#sofa scene

This is part 1 of 2, for part 2 fits in more with #benophieweek 2023 prompt for the day.

✨The Context:✨

Benedict has found out about Sophie being the Lady in Silver. 

As I detailed in my Benedict Bridgerton post, he is at first furious and takes this out on Genevieve. (“How could you not tell me” vibes). And rightly, Geniveve sets him straight, letting him know how heartbroken Sophie was and it was for ehr safety that she was tight-lipped. 

This leads to a scene between Will and Benedict, where Benedict is given the final push he needs to follow his heart. He goes back to his studio to think but all he does is paint…

Concurrently we have Eloise. 

Throughout the season Eloise has been writing a column, a little Whistledown–esque, but not as popular. (I shall expand on this in a later Eloise post).

Therefore Eloise has been spending the series running around London with her two trusty, albeit exasperated, servants–Sophie & John the footman. 

Sophie and John are doing an errand for Eloise but their sneaky sneaky plan goes awry and they get separated. Unable to find John, Sophie decides to walk back to Bridgerton House.

And just as she is turning the corner on the edge of Mayfair she hears a voice like honey dripped over knives…Araminta. 

Que book scene: Sophie is having a panic attack as she listens, frozen in her hiding place.

 The scene flashes between a hyperventilating Sophie and flashes of moments from the morning Araminta found out Sophie had attended the ball.

How the scars on Sophie’s face are from Araminta’’s nail scratches; how the scar on her temple was caused by Araminta throwing a vase at her head; and how the scar running along her throat occurred when Araminta put a broken shard of vase against it till it bled red before throwing her out of the house by her hair. The flashbacks stop and the present returns–just as a figure spots Sophie. A woman who lifts her black veil to reveal a round face with a wine stain birthmark. “Sophie?” Sophie is frozen. Araminta calls for Posy back into the carriage. Posy nods and rushes back. 

In the aftermath, Sophie is still gripped in a silent panic attack, dissociating and shaking uncontrollably. And even as the carriage rolls away she stays there. 

And so, without further ado…

✨The Scene✨

Scene cuts to Benedict, striding along the street, muttering under his breath the apology he wishes to give to Sophie, and how he will broach the subject of her being the woman at the masquerade.

Then out of the corner of his eye he spots something–Sophie.She is still at the wall, still dissociating, still shaking. 

Benedict rushes over and tries to rouse her, but Sophie barely responds. Benedict tried again then, with a snap, Sophie clutches his sleeve in a vice-like grip. Stricken, Benedict gently coaxes her to come and rest at his studio.

Benedict leads Sophie, into his studio sweeping disarrayed clothes and sketches off the chaise lounge so she can settle. All his motions are soft as, for a moment, all his yearning, swirling emotions fade away to leave only one desire—ensuring Sophie’s wellbeing.

He cups her face and whispers her name and when that does not work, he grabs a paintbrush, (slightly damp from the water), and draws patterns over her arms, allowing Sophie to use the pressure to ground herself.

Sophie’s hand loosens slightly, indicating that she has returned.

“Benedict?” she whispers.

“You are safe—you are safe here,” he hushes. Sophie exhales shakily and leans into him. But after a moment she regains her senses and jerks away. 

“I should leave.” She scrambles up. 

“No—Sophie.” Benedict tries to follow but she whirls away.

“I should leave right now.” 

“Sophie, I need to talk—”

“I think that would be a bad idea.” All too easily she can see his shocked expression at that nursery door when the truth finally revealed itself. An expression that could be nothing less than horror and anger. She starts towards the door but Benedict jumps in front of her,

“Sophie, please, at least allow me to walk you home.”

“It is merely across the square, I shall be fine.” She tries to brush past him but he stays one step ahead.

“And if that ‘old mistress’ of yours returns to petrify you? What will you do then?”

“Why would you care?”

Benedict looks visibly hurt.

