’t believe them, but she says nothing.

Alexandra chuckles softly. “Go say hello to your mother. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.” 

Ben takes a breath and follows Anthony as he starts to lead the way. 

“Ben,” Sophie says softly.

He blinks and looks down at her. “Yeah.” 

She squeezes his arm gently. “It’s alright.” 

He nods and grins a little. 

As they all get closer, their mother looks up from her conversation and freezes, staring at them all in shock.

“Hi, Mum,” Eloise says first, waving.

Violet Bridgerton blinks at them. “You all said you weren’t coming.” 

“Change of plans,” Anthony explains. “Hello, mother.” He leans in and kisses her cheek lightly. “You look nice.” 

Violet blinks and takes them all in. “You all look…presentable. What a nice surprise.” 

“Gran’s doing,” Francesca tells her, stepping up for a light hug. “She was very insistent.” 

“And she somehow has all of our measurements,” Eloise adds. 

“Well,” Violet breathes out. “Have a good time. Please talk to a few donors.” 

“Of course,” Daphne agrees a little awkwardly. “I think…I think we were hoping to spend some time with you tonight, though.” 

“That’s not what tonight is about, darling,” Violet smiles coolly. 

“We could change that,” Ben offers softly. 

Violet meets his eyes, looking at him appraisingly. “You don’t look half as skinny as the last time I saw you.” 

“I believe the words you’re searching for are ‘it’s nice to see you, Ben,’” Anthony responds in a clipped tone.

Ben just smiles helplessly. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine,” Anthony argues. 

“We’re not doing this here,” Ben tells him.

“Have things gone south already?” Colin asks as he walks over with Gregory and a little plate with a mountain of cubed cheese on it.

Sophie grips Ben’s arm gently. “Mrs. Bridgerton, I’m Sophie Baek.” 

“My new girlfriend,” Ben adds. 

“You’ve got a girlfriend?” Gregory asks, confused. “What happened to all the bedfellows?” 

“Hello, Gregory,” Ben grins. He looks around at his siblings and mother. “I’m really beginning to think this was a bad idea.” 

“Showing up to my gala unannounced after all of you declined the original invitation?” Violet supplies. “It’s an interesting choice, that’s for certain.” 

“You’re angry we’re here?” Francesca asks hesitantly. 

“I’m frustrated by the behavior,” Violet corrects her. “And I’m tired of having to police that behavior.” 

Kate blinks, a little stunned at the admission. “Your children came here for you.” 

“No, they came here because their grandmother told them to, and she is the only person that they ever really listen to,” Violet snaps. “Because in general, all they care about is themselves. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a party to host, and people to speak with who aren’t so desperate for my approval.” 

They all stand stunned as they watch her storm off, and it’s Ben who shakes himself loose first, gently settling Sophie’s hand away from his arm to follow his mother. 

“Okay,” he mutters. “That was uncalled for.” 

“The last person I want a lecture from is you,” Violet tells him. 

“I’m not here to lecture you, Mum,” he promises. “I’m not. I just-” He shrugs. “Hi? It’s nice to see you? How have you been?” 

Violet gazes at him calmly. “I’m fine. I’m very busy.” 

Ben nods. “That's good. Busy is good. Right?”

“Benedict-”

He takes her hand as the band starts to play. “How about a dance?”

Violet sighs. 

“How am I ever supposed to fix things if you won't let me?” He asks quietly. 

A look passes across her face; sad and more gentle than he can remember, and she lets go of his hands and reaches out to touch his cheek. “You can't fix what you didn't break.” 

Ben watches her walk off and lets his shoulders slump.

***** 

Sophie watches Violet walk away from Ben and starts to move towards him, but stops when she sees a familiar face in the crowd. 

“Oh no,” she mutters. 

“What’s wrong?” Daphne asks. 

Kate looks at her, concerned. “Sophie? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“It’s fine,” she says quickly. “Really.” 

It’s clear that Kate doesn’t believe her, and she has every right to be skeptical. 

Because Sophie’s stepmother and her ex-boyfriend are across the room. 

She takes a breath, steadying herself and lifting her chin. “It’s fine,” she repeats, before heading for Ben. 

