When Paul steps into the small co-op workspace, Sophie’s smile falls, and she goes back to her work.

“Sophie…” 

“Yes?” she asks without looking up again.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Paul offers. 

“In the middle of my workday?” she asks. 

“It’s always your workday,” Paul points out, exasperated. 

“It isn’t, and you know that,” Sophie argues lightly. “Say what you came here to say, and then leave, please.” 

Paul shakes his head and looks around, spotting a vase of lovely roses sitting next to Sophie’s computer. “Are those from him?” 

“Delivered fresh this morning,” Alfie comments with a wicked grin. “The note was quite sweet, too. What was it? ‘For Sophie - some beautiful flowers to inspire you the way you inspire me’?” 

“Alfie,” Sophie scolds. 

Paul shakes his head. “Unbelieveable. I thought you far too sensible to fall for Ben Bridgerton’s crap.” 

“You did,” Sophie reminds him, still without looking up. 

“I was an idiot,” Paul tells her. “Don’t make my mistakes, he’s…flighty. He’s noncommittal. It’s not worth it.” 

Sophie blinks and looks up at him finally, tilting her head. “You’re jealous.” 

Paul scoffs. 

Sophie nods. “You’re jealous. You have no idea who you’re jealous of, but you’re so jealous right now, you could scream.” 

“I don’t have time for this,” Paul tells her hurriedly. “I just came by- I don’t know why I came by. I don’t know. I guess to make sure Ben Bridgerton hasn’t ruined your life.” 

“Not yet,” Sophie shrugs. “He’s very sweet. He doesn’t seem the type to try and ruin anyone’s life.” 

She watches Paul step out, and then turns to her roses, leaning in to breathe them in before getting back to work.

***** 

“Gaaaahhhh! Henry! Get the door!” 

Henry Granville laughs and sets his sketchpad down to do as he’s asked. He enjoys renting space in his studio out to fellow artists, and he’s happy to have someone with such an eye as Ben Bridgerton working four days a week. 

The company is nice. Ben is handsome and pleasant to chat with, and talented on top of it.

Currently the man is covered in paint, and is trying not to touch anything that he might stain, so Henry has no problem opening up the door.

Another handsome man, one who doesn’t look half as pleasant as Ben. “Can I help you?” 

“Is Ben working today?” the man asks. 

“...Who is asking?” Henry asks suspiciously. 

“Please tell him Paul is here to see him,” the man requests, looking terribly annoyed.

Henry leans back in. “Oh Ben!” 

“Yes!” 

“There is a handsome, grumpy-looking man at the door to see you,” Henry informs him. “He says his name is Paul, but I’m certain I’ve never met a Paul who looked so bloody pissy before!” 

Ben sighs heavily. “Let him in, I suppose.” 

Henry Does, leading him into the main part of the studio where Ben is still hard at work on something abstract and green and truly inspired. 

Paul turns to Henry. “Can you please give us a moment?” 

Henry snorts derisively. “No. I own the building. I get to witness any and all drama that happens inside of it.” 

That makes Ben chuckle, which was really the point. “Did you need something, Paul?” 

Paul sighs. “I wanted to talk about Sophie.” 

Ben freezes, but doesn’t respond. Henry has met Sophie. A sweet girl. A talented photographer. Ben’s adoration of her is entirely understandable. 

“She’s not right for you,” Paul presses on. “She’s rigid, and…and uptight. Believe me, she’s not what you’re looking for.” 

Henry blinks. Certainly, Sophie isn’t outwardly sexually adventurous, but there’s nothing wrong with her; nothing boring about her, and Henry doesn’t find her rigid at all. She’s been quite fun when she stops by the studio, usually with some take-away for them to eat together. She’s doesn’t seem demanding or sour. Just…kind, really. 

“I value your opinion a lot less than I used to,” Ben tells him. “Not only did you cheat on me, but with someone I was bound to meet.” 

“I didn’t know!” Paul cries. 