“I care, you know I care—you are many things, Sophie, but you are not blind. I care for you, I have cared for you for years—”

“Oh really?” She cries, her own suppressed feelings over the months finally spilling out of her. Her usual self-control completely worn out. “That night was so special that it took you months to recognise me?”

“That is not fair. You are the one who should have told me. Why did you not? To spite me? To torture me with the dream of you? You were not fair!”

“No, Benedict Bridgerton you do not get to tell me what is fair,” Sophei steps up to him, fury and heartbreak mixing in her eyes, “not after the life I have led, not after the months I have spent nursing heartbreak that the man who saw my soul could not see past a maid’s uniform!” She cries. “Admit it, Benedict, I was a flighty fancy who was replaced the next evening by another pretty face. A memory that you banished to the recesses of your mind. That is who I was to you, Benedict. Another conquest, another muse—”

“You have no idea what you meant to me,” Benedict cries, his voice wretched. “ I knocked on Penwood’s door the very next morning to find you. I spent months attending balls and soirees and pointless parades desperately searching for you. I meant every word I said on that terrace, including my promise to you.You have haunted my every dream and echoed in my heart every day for the past two years. You stole my heart with a dance and a kiss and I have spent the last two years stumbling around this world trying to fill the void that you left behind. That is heartbreak. That is why you should have told me.”

“And what?” Sophie replies,  “What difference would that have made? I am not a lady, I am a maid. Even if you had known back by that lake, you would have asked me to be your mistress regardless. Am I wrong?”

Benedict quietens, retrospection highlighting his troublesome behaviour. With a quieter voice he replies,

“You are not wrong, and for that I must apologise, for forcing your hand because I could not bear to let you go.”

“Thank you,” Sophie shakes herself, “but it does not change—”

“It would have been different.” Benedict continues.  “I would not have tormented myself about betraying that memory for the reality in front of me. I would not have waited. I would not have hesitated to accept the undeniable truth that I belong with you, forever and a day.”

Sophie is stunned, then scoffs.

“Now, you are being fanciful. I am a maid”

“No, you are not.”

“Benedict—”

But Benedict continues unperturbed,

“You are not a maid. That night you spoke with the perfect airs and graces like any other debutante.”

Sophie’s stomach starts twisting around and round as she starts spiralling.

“You would be surprised how far learning an accent like this benefits employment—”

“You know French and latin.”

“The lady at the house—”

“Phaeton lessons? Pianoforte lessons? Long hours to read a surprising breadth of literature?”

“Oh I see. So it is only aristocrats who have the capability to enjoy literature then?” Sophie fights back, desperate to cling onto her fantasy, the nice fantasy of Sophie–not the ugly one. Benedict continues, 

“No. But servants do not have time, access or means to enjoy such a variety of literature that you have read. I wager editions of Mallory’s Morte D’Arthur cannot be purchased on even the most generous of salaries.”

“Believe what you may.”

“I will and that is why I believe you to be an illegitimate child.”

The fantasy crumbles, leaving Sophie scrambling, falling, with nothing to cling onto.

“I do not—I do not…”

“It would explain your level of education and refinement, but also your current predicament. I assume the lady of the house did not look too kindly on another woman’s child?” Benedict’s eyes soften, “Even though that is no excuse for treating you so poorly in ways I can only fear.”

Araminta’s words start whispering as Benedict continues. 

B—--d child. B—--d child….

“It would explain how you do not wish to talk about your family, but there is always a shadow lingering in your eyes when the topic arises. It would explain why you have so many secrets and why they burden you so…”

“You do not—”

“Was your father the deceased Earl of Penwood, Sophie? Is that why you wore the Penwood crest on your gloves that night?”

Sophe stays silent, eyes brimming with tears. Because she knows what will happen next. She knows that, like everyone else, Benedict will retreat from her shameful truth, try to hide his disdain before walking away.

