Chapter Text
Someone was crying.
Loud and young were the best descriptors to give it. The high pitch certainly gave away that it was someone small. A child, maybe? No, a baby. That was definitely a baby crying. Loud screaming with hiccuping gasps in between. Directly into her ear. Someone else was yelling, too. Maybe? She was entirely sure. She was still determining how many voices there were above the ringing in her ears. There was far too much noise for her to be able to focus on a single source.
" Sophie ! Sophie, can you hear me?" a voice asked, panicked and loud.
All she could do was groan. Was she Sophie? She couldn't think properly. It felt like her brain was being repeatedly slammed against the inside of her skull with each beat of her heart. Whoever it was that was crying needed to stop because they weren’t helping her focus.
"Good Lord, Mrs. Bridgerton!" someone else gasped.
Bridgerton? Who was Mrs. Bridgerton?
Maybe she was. Or was she Sophie? The other voice had said that she was Sophie.
But she could care less about that right now. The pain in her head was too much to bear. The pounding was only increasing with every attempt she made to regain consciousness. To force her eyes to open was a herculean endeavor that she was currently failing at.
"Mrs. Crabtree, take Alex," the first voice, a male one, ordered. With that, a weight was lifted off her stomach, and the crying faded somewhat as the source moved away. "And call for the physician!" the voice added.
" Joseph !" the second voice, Mrs. Crabtree, yelled. "Go get the doctor! It's Sophie. She's been injured."
Calloused fingers were touching her face now, hands cupping her cheeks gently before moving over her scalp. It felt nice. It felt familiar. The fingers tickled her scalp as they moved through her curls until the hand brushed over the source of the pounding. A sharp burst of pain shot through her, rippling from her head down to her toes. She couldn't help but groan, the only way she had at pleading they’d stop touching it.
"There's so much blood. Why is there so much blood?" the male voice gasped out in agony.
"It's because she injured her head. They bleed more. Here," Mrs. Crabtree said. "Press it against the wound."
Her head was moved around, and the hand disappeared as it was replaced by some bundled-up fabric. It helped, even though she missed the feeling of the hands, but it hadn't gotten rid of the blinding pain. Her hearing had become muffled, the pounding overcoming all her senses.
"Sophie? Sophie, sweetheart? Open your eyes. Please," the male voice pleaded with her. He sounded familiar, but Sophie couldn't place where.
It was all starting to become too much. The noise and the movements, each time someone spoke or moved her it only increased her suffering. She wanted to just go to sleep.
And thankfully, she was. She was starting to drift as if sinking underwater. Everything is growing more distant and muffled, like her ears were full of cottonwool. Her senses slowly disappeared as she sank down.
"Mama?" a new voice asked, small and meek. Filled with terror and concern.
Another child. Where had they come from?
She'd tried to open her eyes, tried to help but—
" Get Charles out of here !" the male voice snapped.
She faded away.
~
All she could see was bright, blinding white light.
If she’d been asked to describe her pain, she would probably say that it felt like a red hot poker was slowly being stabbed into her head, twisting around as it was pushed through her brain, and leaving what felt like a gaping hole in its wake that just radiated nothing but pain throughout her skull.
She would have said that if she had found herself capable of speaking.
The pounding pain was smothering her senses. Distracting her. She could barely grasp her surroundings as the mind-numbing throbbing in her skull took all her attention. Her hearing was muffled, her taste off as if she had a mouth full of wool, her smell was nonexistent, and her vision was nothing but blinding white light. And the light only further aggravated the pain she was enduring.
"I think she's coming around," a voice said off to her side. "Sophie? Sophie, can you hear me?"
Her lips parted. Her throat was parched and dry. There was the desire to speak, and she tried, but her mouth and throat refused to listen to her. Her vocal cords were striking. All she could do was let out a pained sigh as she tried relaxing back against the soft clouds she felt under her head and back.
Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, the stabbing pain began to decrease. It was still present but now just a dull, repetitive throb. And it felt as though a lot of time had gone by.
Opening her eyes, she first noted that she was lying in bed at My Cottage, but not the room she'd stayed in the night before. It was too big to be the guest room Benedict had made her take, meaning it had to be the master bedroom. Although it looked as though everything had been shifted around while she was asleep. The furniture seemed to have changed, moved into different locations. There was a vanity and wooden screen she didn’t recognize, as if the room held space for two people now.
Giving the room another quick scan, she found she was not alone.
Two men stood on either side of the bed. Only one of them she recognized.