He's still standing where he was speaking to his mother, but he shakes himself loose when Sophie touches his arm. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, looking around again. 

“Probably not, but not much I can do about it,” Ben tells her. He tilts his head at her. “What's wrong?”

Sophie looks up at him and purses her lips. “You won't believe me if I tell you nothing is wrong, will you?”

Ben grins at her. “Not even a little.”

“Sophie?”

She closes her eyes tightly at the sound of the familiar voice. “My stepmother and my ex are here.”

Ben blinks. “Phil Cavender is your ex?”

“Well, he certainly isn't my stepmother,” Sophie responds. She turns to look at her ex-boyfriend appraisingly. 

Phil looks much older than the last time she saw him. His hair seems to be thinning, and he just looks…aged. Which is odd for a twenty-five year old. 

But not, she supposes, one who is dating Araminta Gun. 

Still. 

“Bridgerton,” Phil says in surprise. “Hello.”

“You know each other?” Sophie asks Ben. 

Ben nods. “We went to Eton together. Same year.”

“Oh,” Sophie mutters. 

Phil looks at them, perplexed. “Soph, can I have a word?”

“You've had several,” she responds. 

“Are you really here with him?” Phil demands. 

“Not that's it's any of your business, but yes,” Sophie confirms. 

“He's a junkie,” Phil tells her in a low voice. 

“Clean for quite a while now, actually,” Ben corrects him. “Thanks for asking.”

“Phil, this is none of your-”

“I can't in good conscience-”

“Good conscience?” Sophie scoffs. “Do be serious.”

“Sophie-”

“Phil,” Ben cuts in. “Remember that time at uni you drank so much sweet vermouth you shat yourself?”

Phil and Sophie both go silent. 

“I remember,” Ben grins. “Remember?”

Phil opens his mouth and then closes it. 

“Before we go throwing around insults,” Ben comments lightly. “Best we remember our own vices.”

Phil clears his throat awkwardly. 

Sophie watches him quietly for a long moment. “You should go find Araminta. I'm sure she's looking for you.”

It had been hectic for the past few weeks, with Violet deciding to throw a soiree with Kate, in what was her first party as a hostess since marrying Anthony. Sophie had been busy organizing the minutiae of the event — seating charts, the menu, the catering company, flower arrangements. Seating plans were of the utmost importance given the Bridgerton ballroom often saw entire Cabinets, including Prime Ministers of the past, hobnobbing with the elite, or whoever refused to see past the veneer of the elite and into the complex world of power beneath.

She’d been seated beside Benedict the night before. She remembered finalizing the seating chart with Violet and having put herself across from Benedict, in a junior seat at the table. She was his personal assistant, his manager, yes, but she didn’t need to be beside him all the time. It was becoming difficult to resist his charms on a regular basis.

He was always in her personal space, touches lingering a little too long, holding her a little too close. Anticipating her every need. It wasn’t by magic that she’d discovered her wallet had been fraying at the edges and suddenly there was a replacement sent to her flat. Saic Firenze, bespoke leatherwork, durable. She protested it once and Benedict gently told her that he had taken her practicality into account while picking the wallet for her. It was fine craftsmanship (which she couldn’t deny) and would last her years.

She wished he would give her something more run-of-the-mill. Coach maybe. She wished he’d give her nothing at all, not see through her at every opportunity.

She’d accepted a lot of things from the Bridgertons, because they’d ensured her continued safety and she’d swore her loyalty to them. Apparently that included gifts of exorbitant proportions, in addition to her salary, like the walk-in closet full of evening gowns, cocktail dresses, backless suits, a truly pathologically insane collection of shoes she never thought she’d need, but Violet had insisted because they did host an event every month, and she needed to be styled accordingly.

She’d turned down Violet’s standing offer for a stylist, so Francesca and Daphne, the fashion consultants of the family — yet another cover for the Bridgertons’ involvement in the fashion circles — had picked things out for her. There were an alarming number of dresses in the closet that were backless. It meant she’d have to forego a bra. It meant, tantalizingly, Benedict’s warm, wide, calloused palm rubbing soothingly down her back throughout the evening. She’d often end up so wet by the time the evening was over she was in half a mind to beg him to get her off, but she curbed those urges.

