#saphne

"She claimed she was perpetually in mourning for her two dead husbands," Benedict says. "I just think she wanted to look scary."

"Which one do we pick?" Anthony asks, looking a little perplexed. "Do we know which one was her favorite?"

"Any one will suffice," Simon tells him. "Honestly I do not care what the woman favored." He turns to them. "But Benedict should be the one to pick."

Benedict looks at him and then steps forward, rummaging through dress after dress.

"Do not take too long," Anthony warns as he peaks out the door.

Benedict lets out a light hum, before he eventually pulls out dress out, holding it up for them. "I remember this one. She wore it to our first ball after coming back from our honeymoon. She was particularly sour that night."

"Well done," Simon tells him, taking the dress and stuffing it into the satchel over his shoulder. "We must away, now before we are discovered."

They all agree. Benedict closes the armoire and the three of them slip out of the dressing room and down the stairs, back to the gathering of people, all mourning Araminta Gun.

Sophie notices their entrance first, tilting her head at them, and Kate and Daphne soon follow her lead, watching as their husbands step back into the fray, nodding to people politely, obviously trying to act as if nothing they've done is unusual or at all mischievous.

"And where were all of you?" Daphne asks expectantly as they approach.

"Nowhere," Anthony tells her, looking innocent. "Just taking a breath from the room."

"It is quite a crowded room," Benedict points out as he takes Sophie's hand. "Are you doing alright? Do you need anything?"

"I am well, she tells him quietly. She looks around at them all. "I know none of you truly wanted to be here for this. Thank you for being here with me."

"Of course, Sophie, we are always here for you," Kate promises. "No matter what."

"And tomorrow, we will away for Clyvedon," Simon adds. "The quiet and the fresh air will be good for all of us after all of this."

Anthony nods in agreement. "We just need to get through today."

Benedict nods as well, before looking around the room and freezing.

Sophie frowns. "Oh no. What is it?"

"I believe Rosamund has had far too much brandy, and is about to make an ill-advised speech," he tells her.

Sophie whirls around, spotting her step-sister, stumbling towards the front of the room, calling for attention. "Oh, no."

"Bets on whether or not Posy is the one who got her drunk?" Anthony asks.

"Posy," Simon, Daphne, Kate and Benedict respond.

"Excuse me," Sophie says hurriedly.

She starts to head off, but Benedict takes her hand, tugging her back gently. "No."

"Benedict-"

"No," he tells her again. "Sophie, she is not your responsibility. She's lost the right to your kindness over and over again. I cannot let you keep handing it to her, only for her to bat it away and hurt your feelings."

"Aside from which, she has a husband and a younger sister who are more than capable of keeping her from making a fool of herself," Kate reminds her.

Sophie purses her lips and stops attempting to rush off, instead pressing her face in against Benedict's chest.

It turns out neither Rosamund's husband nor her younger sister stop her from being a fool. She makes an entire speech about how savvy and fashionable her mother was. Discerning.

And then it takes a turn.

"But who are we kidding?" Rosamund asks, laughing. "My mother was a grade-a bitch, and everyone knew it. From the lowest of low maids all the way up to the Queen herself. She treated everyone like scum. Even me. Stealing a dowry to double mine to make me more appealing. What was she thinking?!"

Sophie clings to Benedict tighter as all o them whirl around to watch.

"Oh, god," Sophie mutters.

"Fffffuck," Anthony and Benedict say in unison.

"Yes, that," Simon agrees.

"She stole Sophie's dowry!" Rosamund goes on, and all eyes turn to them. "Eighteen thousand pounds, adding it onto my own to make me more appealing. As if I wasn't pretty enough or charming enough or good enough. No one was ever good enough. But Sophie was, and it scared the hell out of my mother. She was terrified of how...how good enough Sophie was so she stole her dowry, and the only reason it was returned was because Richard's will was found, and Benedict Bridgerton wanted to marry Sophie, and so they gave it back! And we could have avoided it all if not for my bitch mother."

"What do we do?" Daphne asks, panicking. "Do we leave?"

"And Benedict Bridgerton was supposed marry me!" Rosamund goes on.

"Sorry?" Benedict blurts out, deeply confused. "What?"

"You! Were supposed! To want! Me! And not some grubby-"

"And that is all the time you have for your speech, sister!" Posy cries, tugging her sister away. "Please forgive my sister, she is clearly grieving deeply and also a bit carried away with the brandy."

They watch as Rosamund is dragged out of the room, and all eyes fall on Sophie, who is still buried into Benedict's chest with her eyes squeezed shut.

"And I think that is a sign to go home," Anthony says.

They leave then, as everyone stares after them and whispers.

*****

It's a long journey to Clyvedon, but Sophie welcomes the peace of an uneventful journey. Benedict is napping next to her as she looks out the window.

Across from them, Anthony is also napping, while Kate is reading.

"Are you alright?" Kate asks quietly.

Sophie takes a deep, slow breath and lets it out equally slowly. "I am. I think."

"I cannot believe Rosamund said all of those things out loud," Kate comments.

"It is not as if they were not true," Sophie shrugs. "Araminta stole my dowry. In her their eyes, Benedict was supposed to marry Rosamund and live happily ever after."

"I cannot imagine that happiness would have been in Benedict's future without you," Kate says.

Sophie turns and gazes at her husband. "He's far too sweet for Rosamund. She would have broken him."

“What do you mean?” Kate asks. 