 “Are there any other dirty little secrets of mine you feel entitled to? Hmm?” she asks. 

“Sophie, I—”

“What? You want more?” Her voice rises with her emotions. For if he is going to walk away he might as well know all of it. Every shameful, disdainful part,

“I just want the truth—”

“Fine, have it all!”

As she speaks, flashes of the past play on the screen of every person stepping away from her; the staff upon opening the door to find 3 year old Sophie; her father when he saw her natural smile and Araminta on their fateful first meeting. 

“Yes, yes, you are right! I am the child of a nameless maid and the late Earl of Penwood, a scourge on its hallowed name, an abomination—a b—--d—as my stepmother would remind me every day of my childhood and every day that I scrubbed floors and pinned her daughters’ hair. That is who your precious Lady in Silver is. A fraud. An impostor. A girl in dress-up doing a friend a favour who stupidly allowed herself to imagine that for one moment, one tiny moment that she deserved such a life.”

“Sophie—”

“That is who I am, Benedict. I am the b—--d child of a—”

Benedict steps forward and pulls her into his arms and holds her tight.

And Sophie freezes, unable to comprehend the moment. A moment where someone embraces and comforts her even with all the terrible, barbed parts of her exposed. But ever so slowly Sophie softens, closes her eyes as the tears seep out, and rests in that embrace.

After a few moments, Benedict pulls back but keeps her close, so she can see the sincerity in his eyes and words.

“You are Sophie. You are a woman who is kind and compassionate even after a life of hardship that would bow or break even the strongest of men. You are a woman who stands by her convictions no matter how many people try and sway you, no matter how many lashes you endure or even if the other road is easier. You, Sophie Beckett, are brilliant, in mind, heart and soul. I am inspired by you; I am humbled by you, and I am honoured to be in your presence and awed by every facet of your being. That is who you are, Sophie.” His voice rasps slightly, as if he is on the edge of speechlessness. “That is who you are, Sophie.”

“I do not…I—”

Benedict tenderly wipes away her tears.

“There is no need to say anything. Just know that every word I have said to you past and present have been the truth. You have stolen my heart Sophie. You stole it on that moonlit night and you stole it once more over these last months.”

“Your heart?” 

Benedict smiles slightly.

“Let me show you.”

And he moves her into the main studio. It is a cluttered room of artistic mess, piles of sketches on every surface and pinned on the walls–all of them sketches of her. And there on the easel is the painting Benedict has worked all night on.

It is her, Sophie, as the Lady in Silver, her skirt moving like liquid moonlight, her hair awry around her face. And like every one of Benedict’s paintings, he has captured the moment and emotion. So, she feels it all. Feels the awe in the way Benedict has painted the highlights. She can feel the beauty in the features—even her face with her scars present. She can feel the love in every brushstroke and every layer.

She turns to Benedict.

“I love you,” he states.

No fanciful words, no poetry. The undeniable truth.

“You love me,” Sophie replies, voice breathy, but not in disbelief, “as much as I love you.”

And then Benedict is kissing her, and she is kissing him back. The torrent of their love overflowing into their kisses.

They whisper those three important words as they stumble until they hit the wall. And when they finally break for breath Sophie whispers,

“That night from the moment I put on the dress to walking across the hall, my heart hammered against my ribcage. But as soon as I stepped into the room, even before I saw you, I felt you.” Her fingers gently trace his features. “Anticipation. Magic.  And when I turned around and I saw you, my heart settled into a rhythm at once new but also familiar. Because it knew,” she takes his hand and places it on her heart. “It knew that it would only ever beat in this rhythm for you, it would only ever love you. Forever and always.”

Benedict opens his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound comes out.

The poet is speechless.

He kisses her again, slower, reverentially. The type of kiss that infuses in your bones and your blood. Sophie softens, so Benedict pulls her into him…

*~*~*~*~*

Now, I’m terrible at smut scenes and I don’t really want to do one due to professional and personal reasons. So…I’ll leave it up to your imagination.

