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“You never told me Genevieve Delacroix was your former paramour.”
Benedict choked on his tea. Across from him, his wife looked at him with an amused expression while she calmly sipped hers. It was their first foray back in London since their marriage, and Benedict had been hesitant to take the trip. In all of his imaginings of what could go wrong with Sophie introduced into society, somehow his mind has skipped Genevieve Delacroix entirely, or an encounter between the two women.
“That was...” he swallowed. Cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago,” he croaked, his throat still burning from where the tea had gone down wrong. “Ages before I met you.”
Sophie smiled patiently. “I’m not upset by it, Ben. I only wish I had found out about it by someone other than Cressida Cowper,” she said with a scowl. “She makes Rosamund look like the very picture of benevolence.”
Benedict couldn’t disagree.
“She made everything so frightfully awkward,” Sophie continued, “I mean, we were all sitting right there in Madame Delacroix’s own shop! Poor woman could barely look at me for the rest of the dress fitting!”
Benedict stared at Sophie unsurely, blinking slowly.
“You’re...truly not upset?”
Sophie waved a hand. “Of course not. I can hardly fault you for whatever you did with your life before you and I were together.”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you,” he offered, “not on purpose. I just didn’t think the subject would ever come up. Or that you’d ever meet.”
Sophie laughed. “You didn’t think I would ever meet the modiste who dresses your mother, your sisters and the viscountess Bridgerton?”
Benedict flushed. Well, it sounded stupid when she put it like that.
Sophie stood and walked towards him, bending down to press a kiss to his cheek.
“We all have a past; and London is not so big a city that we can never expect to run into it sooner or later.” She patted his shoulder. “I’m going to go check on Charlie.”
Benedict tilted his head, watching her exit the parlor while his mind made sense of what she’d just said. What exactly did she mean: we all have a past?
Benedict had spent the entire day racking his brain for how to best broach the subject. Finally, as they readied themselves for bed, he decided a light-hearted approach was the best course of action. It could be nothing, and he didn’t want to look like an ogre over a simple comment.
Sophie sat up in bed against the pillows reading and Benedict climbed in under the covers, propping himself up with his elbow to smile up at her.
“So,” he began with a hint of a crooked grin, “who was your paramour?”
Sophie took a moment before answering, finishing her page and then slowly turned to look at him.
“Pardon?”
“Earlier this afternoon, you said we all had a past. Have you run into your former flame in your visit to London?”
Sophie eyed him warily and then, with a little sigh, she closed her book and set it down on the night stand.
“Actually, I have.”
Benedict froze, smile still plastered on his face. Then he frowned.
“I certainly hope you don’t mean Cavender.” The desire to break his bones for what he’d done to Sophie was still as strong as ever, only the fact that he’d yet to see him had stopped him.
“Of course not,” Sophie said with a shudder. “Cavender was not a beau; he tried to assault me.”
“Of course, Sophie.” He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “I’m sorry I even brought it up.”
“It’s alright. That’s just not who I meant.”
Back on the subject, Benedict couldn’t help but press on. “Who did you mean, exactly?”
Sophie blushed to the tips of her ears and Benedict narrowed his eyes at her, now thoroughly intrigued.
“Sophie...” he urged. When it was clear she wasn’t keen on talking, he said: “you learned about my...past. It’s only fair.”
She sighed. “Very well, only I don’t tell you because I know how you can get.”
Benedict scoffed. “Are you accusing me of being jealous?”
“You’re always scolding Gregory,” she pointed out.
“That’s because he won’t stop saying he’s in love with you.”
“He’s seventeen!”
“I fear we’re losing the plot, Sophie. Who exactly have you seen whilst in London?”
Sophie pursed her lips, and it made Benedict think she might have been deliberately tying to distract him.
“Only one of Araminta’s former drivers from Penwood Park. We passed each other on the street and he stopped to say hello. It was nothing, truly.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” he reminded her. “You said it was a former flame.”
“You said that. I said no such thing. Mr. Wright wasn’t a...flame so much as...” she struggled to find the words. “Well, he didn’t propose to me, outright; but the implication for marriage was certainly there.”