“Right, because you never took the time to get to know her,” Ben counters. “Which is why you think she’s rigid and uptight. Because you have no idea who Sophie is.” 

“And you do?” Paul asks. “After knowing her less than a month?” 

“I think I’m starting to,” Ben grins. “And I really like what I’m finding out.” He turns his attention back to his painting. “Now. I’m busy, and you’re ruining my workflow. I think we’re done.” 

“You’ll regret this,” Paul tells him.

Ben’s grin only grows wider. “I don’t think so. But I know you do.” 

Henry watches Paul storm out and chuckles as he sits back down and sips his drink. “Did you really date that wanker?” 

“Yes,” Ben sighs. “I really did date that wanker.” 

Henry grins and pulls his phone out, texting Sophie. “Bring some curry and a kiss for your boy. His ex just tried to ruin his day.”

He receives a text back ten minutes later. “OMW!” 

***** 

“Apparently, you are rigid and uptight,” Ben tells her as they eat out of takeout containers on the floor of the studio.

“And you’re flighty and noncommittal,” Sophie says. 

Ben nods. “Mm. Mhm. Yes. That’s why the second we got back to London I started texting you to have dinner with me.” 

Sophie smiles at him. He really had. She had worried that the spell of the countryside would break when they got back to the city, but it didn’t. They’ve been getting dinner, meeting for coffee. They even went to the Tate Modern a few days ago just to roam around and talk and enjoy the artwork. 

“And I have been nothing but rigid about everything in your life,” Sophie comments. 

Ben chuckles. “Which is why we’re eating curry on the floor of the studio space I’m renting while I’m covered in paint.” 

“You are cute covered in paint,” Sophie tells him, smiling. 

He beams at her and leans over, kissing her lightly. “Thank you.” 

Sophie sighs. “Should we be worried about Paul?” 

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know. He dated both of us at the same time. He lied to us. He then broke up with me and you broke up with him…I mean, he might pan whatever work I come out with to show eventually, but I wouldn’t be surprised by that.” 

“You do such lovely work, though,” Sophie tells him.

“You’re too nice to me,” Ben responds, looking up at the painting he’s been working on. “I think it might be rubbish.” 

“You’re much too hard on yourself,” Sophie scolds. “Eat your curry.” 

“Oop. There’s that uptight rigidity,” he teases. “Better be careful.” 

She laughs. “You like it when I tell you what to do.” 

“In bed,” he tacks on, making her laugh harder. 

The joint hen and stag night had involved skinny dipping in the lake, so she knows he's utterly gorgeous. All that pale skin over tight muscle and then below the waist…

Well-endowed just feels like an understatement.

And on top of all that, he'd offered her his bed. His room. Himself. Drunkenly, yes, but charmingly.

But he was drunk, and she has always been rubbish at flings, and…

But…

Fuck.

She gets out of bed, pulls on her robe and wanders out into the hall.

The house is gorgeous and old. She imagines listless ladies just like her wandered these halls two hundred years ago with a candle in hand to light the way. It sounds terribly romantic.

Sophie just feels antsy.

She turns the corner and hears a sigh from one of the rooms, and when she peaks in, Ben is sitting on the floor against the sofa with his phone and a large bottle of water in front of him on the coffee table.

He's dressed much like she is. Pajama bottoms (though no shirt. Unfair, truly) and a green robe. A little more vibrant than her mossy green one.

Sophie leans in. “Alright?”

Ben looks up and gives her a sheepish grin. “Yeah, thanks. Sobering up. Especially since I just got a text from my ex-boyfriend.”

She frowns and steps in, sitting on the sofa, her knee touching his arm. “What kind of text?”

“The ‘I'm horny and in London! Come fuck me!’ Kind of text,” Ben tells her.

Sophie nods slowly. “I can't say I'm familiar. My ex was…I mean he started out interested in sex, but…but as things went on…” she shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Ben looks up at her, confused. “I'm sorry, are you implying that your ex-boyfriend got bored of sex with you?”