HOWEVER a couple things:

1.NO penetrative SEGGSY.

This might be unpopular but I was really uncomfortable that Sophie had this very legitimate reason for not wishing to have sex, a boundary built on a significant amount of trauma, yet Benedict Bridgerton pops along and his smile bulldoes that barrier away. Today I know that this had to happen because of the very prescriptive publishing criteria of the romance genre, but still.

I don’t have a problem with Benophie becoming sexually intimate, just not penetrative sex. The show has already shown that you can have a steamy, romantic love scene without it. *cough* Kanthony *cough*. 

Creativity people! Because we all know there are many ways to pleasure that do not risk an illegitimate child situation…

2. Sophie is in control.

Sophie has not had a lot of control over her life, in any arena particularly. However, sex is a completely new category, and I would love it if Sophie takes the opportunity to be in control. (Also, as I have pointed out in a prior post here, the show has shown that Benedict likes being bossed around in bed).

3.   Potentially Benedict realising where Sophie’s scars come from.

In my opinion another way they could sell the whole ‘Benedict not recognising Sophie’ is if she has some scars that weren’t there. Even if this is not the case, I think Sophie in her lifetime has sadly accumulated scars. I want Benedict to realise what happened on that morning when he visited the Penwoods. I want him to kiss her scars, call them beautiful and when Sophie squirms he whispers…

“Your scars are beautiful because they are markings that you survived. Testaments to the strength you had to pull yourself through the burning trials of life and emerge with your heart blazing. That is why I call them beautiful.”

I just think that would be uber romantic.

4. Scene ends and fades out. Only to fade into the will reading of Grandma Alexandra…

*~*~*~*~*~*

END OF PART 1

Part 2 will come this evening and link in with Benophie week 2023. 

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests.

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

It’s probably out there already and I haven’t found it yet, but

I became obsessed when I saw that Aziraphale had what looks like matching throw blankets for himself and Crowley, because how cute, right? There’s a lighter, gold one on the right, and a darker one on the left, divided neatly down the middle of the sofa.

I don’t know why else there would would be two there. Crowley sleeps; Aziraphale doesn’t, but I can picture him cozying up in a throw blanket with a good book and a cup of cocoa on a rainy day. He wouldn’t need two throws for that. It looks to me like he’s made a space for Crowley in his home. Sadly, the position of the blankets doesn’t match their established Aziraphale-left screen / Crowley-right screen order, so maybe this is reaching, but...

We see this sofa, and the blankets, come into play in the scene (bottom picture) in which Crowley persuades Aziraphale to work with him to avert armageddon, which Aziraphale is refusing to do because he doesn’t want to disobey The Divine Plan. The two have been heavily drinking for hours and just sobered up. The throws are no longer divided: the darker one is spread out over the sofa and is almost entirely covering the lighter one (Aziraphale’s). Crowley has one boot planted on his own blanket.

The staging people went out of their way to rearrange that blanket. Why? It could just be disarray to show that the two have been sloshed for a while. It at least suggests that one of them pulled that blanket out to lay on it, and we can assume it was Crowley, since Aziraphale, even drunk, is too uptight to sprawl out over a sofa. (And yes please, I want to imagine drunk Crowley rolling around on it like a snakey noodle.)

But also consider that this entire scene is about Aziraphale going “bad.” The script literally says, “Aziraphale is agitated. They are both sober. And Aziraphale is coming over to the dark side.” The darker blanket represents Crowley’s growing influence over Aziraphale. Crowley has taken that space given him and spread it out, and Aziraphale is allowing him to cover his lighter, more angelic nature. 

Asad: Miss Farooqui!! Niche uttar riye!!

Zoya: Yeh leeje. Gandha ho raaha hai aap ka sofa Mr. Khan!! Dekhi yeh mein chapal leke khadi hoon.