Benedict’s blood ran cold. This was bad. Much, much worse than he could have ever imagined. Proposals? Marriage? He sat up and faced her, looking at her seriously.
“Sophie,” he began, “you are going to tell me exactly what happened between you and this Mr. Wright.”
“Ben,” she started to whine.
“Now.”
“I don’t think it’s fair that I didn’t needle you about Madame Delacroix but you insist on doing so about James.”
Oh, it was James, was it?
“That’s not the same. I never proposed to Madame Delacroix!”
“Mr. Wright did not propose to me!”
“Then what exactly did he do?”
Sophie huffed and began seemingly sorting through the memories of her former life. It struck Benedict how there was still so much she hadn’t told him. Sophie’s life had been hard, he knew that, and sometimes he knew it was best she leave the terrible memories locked up to gather dust and focus on their new and happy life together. But surely between the bad memories there were good ones, and the way her eyes warmed as she collected her thoughts told him that Mr. James Wright might have contributed to some of the good ones. He seethed with jealousy before she even began her recollection.
“He was kind to me,” she began, then gave a little shrug. “Mostly all the servants were. Mr. Wright was the only other employee around my same age -perhaps a few years older. Araminta kept dismissing more and more of the servants and having me do more and more of the work, to save on costs, she’d say. Mr. Wright and I would spend a lot of time together, he would drive me to run all sorts of mad errands for Araminta and sometimes when I needed to get away, we would linger a little longer out on some errand or another. He always took the blame for the delay; said he got lost, or one of the horses did itself an injury.”
Benedict’s stomach tightened, picturing Sophie out picnicking with some unknown, faceless man who would lavish attention on her. Her escape from her step-mother’s misery.
“I suppose we both wanted a little bit of peace from Araminta. She was never kind to any of the servants. As I said, he never proposed outright, but he would always talk about leaving his post at Penwood House, and how I could go with him, if I wanted. I think he was too shy to declare himself outright.”
“More fool he,” Benedict muttered.
Sophie gave a little shrug. “Everyone at the house knew I was the earl’s daughter. I think he believed me too far above him.” She huffed out a laugh. “Me! The maid polishing shoes!”
“You are too far above a coach driver. You’re an earl’s daughter.”
“I’m not, though am I? Men of the servant class thought me too far above them and men of yours too far beneath. I had resigned myself to being alone a long time ago.”
“It hardly signifies. You’re mine now.” He pulled her face to him and kissed her brief but deeply.
“Do you want to know the very best thing Mr. Wright ever did for me?” Sophie looked up at him, stars in her eyes and Benedict didn’t know what she was about to say next but it he knew he would very much like to punch James Wright in the face. “He drove me to the masquerade,” she whispered. Benedict’s anger melted away, realizing the stars in her green eyes were for him.
“Perhaps I should send him a letter of thanks, then,” Benedict joked. Sophie’s eyes went wide and alert.
“Oh would you like to meet him? I did promise I would take a meal with him but I didn’t know if it was appropriate. But if you’re there —he really was very kind to me, Ben.”
Benedict gritted his teeth. He didn’t particularly want to meet this man, that had once made a reach for his wife’s hand, but Sophie was so kind, he knew she didn’t take the kindness of people in her former life lightly. He knew it was important to her she thank everyone properly, especially given how hastily she’d left London the last time. The guests they’d welcomed into their home thus far were eccentric to the London set but they were people who meant a great deal to Sophie. They’d already had Mrs. Gibbons: the housekeeper, and a seamstress for tea several times.
“Very well,” he conceded with a little roll of his eyes. “Invite the coachman to dinner.” Benedict had nothing to fear, he knew that logically. He and Sophie were in love and devoted to one another. Surely this Mr. Wright was some unworldly, portly, unattractive fellow for whom sharing a time with Sophie and her never-ending kindness had been the very best of luck. Benedict had nothing to worry about.
Benedict was very worried. Mr. Wright had appeared on their doorstep precisely at eight in the evening. He had expected a simply dressed man, with a lower-class accent who was floored to be invited into their home before he went back to serve another family. Really, Benedict should disabuse of these notions of the working class; Sophie would be disappointed in him.