Sophie flushes and shrugs.

Ben scoffs.

“It doesn't matter,” she insists. “Your ex is begging you to drive to London at three in the morning for a hookup.”

“Yeah, Paul wants what he wants,” Ben shrugs.

Sophie laughs a little. “Mine was a Paul too.”

Ben grins. “That's funny.”

They both go quiet, staring at each other.

“No,” Sophie snaps. “No. That's ridiculous.”

“Paul Suarez?” Ben asks. “Spent a lot of time in Italy? Handsome face, great in bed? Art critic?”

Sophie stares at him. “Shit.”

Ben lifts his phone, showing her the photo of Paul, lounging naked in bed with a come hither look.

Sophie laughs incredulously. “Shit!”

Ben laughs, too. “You were the woman he was cheating on me with.”

“You were the man he was cheating on me with,” Sophie responds quietly.

They sit in silence for a really long time.

“You know what would be really funny?” Ben asks, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Sophie blinks.

He shrugs. “It would serve him right. Seeing us together.”

Sophie purses her lips and slowly slides off the couch to sit next to him. “How drunk are you?”

“Just a little leftover buzz,” Ben promises. “Perfectly in my right mind and able to kiss you without being sloppy about it.”

She laughs nervously as she watches him set up his phone to take a timed photo, tilting it to capture both of them.

Ben presses the button for the timer, and then turns to Sophie. “Is it alright?” He asks, his voice impossibly soft.

She swallows and nods, and suddenly, he's kissing her. It's a lovely kiss. Tender and sweet, and she finds her hand gripping his shoulder gently.

The camera clicks, and neither of them pull away. The kiss deepens, and Sophie moans softly.

She hates that Kate was right.

But it's hard to care when his hand is cupping her jaw ever so gently.

When they do pull away, he gazes at her with dazed green eyes. He quickly shakes out his head and takes a breath. “At this rate we could send him an entire photoshoot.”

Sophie smiles and kisses his cheek before pulling back.

Ben snaps up his phone and pulls up the photo. He stares at it for a long moment.

She looks at it as well. It's not quite centered. The lighting isn't quite right. But it looks…real. So real. The way her eyes are closed. The line of Ben's jaw in the dim light.

“Do you approve, Miss award-winning photographer?” He teases gently.

Sophie swallows and nods.

Ben grins and sends the photo to Paul with the caption “busy just now.” He then turns back to her and kisses her again, hungrier, more passionately.

She finds herself swept away in the feeling of him. Ignoring the dings of protest from his phone as texts flood Ben's phone.

Let Paul sit with it. The knowledge that the girl he always teased for being boring; only adventurous for her job…not exciting enough in her personal life, is kissing the man Paul cheated on her with, and she's only known him a week.

Ben chuckles when the phone rings, his ringtone an old fashioned one that feels like it belongs in a black and white movie.

“He's angry,” Sophie mutters against his lips.

“This isn't about him,” Ben mutters. “I've been dying to kiss you for days.” His lips trail to her neck. “Pissing him off is an added bonus.”

Before she can respond, the phone rings again, but this time the ringtone is a song.

“It's a dead man's party

Who could ask for more

Everybody's coming

Leave your body at the door

Leave your body and soul

At the door”

“Shit,” Ben breathes out, pulling away and grabbing his phone, putting it on speaker. “Ant?”

“Why is your ex calling me on my wedding night?!” Anthony yells.

“Because Sophie and I just found out he cheated on both of us with the other, “ Ben tells him.

There's a scrambling and then Kate is on the phone. “Sophie?”

“Hiya,” Sophie says quietly.

There's muttering and then Kate comes back. “We're going to come back to Aubrey Hall, get a car and then drive to kill Paul.”

“Kate!”

“The man deserves death!” Anthony yells.

“We're fine,” Sophie says firmly.

The line goes quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean you're fine?” Anthony demands.