No good would come of being so wanton. As if her mother’s life hadn’t been a strong enough lesson for her.

Her mother had been respectable; she taught primary school. But she was from a common background and not nobility. Her father, the Earl of Penwood, much like the Bridgertons, relied on his noble heritage to conduct much more darker and sinister schemes away from the spotlight. Of course, no one could quite touch the Bridgertons with regards to their wealth, influence and power. But people like her father still tried.

That pursuit of power led her father to keep her mother and her cared for, but never with the full status and protection that marriage would’ve granted her.

It wasn’t the regency era, they didn’t need to be married in order for Sophie to move through the world, but it would have helped regardless.

Richard decided to marry Araminta Li of the Li clan, thus cementing an alliance that brought the vestiges of a great house into Penwood House. It also involved moving Sophie’s mother to more modest logdings with more modest staff who monitored her every step. Sophie was requested to stay with her father at his house, at his request. She refused.

Then her father died from a car accident. Her mother from a short illness. And her world fell apart.

Araminta made her the maid of all work. She became the housekeeper and house manager for no pay, while deeply understanding everything that went on. She’d have been glad to have had a roof over her head, yet no way out but to wait until she was 20 so that she could walk out with the inheritance her father had bequeathed her.

2 million pounds. Life-changing money. She’d never need anything else.

So she tolerated Araminta’s verbal abuse. The physical abuse too. She never went up to the attics of Bridgerton House, closed spaces still made her hyperventilate.

It was nothing short of a miracle to have been able to leave as she did, to have found the Bridgertons’ protection as she did, for the simple act of doing nothing but saving someone’s life. She’d have saved them anyway. But she was glad it was Eloise. She was glad for Eloise’s generosity towards her, for introducing her to her family, to have gained their support as she did.

She did not consider herself to be part of the family, but they still treated her as one. Benedict treated her with something close to reverence, and it scared the absolute daylights out of her.

Her parents’ relationship had not always been fraught and hostile — it had once been rooted in affection and love. It didn’t last, so why should this?

Albiet, the love and loyalty this family had towards each other, she’d never seen such mutual love. She was touch-starved, starved of affection and kindness. She accepted what was given greedily, and yet was never made to feel less than for asking for it.

Benedict scared her. He was soft and gentle with her, a side his younger siblings and his mother saw, his enemy would’ve begged to see. She knew of his reputation as a playboy — heartbreaker. Unattached. Did not form romantic connections. Though she suspected it was by design that that particular rumour floated about. It wouldn’t do to have a visible target painted for someone else to shoot at.

So his affection in the little things and his single-minded attention on her unnerved her. What was to stop him from abandoning her when she became inconvenient? Nothing. She doubted she’d be allowed to walk away scot-free.

But the unhealed child inside her craved his touch. His focus and his attention. He’d pull her down to sit on his lap and not let her move when they’d be finalizing or going over his schedule for the day. Interestingly, neither one of his siblings made a comment on it if they happened to be in the room with him.

His hands would wander, but always in a soothing motion. His very presence calmed her soul.

She’d patched him up too frequently and slept beside him in his bed one too many times to resist him. But she still tried to put distance between them. She always moved his hands when they ventured somewhere she didn’t like and he never put them there again.

She felt safe with him. Being with him was like sitting underneath the shade of a massive tree. Protected, calm, cool and safe.

The dress she wore to the soiree had his attention within minutes of her stepping foot into the room. Dark red with thin straps, no back to speak of, slit on the side so high she’d have a wardrobe malfunction if she wasn’t careful. Sideswept hair, secured in place with bejwelled clips. She checked her watch — a Vacheron Constantin, another gift. On time.

His hand curled inside her dress, around her back. When they’d been seated for dinner and Fran exchanged their place cards so she sat next to him, his hand wandered up, cupping the side of her breast and squeezing gently once. She’d inhaled sharply. The lighting was dim, few people could tell what was going on.

She felt like she’d been served on a platter and yet. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

She met Fran’s eyes across the table where she calmly sipped her wine. The hint was unmistakeable: she was Benedict’s to do with as he pleased.