“Benedict values genuine feeling,” Sophie explains. “And joy. Love and beauty in all forms. Things one cannot buy from a shop or inherit from a passed relative. Rosamund is the opposite. She does not understand genuineness or joy or love or beauty. Only that which she can hold in her hand and possess…He would never have been enough for her, because nothing was ever enough for her.” 

“Even in adulthood?” Kate asks curiously. 

“According to Posy, she has not changed very much,” Sophie tells her. 

Kate nods and looks out the carriage window. 

***** 

Clyvedon is enormous, and Mrs. Coleson is happy to show everyone to their rooms before dinner is served, and everyone dresses up. 

Sophie smooths out her sage green dress, taking a breath as she looks in the mirror. “Will I do?” 

“You always look beautiful,” Benedict promises, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing the side of her head. “My Sophie.” 

Sophie smiles and cuddles back against him. “Where did you three really go during the gathering after the funeral?” 

He just grins. “I am starving after that long journey. Let’s go down.” 

Sophie grins and rolls her eyes, but follows him.

***** 

Dinner is lovely and delicious, and afterward, Simon gathers up three full bottles of rum and leads them out of the house and onto the grounds, far far away from anyone or anything, the darkness enveloping them, until they come upon a footman who is tending to a large bonfire, surrounded by large stones. 

“What is all this?” Daphne asks, bewildered. “Simon?” 

He grins and seemingly out of nowhere, pulls Araminta Gun’s dress out. “We are here to bury the dead.” 

“We already did that,” Kate reminds him.

“For ourselves,” Anthony explains. “For Sophie. To expunge an old ghost and truly say farewell to someone who haunted her life for far too long.” 

Sophie swallows and pulls away from Benedict a little. “Is that what you were doing at Araminta’s home?” 

Benedict nods. “Yes. We stole her dress.” 

“And now we burn it,” Simon adds, holding the dress out to Sophie.

She steps over slowly, taking it carefully, almost reverently. She looks at carefully, taking in all of the fine detail the firelight will allow her to see. The luxurious feel of the fabric in her hands. The little girl that still lives inside of her; that wanted desperately for Araminta to be her mother, wonders what it would have felt like to be hugged by the woman who wore this dress so proudly; thought herself so powerful and beautiful in it.

Sophie grips it tightly, feeling tears well up in her eyes at the thought of what life could have - should have been like. 

She mourns for the little girl who tried so hard to be loved by this woman. Mourns for the woman who could not find it in her heart to love that little girl at all.

Sophie thinks of her own daughter, safe and sound at Bridgerton house with her grandmother keeping a close eye on her, and her cousins. How Vivi will never, ever feel this way about her mother. 

She feels Benedict step up behind her. She feels Kate and Daphne on either side of her. She knows that Simon and Anthony are likely standing behind them with Benedict. 

Sophie lets herself cry - really cry, for a long few minutes. Lets herself feel all of that anger and frustration and sadness and despair from over a decade of living with a woman who refused her as a daughter again and again; living with a man who did nothing about it, and eventually left her all alone, to be turned into a slave.

She finishes with her tears and takes a deep breath, feeling Kate reach over to wipe them for her. 

“Goodbye, Araminta,” Sophie mutters to the dress. “If we meet again when all is said and done, I hope things can be different.” 

With that, she throws the dress into the roaring fire, and watches it burn.

***** 

She’s deeply drunk by the time they make it back to their room. Benedict is no better, stumbling as he tries to keep her from stumbling, laughing softly in her ear as he knocks his shoulder against the door too loudly.

Sophie turns to him, taking him in. His jacket is…somewhere. His waistcoat is open, his cravat is gone. They’d spent hours drinking and talking and laughing around the fire, and now he is disheveled and his clothes smell of firewood. 

Benedict Bridgerton is beautiful. 

She stands in front of him and leans up, kissing him slowly, pushing his waistcoat off and letting it fall to the floor. 

“We are very drunk,” Benedict points out against her lips as he grips onto her tightly. 

“Mhm,” Sophie confirms, tugging his suspenders out of the way to pull his shirt from his breeches. 

He unfastens her dress and gently shoves it from her shoulders, letting it join his clothes on the floor as he loses his shirt. “Should we maybe wait to sober up?” he asks.

She shakes her head and tugs her chemise down and off. 

“As the lady wishes,” Benedict mutters, gazing at her heatedly. 

The rest of his clothes are lost, and not too long after, Sophie finds her pinnacle on his tongue, gripping his hair as he pleasures her with his mouth as she’s sprawled out on the bed. She tugs him up and kisses him hungrily, adjusting as he presses into her slowly, drawing out a moan from both of them. 

The stretch is always just a little too much, taking her breath away, and her drunkenness seems to intensify that feeling, making her shudder. Benedict thrusts hard, muttering words of love and adoration as he takes her. 

They find release together, Sophie wrapping her legs around him tightly as he thrusts hard and whimpers against her shoulder. 

“Do you think this is why Simon made sure everyone’s rooms were so far apart?” Benedict asks absently as they lay together in the afterglow.

Sophie giggles and curls in against him. “Maybe.” 

He strokes her hair soothingly. “Alright?” 

“Mhm,” she confirms. “Always alright with you.” 

“You know that is not what I mean,” he points out, his words still a little slurred from the alcohol. 

Sophie thinks about that for a moment, her hand splayed on his side, just below the scar that’s still there from their meeting at Cavender house. “Right now. I’m alright. I will continue to be more alright as time goes on.”