Sophie sighs and picks up the phone, texting the photo to Kate.

A moment later there's a startled laugh and Kate comes back. “Love you! Love you both! Have fun! Bye!”

“Love you, bye,” Sophie replies, before hanging up and putting the phone down, slumping back against the couch.

The phone rings again, Paul again.

She finds herself falling back into the habit of keeping track of her children just as she always has. She knows where each of them are; what they are up to. Moods and any ailments or stresses. 

Anthony, Benedict, Simon and Colin are in the study, all dressed and ready, having a drink together. Daphne, Kate, Penelope, Eloise and Francesca are in the drawing room. Hyacinth and Gregory are already downstairs in the ballroom. 

Sophie is missing from the pre-ball festivities. 

Violet checks the garden briefly, as well as one of the small sitting rooms. She finds their bedroom empty.

Which means Sophie is in the nursery.

And Violet is right. She finds Sophie sitting in a rocking chair, holding her son close, speaking to him softly as she strokes his cheek gently.

“We do so love you, Charlie,” Sophie says softly. “And we will come to see you after the ball, and then we will see you in the morning. Yes, we will.” 

Violet smiles and steps in. “Sophie?” she asks softly.

Sophie looks up, and gives her a sheepish look. “Forgive me, Violet, I…I just…”

“Wanted to see your son,” Violet beams. “Of course you did.” 

Sophie smiles and gazes down at Charlie. “He must know how much we love him.” 

“He does,” Violet assures her. “Of course he does, dearest.” 

The look of gratitude on Sophie’s face when Violet treats her as one of her own children always makes her heart ache. The pain she endured at the hands of the dowager countess truly twisted her life. Benedict has spent a considerable amount of time helping Sophie to untwist that life. They have created such a happy life together, and Violet is so very proud of her second son.

Violet steps into the room and kneels down next to Sophie and Charlie. “You are a wonderful mother, Sophie. And Benedict is the most excited father I have seen in a long time. In that way, he is quite like his father was. Edmund hated to be without his boys when they were little.” 

Sophie smiles. “Benedict must have been quite the handful back then.” 

“He was,” Violet laughs softly. “He and Anthony together sent a few nannies into hysteria.”

They both laugh and Violet reaches out, stroking Charlie’s head gently.

“I would not trade those memories for anything,” Violet tells her. “And you and I will sit with Charlie for however long you like until you are ready to attend the ball.” 

“But Violet-” 

“Do not argue with me, young lady,” Violet grins. 

Sophie grins back and snuggles Charlie. “Grandmama adores you, Charlie.” 

Violet beams.

***** 

She makes it downstairs eventually, finding Kate and Daphne filling in for her as hostess as people start to arrive. 

Sophie is holding onto her arm, obviously feeling a little trepidatious about attending the party, but she relaxes when she spots Benedict waiting for her with his brothers. 

Violet watches her walk over; watches her second son wrap his wife in his arms, and press a kiss to the top of her head, not at all concerned about what anyone might think of their affectionate relationship. 

Violet takes a breath and looks around, taking stock yet again.

Mary, Agatha, Portia, Helen and Janet are here, chatting together, looking happy. Simon and Daphne are currently taking to the dance floor. Colin and Penelope are chatting in a corner with Eloise. Anthony and Kate are with Benedict and Sophie. Francesca and Michaela are getting lemonade. Hyacinth is chatting with other young ladies out this year, and Gregory is chatting with Nicky Mondrich. 

Another scan of the room and Violet finds Posy and Lord Barnaby taking to the dance floor.

And one more finds the Dowager Lady Penwood. 

The woman looks miserable; angry, and when Violet follows the woman’s gaze, she is drawn back to Benedict and Sophie.

Violet’s son is gazing at his wife in deep adoration, his eyes soft. Sophie is looking back at him, utterly devoted. She often sees herself and Edmund in her children and their spouses. In the ways that they look at each other, or share jokes together, or hold each other. 