On her left side was an older man in his late fifties, clean-shaven and wearing small, circular, gold-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his nose. An aged, black, leather Gladstone bag sat on the chair behind him. He was a physician – a doctor – Sophie realized.
On her other side was Benedict, who seemed to practically sag with relief as he saw she was awake. Sophie guessed he had been the one to call the doctor, which caused her to feel some aggravation. It was completely unnecessary.
Not to mention, she was already upset with him.
"How do you feel, sweetheart?" he asked. He reached out and stroked a hand over her curls. The action surprised her. Sophie didn't know how to respond to his open affection.
Especially given the request he'd recently asked her.
She frowned, having just realized what he had called her. Sweetheart? Sweetheart ! She most certainly was not his sweetheart. Not after he had the gall to ask her to be his mistress. Acting as if she was just some possession he could own and hide away. There was no way she’d allow him to sweet talk his way back into her good graces.
She frowned at him, pulling away from his touch. "Fine," she muttered, wishing she did not need to interact with him right now. "My head hurts."
"That is to be expected with a head injury," the doctor told her gently, taking her attention away from Benedict. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you. If that's alright?"
"Of course," she replied.
"Do you know where you are?" the doctor asked.
She nodded. That was easy enough. "My Cottage. Wiltshire."
"Good. Do you know your name?"
She nodded again. No problem there, either. "Sophia Maria Beckett."
But to her left, Benedict frowned.
"Do you know who the monarch is?" the doctor continued. Unlike Benedict, he'd nodded in understanding to each of her answers, face neutral and expressionless each time, but there was something hidden in his features that made Sophie feel concerned something else was going on.
"George the Third, but his son was named the regent a few years back," she told him slowly.
Benedict's frown only deepened. He opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by the doctor speaking his final question.
"Do you know today's date?"
Yes. "May 9th, 1817."
"No, it's not," Benedict said, looking alarmed.
"Mr. Bridgerton, if you can give me a moment-" the doctor started, but Benedict wasn't listening.
"It's June 21st, 1820," he continued, appearing increasingly more stressed with each passing second. He stepped closer to the bed, and Sophie instinctually leaned back, away from him. He stopped, his expression turning even more pained as he saw how she'd reacted to him.
"No, it is not," she retorted in disbelief. It couldn't be. She'd woken up that morning, and it had been May 9th, 1817. She was sure of that.
"Mr. Bridgerton. Please allow me to finish my diagnosis," the doctor calmly ordered, attempting to ease the building tension.
Benedict's pale, distressed eyes went from Sophie's to the doctor's and then back to Sophie's. He wanted to speak further. Sophie could tell from the way his mouth was opening and closing like a fish struggling to breathe on land, but he didn’t seem able to find the words. Honestly, she no longer felt angry with him but concerned. His face had drained of color, making him look gaunt and ill, enhancing the dark circles under his eyes. He looked as though he was about to collapse.
And he'd only just recovered from his illness.
When Benedict said nothing further, the doctor took a deep breath. "Mrs…Beckett, what is the last thing you remember?"
Opening her mouth to response, Sophie quickly shut it before she allowed those words to impulsively leave her mouth. The words that would tell the doctor that Benedict had asked her to be his mistress in the garden, after she’d stumbled across him swimming naked in the large pond nearby, and the argument that had followed. There was no way in hell she would tell the doctor about that argument.
"I had been sitting with Mr. Bridgerton-" Benedict flinched as he heard her speak of him so formally, but Sophie did not allow it to stop her. "-he had been recovering from a fever. I was reading him some poetry."
"I see, and after that…?" the doctor started.
She shook her head. "Nothing. I left the room and then woke up here. I thought that I might have…fallen. Now that I think about it.”
She could recall tumbling down the staircase, smacking her head against the wooden steps. She must have slipped and lost her footing on her way up them.
The doctor regarded her for a moment with an expression of sympathy or pity as he took off his spectacles and took a deep breath. That was never a good sign.
And his actions, the continuing silence only stressed Sophie out more.
"Ms. Beckett. I do not wish to alarm you, but of the questions I just asked you, you only got one, I suppose I should say, one and a half correct," he informed her. "Yes, you are in Wiltshire currently, at My Cottage, the name of your home as I've been told, and while your name is correct, your married name is Bridgerton. As Mr. Bridgerton said, today's date is, in fact, June 21st, 1820."
The anxiety slowly building within her from the moment Benedict had corrected her on the date vanished, replaced with straight, icy terror that froze her in place. She felt like she was turning to stone as fear wormed its way into every corner of her mind. The first emotion to cross her mind that she could label was denial. Straight denial.