Instead, the man who had shown up at their door was dressed in fine evening-wear, a perfectly tailored suit in dark colors, none of those dandy-ish jewel tones that were fashionable. He was tall, as tall as Benedict but broader around the shoulders and -damned Benedict to admit it- a good looking man. He carried himself with ease and met Benedict as his equal —no bowing and scraping from Mr. James Wright.
“And what family do you work for now, Mr. Wright?” Benedict asked as the dinner began. “Not still at Penwood House, are you?”
“No indeed. I left Penwood House shortly after Soph—” the man caught himself and Benedict raised a brow at him, challenging him to use his wife’s christian name. “Shortly after Mrs. Bridgerton left. I work for myself now.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“I trade in horseflesh,” the man replied measuringly, holding his chin high. “Perhaps your brother-in-law the Duke of Hastings told you of the Arabian I sold him just a few months back.” So Mr. Wright had made a fortune. That was the obvious implication to dropping Simon’s name as a client of his.
“Mr. Wright has his stables just twenty miles from Our Cottage,” Sophie chirped happily. Oblivious to the contest going on at her very own dinner table. “I do so love horses. I’ve been asking Mr. Bridgerton to teach me to ride again, since I forgot everything I learned as a girl. But he’s just been so busy lately.”
“You’re always welcome at my stables, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Wright said loyally. “I’d be delighted to teach you.”
Sophie blushed and smiled shyly, and the bread in Benedict’s mouth turned to dust.
“I’m sure you’re very busy these days.”
“I would always make time for you.” Wright was positively gazing at Sophie across the dinner table and it was all Benedict could do not to leap across the table himself, and drag him by the collar out of his house. Not to mention the insulting implication that while Benedict might be too busy to teach Sophie to ride, Wright would drop everything for her!
It wasn’t as if Benedict was deliberately ignoring her wishes. She had had a long recovery after Charlie was born and she wasn’t well enough to do anything strenuous until very recently, when the mad idea of coming to London had taken root. He was sure Wright would simply love to believe that Sophie was the neglected wife of some high born gentleman; everyone always knew how that ended: with some muscled, roughened upstart warming said lady’s bed.
Three courses later, Benedict was about ready to throw the fruit tart in front of him at Wright’s head.
“Oh, it was brilliant!” Sophie said laughing so hard, she was wiping physical tears from her eyes as if Wright were just so damn amusing. She tugged on Benedict’s sleeve to drag his attention back to the conversation, where Wright chuckled as well. “Araminta was furious that she was two hours late but she couldn’t do anything about it! She really believed Mr. Wright had gotten us lost —in London of all places. The fourth time we passed St. James’s I was crying from trying so hard not to burst out laughing!”
“As I recall, yours weren’t the only tears in that carriage.”
“Oh, Rosamund will never forgive you. You are, after all, the reason she’s not a duchess. As if that sole invitation to tea would’ve gotten her a proposal.”
Wright leaned back in his chair casually, as if he owned the place, Benedict glowered. “A more spoiled princess, I’ve never known.” Then Wright’s face turned serious. “She hasn’t given you any trouble has she?”
Sophie shook her head. “No, thankfully. She married some old earl and is off touring the continent at the moment.”
“If she ever does, or her mother, please know you will always have my support in any way I can offer it.”
Benedict stood from the table and threw his napkin down. A man could only take so much of another man offering his wife any kind of support. If he hadn’t already bodily harmed Wright, it was because he didn’t wish to upset Sophie.
“I think we should retire to the parlor, don’t you, darling?”
Sophie looked a little dazed, but stood and took Benedict’s hand while Wright excused himself to use the facilities.
“Are you so very miserable?” Sophie asked him when they were alone in the parlor. She eyed him knowingly.
“Are you so very pleased with that man shamelessly flirting with you in front of your husband?”
Sophie sputtered a laugh. “Ben,” she said as if she were talking to a small child, “Mr. Wright is merely being friendly.”