This is one of those times, and Benedict looks so like Edmund. Violet watches as Benedict leans in, pressing a tender kiss to Sophie’s cheek, and Sophie rests a gentle hand at the back of his head. 

When Violet turns back to Lady Penwood, the dowager looks furious, as if she may storm over and drag Sophie away by her hair. Instead, she just turns away, pretending to be busy. 

“I see Araminta Gun continues her foolishness,” Agatha mutters, stepping up to Violet. 

“Trying to pretend she was not staring at Benedict and Sophie,” Violet confirms. “Thankfully they did not notice.” 

“I doubt they will notice much of anything tonight,” Agatha chuckles. “They are utterly smitten with each other.” 

Violet smiles. “I found Sophie with Charlie before the ball, sneaking some time with her son.” 

“I am not surprised at all,” Agatha says. “She adores her child more than anything.” 

“Two years later and I am still so deeply relieved that things worked out the way they did,” Violet confides quietly. “Despite Araminta Gun’s best efforts.” 

“I will never let that horrid harm Sophie again,” Violet says firmly.

Benedict couldn’t sleep. How could he sleep? His heart was still racing from everything that had happened tonight. His whole world had spun on its axis, rearranging itself to send him in the direction of the lady in silver. He didn’t even know her name. He didn’t know the name of the lady that had him pacing his room and grinning like a lunatic.

He was mad, truly, he was.

He’d started the night reluctant to leave the ease of friendship and pleasure and no expectations, dreading the masquerade ball where there would be no anonymity, but plenty of expectations. His mother’s, the debutants, their mothers, the gossips.

He’d ended the night wishing he only knew the lady in silver’s name, wishing he knew where she lived, all so that he could show up at her door bright and early tomorrow morning with the intent to court her. Courting led to marriage, something he was so certain he did not want. Not anytime soon. Possibly not ever. But that was how much he wanted to see the lady in silver again, to talk to her, to know her.

Why oh why had she left like that when it was time to reveal herself? He could almost believe that he had been too forward, if she hadn’t kissed him before she left. He’d been pushing the boundaries of propriety all night, he knew that. Being alone on the terrace with her was scandalous enough, let alone dancing with her, kissing her hand, kissing her cheek. If anyone had caught them—but he’d wanted to be alone with her. From the moment he’d seen her across the ballroom he’d been drawn to her, and had followed his desire to steal away with her into the privacy of the night, away from everyone who would watch them with speculation and judgement.

Away from all of that they had talked to each other, sincerely, and he hadn’t been Benedict Bridgerton even after she figured him out. He’d simply been Benedict, and even though he’d never gotten her name or any other personal details about who she was, he felt as if what she’d revealed about herself was just as true, and rare.

He’d been very tempted to kiss her when he held her in his arms and led her in a dance. She’d looked up at him with sparkling eyes that whispered of a deeper connection, as if they’d met before, even though he knew they hadn’t. He’d never felt anything like that before, looking into someone’s eyes and feeling entirely right, and like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Everything in him wanted to close the distance between them and press his lips against hers. It wasn’t even want. It was an overwhelming need, like he could no longer breathe on his own and she was his air. But he could not cross that line and take liberties that were not his to take. He would not compromise her. So he pressed a kiss to her cheek, indulging in his need to breathe her in, to feel so close to her, to let her know how strong his desire was, so strong that he held back, because as much as he bucked against the rules of propriety, he wanted to do this right. For her.

But then she was leaving at midnight as the bells rang, and he felt such regret for all that he had not said or done if this was to be their last moment, his heart that had been so hopeful now feeling utterly crushed.

But then. Then she came back, if far too briefly, and she kissed him. It was the most electrifying kiss of his entire life. It left him stunned, so stunned it took him far too long to react to the fact that she was running away. For good this time. By the time he had the wherewithal to chase after her she was gone, and he had nothing but her glove to remember her by.