There was no way that three years had passed while she slept. It was impossible.
"I-I-" she stuttered, the fear overwhelming her as her mind tried to accept what she had just been told. Her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest. "Th-that's not possible."
"Sophie. It's our wedding anniversary," Benedict pleaded desperately.
"Mr. Bridgerton, please, it would be best to not-" the doctor started.
She shook her head as she stared at Benedict, ignoring the doctor as well. Denying what was happening was the only thing she had left. There was nothing else she could do.
"No, it's not. It's not," she replied firmly. It couldn't be.
"Sophie," Benedict stared her down, entirely serious, she realized. He stepped towards her, this time undeterred by her response. A pained look of heartbreak on his face. "Sophie, we've been married for over three years now. We've been living here for three years . Our sons are sitting in the nursery across the hall right now!"
Silence. Enough that a pin could have been dropped as Sophie felt like she would throw up her own heart from the shock.
" We have children ?!"
[ three days later ]
"Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Bridgerton? Tea? Something to eat?"
Sophie shook her head. "I'm fine, Mrs. Crabtree. Thank you."
Mrs. Crabtree gave her a kind smile as she finished smoothing out the duvet covering Sophie’s lap.
She was grateful to still remember Mrs. Crabtree. A woman she only remembered knowing for a short time, after a particularly awkward first meeting. In the past few days, Mrs. Crabtree had treated her as if she were her own daughter (of which Sophie learned she had four of her own already), with the maternal support and comfort to go with. Rather odd, given when they first meet, in this very bedroom, Sophie had been wearing nothing but a men's shirt and pants that were far too big while also sleeping in a room with an unmarried man. All while unchaperoned.
Granted, there were now over three years of memories with this woman she did not recall.
"Would you like me to fetch you a book from the library?" Mrs. Crabtree added. "Or your knitting? Something to keep you busy?"
She shook her head again. Her lingering headache made focusing on tasks for too long exhausting. And she doubted anything would keep her busy as she spent all of her time during the day lying in bed. While she'd usually always enjoyed the peace and quiet, now it was beginning to drive her a little mad. She'd discovered that laying in bed all day doing nothing was quite dull.
Mind numbingly boring.
But it was Dr. Wilkes' orders.
Besides giving the instructions for her recovery, rest being the main recommendation, the doctor had been the one to explain to Sophie how she came to find herself lying in bed with three years of her life missing.
It was relatively simple, really. She'd slipped down the stairs while carrying her youngest son after he'd woken from his nap. In an effort to protect the baby from being harmed, she'd ended up taking the brunt of the fall down the staircase, the back of her head connected with the edge of one step as she hit at the bottom, cracking her skull open.
But the injury hadn't even been that serious, the doctor told her (if she ignored the apparent issue of memory loss ) that it appeared as if she'd just cut it open. But Dr. Wilkes assured her that in terms of head injuries he'd seen, hers was one of the better ones. He hadn’t even needed to put in stitches to close the wound.
He'd served at Waterloo. That was part of the reason for how he knew so much. While they'd been speaking privately in the hallway, he told Benedict that he'd seen this type of injury before with some of the soldiers. The ones who had taken injuries to the head during the battles or from an accident. Figured out from there that if you hit the head hard enough, there were only three outcomes: immediate death, short or long-term pain, and/or memory loss.
Memory loss which could be temporary or permanent.
"What do you mean permanent ?" Benedict had harshly demanded as he spoke with Dr. Wilkes in the hallway. They accidentally left the door partially cracked, allowing Sophie to hear their hush conversation.
"I've seen men regain their memories in a few hours to a few weeks, but I've also seen men who never got them back," the doctor replied calmly. "I once cared for a man who lost all his memories, his entire life, only to regain them after a few months. Another lost a month's worth of time in the war and when I saw him last, he still did not recall the time his injury had taken. These kinds of injuries are fickle; unfortunately, only time will tell how serious they are."
"She doesn't remember the last three years," Benedict repeated for the fifth time. " Three years ! How is that not serious?"
And she hadn't seen Benedict since that afternoon. He was keeping his distance. Told her after Dr. Wilkes had left that he would sleep in one of the spare rooms. So she could have the space and privacy to recover. She wasn’t entirely sure he was telling the truth, since she’d heard the maids talking about how his back must be killing him given was sleeping in his studio on the sofa, which was located the floor below the master bedroom
And further away from where Sophie was recovering.
Then he'd practically disappeared from the home. She hardly heard or saw him as she stayed stuck, laying in bed all day.