This is what it meant to belong to someone else.

She should’ve known his control would snap sooner rather than later.

She still knew she had the upper hand. If she objected he’d stop. But she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop. She so desperately wanted to give in.

His hands trailed down her back slowly, making her aware of every inch of his hand, the warmth making her shiver. He was so nonchalant about it too. He was in conversation with the gentleman seated to his other side, not even looking at her. But his hand - big enough to cover her back when splayed wide - caressed down her side before sliding up her thigh and settling there.

And then he moved his hand again. This time, he cupped her, warm palm fully holding her clothed cunt.

She really shouldn't. But she couldn't help herself. She was only human, and he was wearing her down. So she pushed forward in her seat so that he could settle his palm around her better.

The rest of the evening went that way. A hyper awareness of him, that cologne of his, his warm hand tucked so intimately between her legs. At some point he leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, voice deep and scratchy, “You good, baby?”

Baby. That one was new. She looked at him. His pupils were blown out. She gulped down the water she was drinking and whispered back, “Yeah.”

Now, she just stared up at him. She got to see this side of him a lot of the times now, but she wished she wouldn’t see it on account of him being injured and not letting her get back to her flat.

(Her flat, two floors below his in a converted Victorian building, paid for by the family. A security system that Benedict had overseen the installation of. Just a precaution, he’d said at the time.)

His hair was tousled in the morning light, face looking so young and at peace.

She didn’t know pleasure felt like that. Her feeble attempts at using her own hands were abysmal at best. If he felt that good with just his fingers, how good was he going to feel when he finally fucked her?

How was she going to take him, was a bigger question. She was already sore, a little deliciously so. And that was just his fingers.

He stirred, groaned and then pulled her into him, the smallest of spaces between them disappearing. Sophie closed her eyes and breathed him in, tucking her face into his neck.

“I want to keep you here forever,” he confessed, voice low, scratchy with sleep.

She stilled. That didn’t sound like someone who felt she was a convenience.

Sophie sat up and crossed her legs beneath her. Started first and laid it out for him — she felt he deserved the honesty. That she was incredibly grateful for a job, for their protection of her, for how safe she felt against her travesty of a stepmother and how much she adored Benedict. But that she was unsure if he meant for her to stick around long-term because she was aware of how these families worked and how much remained unspoken.

“I also know I will never be able to leave, if something goes wrong,” she finished quietly, indicating the space between them.

Benedict listened to her in silence, still lying back on the bed, arms braced on his elbows. “You are never going to be unsafe with me, Sophie,” he said, quietly. “This life is what it is. There’s also things you haven’t told me about Araminta Gun that I want to know, because I see how your hands tremble when she is in the same room as you.”

Her head shot up. She didn’t think she had been transparent.

“But,” he continued, “this isn’t a passing fancy for me. You see me, and you know me, and you choose to stay anyway.” He slowly reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She looked into his face and just saw him. Earnest and open, the way he’d been with her these past few years. She quickly reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips before she lost her nerve, and he took the chance to deepen it, leaving her reeling. He continued pressing kisses down her throat and then down her chest and murmured, “You never have to worry about a single thing that is now plaguing you if you are to be with me.”

She swallowed. It was a big thing for him to promise her.

“Think about it?” he implored, green eyes looking up at her.

The day Sophie told him, Benedict could only describe his emotions as contradicting. He was overjoyed, of course. His dearest love was growing a human that was half him and half her. His Sophie was pregnant and he couldn’t be more excited. He had already started planning neutral colours to paint the nursery, what patterns and figures he could convince Sophie to allow him to paint on the walls. He had already been thinking over all of the names he liked that he thought Sophie would like, was already planning how they would manage, if Sophie would want them to hire a nanny or wet nurse.

Yet at the same time, he had never felt more scared and worried. He knew deep down that it was an irrational fear, something that he was only even thinking about because his family was unlucky enough to have experienced it themselves. For most families, it wasn’t even a concern, something they probably had never even thought about once nevermind every night as they lay and stared at the ceiling. Benedict was afraid he was going to pass. He was terrified he would leave his Sophie in the same way his own father left him. He was terrified his unborn child would never know the love of a biological father, much like his youngest sister, Hyacinth.