If she hadn’t kissed him, perhaps he would have been able to let her go, consider it a chance encounter and nothing more. Perhaps. But the kiss had sealed their fate. The passion in her kiss was not a sign that she did not want him after all. She might have her reasons for being so mysterious. Benedict prayed it was not that she was promised to another.

But regardless. He would find her again. He needed to dance with her again. Kiss her again. Learn everything there was to know about her. He would not rest until he did.

The knock on her door didn’t wake Sophie—a lifetime of early mornings making it impossible to sleep in, even in this ridiculously comfortable bed—but it did surprise her. Who could possibly need her attention this early in the morning, and so urgently, from the sound of their knocks?

The answer, naturally, was Benedict, which wasn’t at all surprising, except the part where he was up and about so early in the morning.

“Get dressed,” he instructed in that charmingly insistent way of his. “I’ll be right back.” And then he was gone.

“Good morning to you too,” Sophie muttered to herself with bemusement, closing the door and proceeding to get dressed. There was no reason not to, and whatever Benedict was up to, well, she might as well be dressed appropriately.

Sure enough, moments after she had gotten herself into a blue dress and a wrap, there was another knock on the door. Once again she did not have the chance to utter a greeting before Benedict was taking her hand and pulling her along the hallway.

“Benedict, what—”

“Shh, we don’t want anyone to hear us. Trust me?”

“Always.”

Benedict shot her a warm grin. Sophie’s stomach fluttered. That grin of his was no less effective now that they were engaged. It was even more appealing, now that she didn’t have to fight against the pull of him, not that she’d ever had much luck with that. But it felt wonderful to surrender to her feelings, to allow herself to fall, knowing he would catch her.

They quickly, but quietly, made their way along the hall, down the stairs and out of the house. It was still dark out, the sun barely starting to rise.

“Now will you tell me what we’re doing?” She asked with a laugh, stopping to look at Benedict.

“We’re running away together, of course.” The mischief in his expression told Sophie he was being playful, not attempting to race off to Gretna Green to elope. Which was good, because despite her excitement to be married, and her willingness to go anywhere with Benedict, she knew exactly where she wanted to get married. Right here, at My Cottage, where she’d first fallen deeply in love with Benedict, the place where she’d found her home, surrounded by all the people who loved and supported them.

But an adventure? Well, she was up for one of those.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere special,” Benedict said with a wink, and Sophie knew exactly where. “Come on, before anyone comes along and tries to protect your virtue.”

“A little late for that.”

Benedict laughed. “Unfortunately I don’t think informing anyone of that fact will have the desired result.” He pulled at her hand once more and Sophie ran with him, feeling so utterly free.

They didn’t stop running until they made it to the lakeside, the exact spot where she’d watched him swim from behind a tree. Not on purpose, mind you, no matter what Benedict said, but could anyone blame her for being transfixed? The powerful way he cut through the water was breathtaking, as was the fact that he came out of the water entirely naked.

Sophie was similarly breathless from their run, and then for an entirely different reason when Benedict pulled her into a kiss. It was reminiscent of their last kiss in this very spot, but instead of the rush of an almost first kiss, it was the desperate desire of coming back together after far too long.

A week could be considered a long time, could it not? That was how long it had been since they’d had any privacy to kiss like this. There was always someone around to prevent anything more affectionate than hand holding, and they’d been so busy they’d had no chance of sneaking away. Sophie had missed it dearly, Benedict’s body pressed to hers, his hands touching her, holding her, his soft lips kissing her so greedily. Sophie tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him down and lifting up, needing to be closer, to eliminate any space between them.

Finally needing air, they pulled apart, their foreheads coming to rest against each other. For several moments they simply breathed, everything in Sophie settling. A tightness she hadn’t realised she had been feeling unwound now that they had this moment to just exist together.

“I needed that,” Benedict whispered, lifting his head. “I haven’t been able to get a single moment alone with you since we got here. Surrounded by nosy people who need to mind their own business.”

“Your family, you mean?” Sophie asked, brows raised, laughing.

