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Playlist: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFesTcCnd9zY8u7Ra9xNbf-aGtutBmsys
“You must rest.”
"The refreshments were not sufficient. I can prepare more, given the necessary ingredients and proper vessels."
"The servants are already attending to that matter," Benedict replied, his tone containing a note of exasperation that made Sophie turn to regard him. Their first days at My Cottage had begun with Sophie rearranging the rumpled cushions until they sat in proper harmony with the rest of the room, followed shortly by a most spirited battle with Mrs. Crabtree over the sheer impropriety of the lady of the house attempting to do her own laundry.
In the course of preventing her endeavors (which bore little to no effect upon the cleaning regimen and her reign of impulsive domesticity), Benedict found himself folding his sets of handkerchiefs and even, at one point, assisting with the removal of wild grasses from about the garden—solely because Sophie would not rest until every last weed had been eradicated from the face of the earth.
It was remarkable that a wedding could be held at such a time.
“You have been making the rounds all afternoon.” he said, taking her hand, unable to suppress a chuckle at the way Sophie surveyed the premises like a hawk searching for prey—specifically, empty plates of delicacies. “Eloise mentioned you looked rather pale. Mrs. Crabtree is quite prepared to fetch one of her stronger tonics.”
Benedict knew better than to provoke her, lest he risk finding drops of it in his drink one of these days.
“Everyone has been exceedingly kind,” Sophie said softly.
At every turn through Bridgerton Manor, the couple had been met with embraces, heartfelt wishes, and an alarming quantity of Violet’s formidable tea and warm cakes. Sophie felt herself the luckiest daughter-in-law imaginable—far more fortunate than she had ever dared to dream.
"But I simply must attend to the jellies, and then—"
With an audible sigh, Benedict demonstrated that carrying one's wife in the manner of a princess was not such a formidable undertaking.
---
By the time they reached the master bedchamber, Sophie's eyelids were already half-closed. With one hand arranging a pillow for Sophie's more comfortable repose, the sight of his wife nestling against a bolster for better embrace and stability caused a tightening in his very heart.
"You are drowsy."
"I am not."
The persistent denial was itself a parade of endearing stubbornness.
"Of course," he agreed. "Then you may have a brief rest whilst I attend to the guests in the garden. I hear my brothers shall arrive at any moment."
“Colin and Anthony are coming to My Cottage?”
"Ours," he corrected gently. Leaning forward to press a kiss to her cheek, the newly devoted husband tucked her in and proceeded to the garden where everyone else had gathered.
---
The first thing Sophie perceived upon waking was the window. The darkness beyond it alarmed her to the point where she sat upright, nearly stumbling in her haste to stand, until Benedict entered bearing a tray.
"You are awake," he observed with evident pleasure, though Sophie sighed.
“You ought to have woken me.”
“Nonsense. You have been quite exhausted these past few months.”
"Nonsense. You have been exceedingly fatigued these past months." After an exchange of glances, Sophie accepted a spoonful of what Benedict had brought: a carrot potage that warmed her throat and, gradually, her body.
“Did Mrs. Crabtree prepare this?”
"It was I," the man declared with unmistakable pride, "under her supervision, naturally. Do you feel improved?"
Benedict climbed into the bed, taking his place beside her and gathering the pillows, arranging them carefully about his wife. They soon fell into an embrace.
"Yes. What of the guests?"
"They are quite well," Benedict dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "My sisters have extracted from me a promise that I shall bring you to visit Daphne's residence sometime next week." It emerged as a mutter. "As if you have not attended sufficient gatherings already."
“Benedict.”
"What? I should like to have you to myself upon occasion." Sophie's practical upbringing and her considerable abilities had proven remarkably successful amongst the ton: invitations to call and take tea arrived with regularity, and with Sophie's accommodating nature inclining her to accept nearly all of them, society would not soon direct its attention elsewhere.
Benedict truly did take pleasure in his wife's popularity exceeding his own. He did.
"I had a dream," Sophie said.
He took Sophie's hand in his, counting her fingers idly.
"I was asleep in another chamber, whilst everyone else conversed in the drawing room. I was unable to open my eyes, yet I could sense Hyacinth and Eloise adjusting my pillow so my neck would not be strained, and your brothers were engaged in animated discussion. Still, no matter what I attempted, it seemed I would not awaken soon. Nor did I wish to."
A wistful smile formed upon her features.
“I wondered—if passing from the world could feel as peaceful as that… would it not be rather lovely?”
After a prolonged silence filled the room, Benedict's expression became inscrutable before he buried his face against Sophie's stomach, causing her to laugh. "What is it?"
"Please do not speak of such things," he said, his voice muffled. “Not when I have only just found you.”
"It was hypothetical."
“That does not make it better.”
The hint of moisture in his green, nearly azure eyes caught Sophie unprepared for a moment.
“You promised you would stay forever.”
Sophie hummed thoughtfully. "And if I do not?"
Benedict's jaw dropped in feigned astonishment. "Then I shall simply kiss you in its stead!" The languid touch of his lips was as tender as his grasp upon Sophie's neck, ensuring they remained joined. As new methods of kissing continued to be discovered between them, Sophie found herself reassured once more that this—this was home.