“Friendly! He is all but propositioning you right under my nose! You’re lucky I can control my temper. If I were a more impulsive man I’d be meeting him at dawn for his blatant disrespect of our home and our marriage.”
Sophie rolled here eyes and circled his waist with her arms, pressing herself against him.
“Well, you’re lucky that you have such a devoted wife, then.” She reached up on tip-toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “May I tell you a secret?”
“Hmm?” He answered agains her lips, relishing the thought that Wright might walk in on their embrace. It would serve him right to see how very not neglected Sophie was.
“I wish to matchmake Mr. Wright. That’s why I invited him here tonight.”
Benedict groaned and pulled back. “Oh god, with who? I must warn you that if you say one of my sisters, I am resolutely putting my foot down.”
Sophie stuck her chin out proudly. “Mr. Wright is extremely wealthy and I think any of your sisters would be lucky to call him a husband.” She said in defense of her former friend.
Benedict resisted the urge to roll his eyes and inform her that it wasn’t his status he was opposed to but the fact that he was so very obviously besotted with Sophie.
“In any case, I meant to match him with Miss Darling.”
Benedict squinted into the distance, trying to remember who that even was.
“The seamstress?” The seamstress that had been over to take tea with his wife, most specifically.
“Yes! She’s confessed to me she’s always carried a torch for Mr. Wright. And they’ve known each other nearly as long he and I have. I think they would suit.”
Benedict didn’t have the heart to tell Sophie that although she might hope for a match between them, Wright had other designs. He hadn’t the heart to tell her or, it would seem, the time, since the man in question chose that moment to enter the parlor.
They’d just settled in for a final drink before Wright could -mercifully- take his leave when Miss Taylor, Charlie’s nurse knocked gently. Sophie was on her feet immediately.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” the nurse said, looking apologetic.
“Is something wrong?” Benedict asked.
“Not precisely but young Charles has woken up and insists on seeing his father. He’s having quite a tantrum, I’m afraid.”
“I should go,” Sophie said with a sigh, and truthfully, Benedict loathed the idea of leaving her alone with Wright but his son needed him. And he trusted Sophie implicitly.
“No, no. It’s me he’s asking for, I’ll go.” He squeezed Sophie’s hand and followed Miss Taylor out of the room. Charlie settled quickly once he was in Benedict’s arms. During the day, he was -quite literally- attached to Sophie’s hip, but their nightly routine was that Benedict would tuck him in and stay with him until he fell asleep. It had been that way since he was born, and Sophie was too tired to tend to him at night so Benedict would sleep sitting up in an armchair in the corner of their bedroom, Charlie in his arms.
Benedict returned in less than a quarter of an hour, leaving Charlie sound asleep in the nursery. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was purposely walking as gently as he could, so as to not alert anyone in the parlor of his approach. His stealth was rewarded when he heard the conversation happening beyond the half-open parlor door.
“Sophie, please-”
“James, I beg you not to say anything you cannot take back,” Sophie’s voice said. Benedict’s jaw clenched at hearing them be so familiar with one another, using their given names. Sophie had said that Wright had merely almost proposed, but what had happened before that he didn’t know about? In all that time they spent alone and in each others’ company. Had there been kisses? Caresses? Had Sophie ever felt anything for this man?
“I’ve only told you the truth. I didn’t dare to once, you were so far above me. When I left Penwood House I thought only to better myself, to make a fortune with which to have a life to offer you.”
“I am so proud of everything you’ve accomplished! Truly I am! But you cannot mean what you said. I never asked you to offer me anything.”
“It was all for you, Sophie. I tried looking for you and never found you; when I finally did I learned you were married.”
“Exactly! James, I’m married! This entire conversation is wholly inappropriate.”
He could hear a tremble in Sophie’s voice, clearly she was becoming flustered by the situation and Benedict longed to walk in and save her but he knew, deep down, that he needed to trust her enough to deal with this on her own. If she were in any trouble, he was only a few steps away.
“To some aristocratic dandy!”
“James!” Sophie scolded. “Do not talk about my husband that way!”