Benedict tried not to let his concerns become known to Sophie. She was under enough stress as it was, growing his child, trying to keep herself involved with enough housework that she wasn’t bored stiff but little enough that Benedict wasn’t hovering and telling her that his lady shouldn’t be partaking in work that she no longer had to. The thing with his wife was she could always tell.

They lay in bed one morning, Benedict had been awake long before the sun had risen and that had raised alarm bells for Sophie. Her husband slept like the dead. He was not one to rise before the sun and he was certainly not one to be awake before her. The second born Bridgerton laid flat on his back, one arm behind his head and the other rested across his naked abdomen, fingers tapping restlessly. “Benedict?” No response.

Sophie shifted herself to sit up against the headboard and that seemed to snap him out of his trance. “Ah. You are awake, my love. Did you sleep well? The little darling was not too harsh on you as you rested?” Sophie observed her husband for a few moments. He had started to gain a slight purplish hue under his eyes and his brow was furrowed.

“I did. Did you? You appear… worn, Benedict.” She reached over to kiss him goodmorning and he sighed into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head as he allowed his brain a few seconds reprieve. “My love?”

“There is nothing to worry about, Sophie. I believe the curtains were not drawn completely last night. My sleep was disrupted in the early hours and I was simply unable to return to it.” He kissed her once, twice, three times more before sitting up beside her against the headboard. 

“If you are sure?” At his nod of agreement she simply smiled and climbed out of the bed, her now rounded stomach catching Benedict’s eye. “Our little one is growing. If I am to continue as nature expects, we should be parents in the next three months or so.” 

Benedict nodded with a smile that was only half real and joined his wife in getting out of bed. “I believe I shall be in the nursery again today. The walls shall not paint themselves.” He teased with a smile, watching as Sophie dressed and headed to break her fast.

Three months. He had to manage three months in non-dangerous situations and then his fears would ease. Three months and this fear of never meeting his child would surely go away. 

As the birth got closer, Benedict only got more weary. The nursery was finished and Sophie was delighted with the designs and colours her husband had picked. He admitted it was probably one of the first pieces in a while that he actually liked the look of. He spent a lot of his time hiding away in the nursery, sketching and drawing and just trying to keep his mind occupied but of course that never lasted long. 

Benedict was hanging on by a thread by the time a month had passed. His breaking point happened when he had taken Sophie for a walk in the garden to allow her to stretch her legs and he had realised just how many dangers there were outdoors. Every buzz of a bee, every hum of a fly getting too close, the sound of the geese flying overhead, everything was cause for a flinch, jerk or in one case a duck. Sophie knew her husband was… strange at the best of times but she was at her wits end with his erratic behaviour when he had decided to become a recluse and would sit behind the glass window as she went for a stroll in the garden and he refused to join her.

“What is going on with you?” She asked harshly one evening after he had yet again spent his entire day inside and was now spending an excessive amount of time cutting up his food into smaller than normal pieces and taking extra care to chew them. Benedict just stared at her almost dumbfounded as she pushed her plate away.

“You must eat, dearest. You are growing a child, you cannot be skipping meals.” Benedict said with concern, eyebrows raised as he reached over and pushed her plate back towards her. She retaliated by shoving it once more. 

“Not until you tell me what on earth is going on. You have… you are a recluse, Benedict! You will not stroll in the garden with me, you will not visit your family, you will not go into the village. You sit in your studio or the nursery or even just behind the glass and yet you refuse to get fresh air. So I repeat once more, what is going on?”

Benedict simply stared. He found his mouth could move and yet he could produce no sound. Not one strand of argument could be said. “I… it is nothing of your concern.  My decisions are my own and are not the concern of a woman, never mind a pregnant one.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He had promised Sophie he would treat her as his equal. That there would be no more secrets between the pair and now here he was lying to her and reducing her to simply her gender. 

“I see. In that case, I shall require more space tonight to allow room for my very pregnant self. Have the spare room made up.” She turned to the maid that was standing by in the dining room. “Would you be so kind as to ensure the spare room is suitable for my husband tonight. And will you also have a footman ensure he stays put? Thank you so much.”