“Yes! When will they leave?”

“After the wedding, I believe.”

Benedict groaned, dropping his head on her shoulder dramatically. “That’s an eternity.”

“Four weeks.”

“As I said. Four weeks until we’re alone, until we’re married and I can kiss you anytime I want.”

“I know,” Sophie sighed, stroking her hand through his hair. He was being over dramatic and pouty, and it would make her laugh, except for the part where she felt entirely the same way.

If one week felt too long, four weeks was truly painful.

“I miss having you in my bed,” Benedict said when he lifted his head.

Sophie blushed, remembering their naked bodies intertwined, Benedict moving inside her so deeply, slow and measured and then faster and harder as their pleasure spiraled higher and higher—

“To sleep, but I miss that too,” Benedict grinned slyly. “Strange how keenly I feel your absence there when it’s occurred so infrequently.”

“I feel it, too. I miss having your arms around me like I know you’re supposed to be there.”

Benedict sighed. “Soon, Sophie. We’ll get through this hideous month and then we’ll never spend a night apart.”

“Never is quite—”

“Never.”

Sophie giggled. While she could envision the possibility of a time where they had to spend a night apart, she would never choose that either.

“But for now, we have our own little place where no one will bother us for oh, a few hours. If we’re very lucky.”

Sophie looked around at the lake, the lush verdant bank, the riot of colours in the sky, and most importantly, back at Benedict’s smiling, handsome face. “It’s perfect.”

“I thought so.” Benedict’s smile became teasing. “We can even go for a swim after it warms up a little. Or, if you prefer, I can swim and you can watch, I know how much you like that.”

“How did I know you could not resist bringing that up? It was an accident, I did not know you would be here.”

“Mmmm,” Benedict hummed. “But you can admit it now, Sophie, you stayed because you liked what you saw.”

“Why don’t you admit that you wanted me to like it?”

“Oh, I am happy to admit that. Why else do you think I asked you to fetch my shirt for me?”

Sophie shook her head, but was unable to entirely suppress the grin that was determined to break though her reproachful expression. “You were a wicked, diabolical tease.”

Benedict laughed. “And you were so adorably flustered. And lovely. It was like lightning striking twice, the way I felt about you. I couldn’t resist kissing you, even if I should have.”

“Neither could I. A bit of a problem of ours, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not anymore,” he said against her lips, before their mouths joined once more, this time in a series of long and languorous kisses.

Eventually they settled on the grass, Sophie leaning back against Benedict’s chest as they watched the sun rise over the lake. They talked about everything and nothing, and basked in the comfortable silence of two people who didn’t need to speak to feel connected.

After the sun was high in the sky, Benedict did strip off his clothes—Sophie watching unabashedly—before diving in the lake for a swim.

“Are you sure you have no desire to join me?”

“Quite sure. I’m content to watch, and to warm you up when you return.”

Benedict’s eyes flared, and he swam away at a startling speed, splashing Sophie in the process.

“Benedict!”

Not that Sophie should be calling it an ordeal. Someone's death shouldn't be seen that way, but at the same time, when the woman who hated you for nearly your entire life and then tried to ruin said life multiple times dies, it's hard to see her funeral as anything but an ordeal.

Especially when you have to act as if you are deeply, terribly sad.

"Yes, Cousin Araminta was quite the fashionista, I shall miss her eye for beauty."

Clothes Sophie once spent days upon days mending.

"Yes, she had quite the taste in shoes."

Shoes that Sophie spent a month cleaning and repairing.

They make it back to Bridgerton house eventually, after what feels like an eternity, and she collapses more dramatically than she normally would onto their bed, huffing out a breath and closing her eyes.

She doesn't move when someone starts to remove her shoes and stockings. She doesn't move when her dress is unfastened. She doesn't move when the pins are removed from her hair.