“Men like that will tire of a good woman like you, Sophie. They always do. He will toss you aside for a mistress like they all do and then you will be all alone.”
Benedict clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to burst through the door and pummel this man.
“You do not know Benedict. Or our marriage, so I would ask that you stop making assumptions about it. And even if that were the case you and I would never be together. For the same reason I would have never accepted your proposal at Penwood House all those years ago, had you asked.”
“What reason is that?” Wright asked, sounding forlorn.
“Because I don’t love you, James. You are a kind man, and you deserve someone who does. That would have never been me.”
Somewhere deep down, Benedict pitied him. To love Sophie was magic; it filled his entire heart with joy and warmth and he couldn’t imagine what it must be like to not have that love reciprocated. Sophie was so wonderful, how could he truly fault any man for being in love with her?
Though that was no excuse to barge into his house, eat from his dinner table and make an advance on his wife.
“I love my husband,” Sophie continued. “Utterly and completely. Desperately. I have since the minute I laid eyes on him.”
Benedict’s heart soared at the words. Of the two of them, Benedict was the one more prone to romantic outbursts, while Sophie kept her words and her feelings more closely guarded.
“And I feel that way about you,” Wright responded.
There was a long pause, followed by a weary sigh from Sophie.
“Then I am sorry to disappoint you. Perhaps it’s time you go.”
Benedict took this as his cue, loudly making his entrance. “Charlie is sleeping like, well, a baby; which is exactly what he is.” He tried for levity and Sophie smiled sweetly at him.
“Mr. Wright was just leaving.”
“Ah, do make your escape now, Mr. Wright. Mrs. Bridgerton does love to chatter. She’ll keep us both here for hours yet.”
“Ben,” Sophie admonished and he winked at her.
“Yes, well,” Wright said, making his way towards the door of the parlor, “I’m leaving London in several days. Headed for Spain for some months to see some horses.”
“I wish you luck on your business endeavor then,” Benedict said, feeling suddenly sorry for the man.
“You should call on Miss Darling before you go,” Sophie offered. “I’m sure she’d like to say goodbye.”
“Yes, perhaps I will. Goodnight and thank you for having me.”
Wright took his leave and Benedict and Sophie stood in the parlor in silence until they heard the front door click shut.
“How much of that did you hear?” Sophie asked.
“You knew I was spying?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Charlie never takes that long to fall back sleep.”
“You caught me.”
Sophie chuckled wryly. “I concede that you were right. Mr. Wright did still have designs on me. I wish I would have noticed earlier.”
“I don’t relish being right, or having a man declare himself to my wife in my own parlor.”
“Heard that did you?” Sophie asked with a cringe. Benedict was eager to put the entire ordeal behind them, so he snaked an arm around Sophie’s waist and pulled her in close.
“I heard something about you being madly, deeply, desperately in love with your husband.”
Sophie quirked a brow. “Oh you did, did you?”
“Mmm hmm. And how handsome he is. How charming. And witty.” He bumped his nose with hers playfully. “How well-endowed.”
“Benedict!” She let out an unladylike snort and began laughing. Benedict chuckled and reached down to scoop her up into his arms. The day had been full of emotional ups and downs, and tonight he simply wanted to take his wife to bed and relish in the fact that she loved him —desperately, and no matter what happened, even if they’d never met, they would never have considered a life with anyone else. They were soulmates.
“Remind me to never ask about your former flames again,” Benedict teased as he carried her up the stairs towards her bedroom. “It doesn’t end well for me.”
“On the contrary I think tonight is going to end very well for you.” She said lowly into his ear. “Besides, don’t you want to hear about my first kiss?”
Benedict groaned with dread, was there some other man he would have to tamp down the urge to punch in the face?
“Very well, just tell me.” He kicked their bedroom door shut and deposited Sophie onto the bed. “Who did you give your first kiss to?” She bit her lip and smiled up at him, beckoning him with mossy green eyes. Benedict climbed up the bed until he had settled on top of her, nestled between her legs.
“That is a very scandalous story, actually,” she said, teasing his lips with hers. “Some rogue stole it at a masquerade.”