Benedict rose to his feet to attempt to defend himself and apologise but Sophie simply turned on her heel and left, heading straight for the stairs and presumably to their room. “Well that may have been the worst way to handle things.” The man grumbled to himself as he pushed the food away and stood, heading in the same direction of his wife. 

He found the door to their room locked and let out a huff as he headed to the spare room to attempt to sleep. He knew he had overreacted, knew that he had been unnecessarily mean to his wife and he wanted nothing more than to climb into their bed beside her and make it up to her. Instead, he settled for the next best thing. 

As he dragged his blanket and lay his pillow on the floor outside their door, settling in for the night, he knew he would have to do something pretty incredible to manage to make Sophie less mad at him. 

The next morning, Sophie let out a startled yelp as she opened their bedroom door and found Benedict asleep on the floor outside of it. She couldn’t help but cast him a gentle smile and crouch beside his head, brushing his hair back and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You and your stupid statements. Ben, my love…” 

Over the next few days, Benedict tried his best to make it up to her but all she wanted was an explanation. With careful deliberation about what exactly he wanted to say, he approached her in the drawing room where she sat reading. “Is now a suitable time to stop reading, my love?” 

She placed a marker on her page and placed the book on the coffee table, paying him her full attention. “Do you finally wish to tell me what troubles you?” 

“I… as you… as you are aware, my father passed when I was young.” Benedict’s voice already had a slight twinge to it and Sophie could tell that what her husband was about to reveal to her would tug at her heartstrings. 

“Yes. A bee sting if I recall you telling me correctly?” Sophie prompted and Benedict nodded, avoiding her gaze at all costs and toying with the fabric of his sleeve cuffs. 

“Well, in the midst of all the excitement for the arrival of our own little one, it occurred to me that it would be possible for me to meet the same fate as my father. For me to never get to see my child born, to never see them grow up, to have you raise them alone as my mother did with my siblings and I, though we had help and we all pitched in where we could. I… I cannot have that happen, Sophie. I cannot live with the thought of me possibly meeting my fate so suddenly as my father did.”

“So you took to staying in the confines of the house where you knew you were safe? Benedict… why did you not confide in me? All of this time I thought you were… regretting or possibly angry or even upset at the thought of us being parents. My love, I could have been more help to you. Encouraged you more, helped you to see that the world is not so dangerous and that you are not doomed to the same fate as your father by simply stepping outside of our home.”

Benedict didn’t know how exactly to respond to her. She wasn’t mad at him. In fact she was more mad at herself for not being able to help her husband more. “You… you are not displeased with me?”

“I am more irritated that you did not confide in me. I am pregnant, Benedict. I am not incapable of supporting you just as you do for me. I want you to tell me these things. I want you to be able to come to me for support and to be able to ease your concerns. I cannot do that if you do not speak to me, my love.” Sophie took her husband's hand in her own two smaller ones. 

“I am sorry. Truly, Sophie. I did not… I did not think of how my actions could have been interpreted by you. I certainly did not mean for my concerns to be translated into insulting you and suggesting that you are incapable of being there for me simply because you are with child. Do you… can you forgive me?”

“You were already forgiven, Benedict. I find it hard to hold a grudge against you and your stupid face. Besides, I could tell there was something troubling you for you have never taken that attitude with me before.”

Benedict smiled and kissed his wife. His lovely, beautiful and absolutely perfect wife. “I shall never take that tone again with you my love. It was… wrong of me. I love you, Sophie Bridgerton. As my love and my equal.”

Two months later, as little Charles Bridgerton came into the world, Benedict felt his heart stop in his chest as he heard the cries from inside the room and mere moments later, he was granted entry. His first instinct was to check on Sophie. He could not bear to think of a life without her. Then he took note of the babe laid on her chest. “My… a son? We have a son.”

He kissed his wife deeply and pressed a tender kiss to the top of his sons head, settling himself gently on the side of the bed as he peered down at his little family. “We have a son, my love. A beautiful son…”

“We do and it appears you have not dropped dead, husband.” She teased through half lidded eyes. He simply smiled and kissed her once more before carefully lifting his son and settling him against his own chest.