"If you do not sit up, I cannot help you out of your dress," her husband tells her. His voice is tired, but amused. He, too, had to play nice today. Instead of the dance over the woman's grave he always said he would do once the Dowager Countess died, he'd nodded and given condolences and stayed mostly quiet during the whole thing. Stood with the other Penwood husbands, who also looked as though they were holding back their true opinions on the woman.

Sophie sits up slowly, her eyes heavy as she holds her arms out and lets him slip her dress from her shoulders. "Today was so terribly tiring."

"Yes," Benedict agrees.

"I do not wish to do it again tomorrow," she tells him.

"Then we will not," he promises.

"She hated me," Sophie says.

Benedict stops moving, gazing at her.

"She hated me so much, Benedict."

He sits next to her, scooping her into his arms and settling her into his lap, holding her tightly. "She's gone now."

"I hate that I'm relieved," Sophie mutters into his shoulder. "And I am so tired."

"I know," Benedict says, holding her tightly, laying back on the bed with her.

"You are still dressed," she chides softly.

"I am too tired to care," he tells her.

"I love you," Sophie says into his chest.

Downstairs at Bridgerton house is as it always is; busy and lively, the staff rushing here and there to get things done. The family has all come back from the country, and even with much of the family now married off and living elsewhere, there is a lot to do.

Things are starting to settle though; dinner has been served and everyone is getting ready to turn in for the night. It's the perfect time for Sophie to sneak down and for Alfie to sneak over to catch up.

"Not too terribly much, to be honest," Alfie tells her as he sips his tea. "Lady Penwood is planning a ball for later in the season, which means pink feathers and pink baubles and pink pastries and pink drinks and pink...well...everything."

Sophie grins a little. "It has to be better than it was."

"Worlds," Alfie assures her.

"And you have far more exciting things to worry about," Hazel smiles, gazing down at Charlie. "He is so precious."

Sophie smiles down at Charlie, took, reaching in to stroke the soft, dark hair at the top of his head. "He has caused a lot of excitement, that is certain."

"The Dowager Countess found out the other day," Alfie tells her.

Sophie freezes, swallowing nervously. "Well. That's...fine. She was bound to find out sometime."

"What did she say?" Hazel asks.

"Apparently not much," Alfie informs them. "But she looked dead ill."

"Oh," Sophie says quietly.

"I'm certain everything is fine," Hazel tells her. "Do not be so worried."

"It is hard not to be," Sophie admits. "She was so set on ruining my life that last time I was in London...she may try again still."

"I am certain that your husband will have quite a lot to say if she tries," Alfie reminds her. "Mr. Bridgerton would never let anything happen to you, Sophie. Or Charlie, now."

Sophie smiles again. "He is a terribly good father. In the country, he stays up nights with Charlie to sooth him when he cries, and he plays with him...spends real time with him."

"Actual parenting from a nobleman?" Hazel marvels. "My goodness, he is dedicated, isn't he?"

"Very," Sophie confirms, turning to coo at Charlie. 'Yes, Papa loves you."

"There you are!"

Sophie turns, finding said husband stepping into the room, smiling at having located his little family.

"We were just having some tea," she assures him. "Since you were spending time with your brothers."

Benedict sits with her, on the other side of Charlie's basket, automatically reaching in to let the baby grip his finger. "Forgive me for how long that took. Gregory wanted our advice, and apparently since I am now married, he cares about what I have to say now."

Alfie chuckles. "Did he not before?"

"Not even a little," Benedict confirms. "Catching up on what we've missed while in the country?"

"Araminta knows about Charlie," Sophie tells him. "Apparently, she's a bit sick about it."

"Good," Benedict smirks. "Let her be sick about it. Let her be sicker and sicker about any and all children we may have going forward."

"Benedict," Sophie admonishes incredulously.

"No, no, he is right, Sophie," Alfie says. "Let her be sick about it all. She's earned it."

"And you have earned your happiness," Hazel assures her. "I do have one question for you, though."

"Yes?" Sophie asks.

Hazel takes a big, dramatic breath. "Can I hold the baby?"