Which Sophie was grateful for.
At first.
She didn't know what to say to him, and with the last conversation she recalled having with him being a quite explosive one, feelings of anger and disappointment were still running high for her. Her emotions were making it difficult for her to find the words to even start one with him.
If she was honest, most of the anger over his offer had quickly faded after she remembered that a substantial amount of time had passed since he’d made it. It frankly did not seem to be the most important issue for her to be focusing on currently. Especially, since he was now her legal husband.
Still, she and Benedict were doing an awkward little dance of existing around each other. All the while, she had no idea what had occurred between them, from him asking her to be his mistress to her apparently marrying him and now having had two sons.
The first twenty-four hours after getting the diagnosis left Sophie lying in bed, mentally screaming, ' I married Benedict Bridgerton. I married Benedict Bridgerton. I married Benedict Bridgerton ,' on repeat for hours until she was sure she would be sectioned.
The man of her dreams. The man literally of her dreams. Who she’d spent two years fantasizing about, believing she’d never see him again only to suddenly be reunited with, had married her. A bastard with nothing to her own name, no dowry and barely an income to get by.
And this was all after asking her to be his mistress?
How the hell had that happened?
After the initial shock of it all, Sophie was left with a million unanswered questions.
How had they gotten married? Was it accepted by the ton? By Benedict's family? What about Araminta? Did she know about Sophie and Benedict? Did Benedict realize she was a bastard? What about his family? Did they know? And what about Posy? Hell, Sophie even wanted to know what had happened to Rosamund at this point. So much time had passed and there was so much she just did not know.
But the only person she felt comfortable discussing that with was rarely around for her to ask.
She needed to speak with him. Really, she did. As much discomfort and anxiety she felt being around him, even thinking about him, he was the only one who could tell her. Should tell her.
"And what is Benedict doing?" she asked tentatively, trying to see if her mysterious husband was around for her to talk to.
"Mr. Bridgerton went on a walk."
Sophie's stomach dropped. Well, that was a disappointment.
"And…the boys?" maybe she could finally successfully sneak out of her room and see them instead. She would be lying if she did not admit her growing curiosity towards her sons.
"Mr. Bridgerton took them with him. It usually gets Charles tired enough for his afternoon nap, and Mr. Bridgerton took Alexander as well, so they will both most likely be asleep by the time they all return," Mrs. Crabtree replied.
"I see," Sophie was beginning to wonder if her children were purposefully being kept from her. She was curious to know if that was a good thing or bad.
She'd at least learned she'd had two children; Charles Anthony and Alexander Edmund. Charles was the eldest and two years old, born nine months after their wedding in early March, while Alexander was only five months, having just been born the past January. That was all she knew, names and birthdays, as she had yet to even see either one of them. Meet them.
"If you need anything, just ring the bell," Mrs. Crabtree reminded her, nodding towards the little silver bell on the side table beside her.
Sophie eyed the little piece of shaped metal with barely contained distaste, lips pressed in a thin line as she regarded it. Araminta had used one, bigger and much louder, with her. The rapid ringing of that bell echoed through Sophie's thoughts as she looked at the miniature version in front of her, making it difficult for her to see a good use for it.
"Use it, Mrs. Bridgerton," Mrs. Crabtree said firmly, with a brow raised. "I do not want a repeat of yesterday."
Ah yes, yesterday. When she'd gotten a bit ahead of herself and thought she was perfectly capable of walking across the room to the chamber pot unaided, only to be hit with a wave of vertigo the moment she stood up straight. Sophie hadn't collapsed, thank God, she didn't know if she could handle the embarrassment of that, but one of the maids had found her sitting on the floor next to the bed, trying to steady herself, and Mrs. Crabtree had been close to calling Dr. Wilkes back because of it.
She nodded, not really meaning it and praying to God that she would not need to use the bell instead.
Mrs. Crabtree gave her another stern look and a final reminder to use the bell if she needed her before departing the room. Sophie heard the stairs creak as the housekeeper headed down them, leaving Sophie with only her thoughts for company.
She hadn't learned much since Dr. Wilkes had left. Nothing about the years she was missing besides the simple basics. Dates and names. Mrs. Crabtree had also filled her in on the staff and their terms and positions so she would not be alarmed when she found more people in My Cottage than she recalled.
It was strange. To feel out of place, out of time. Suddenly missing years of her life. Like a giant chunk of her life had been scooped out of her mind and cast aside. An empty hole where it had all once been.
And spending her days laying in bed doing nothing as time continued on felt as though she was wasting even more. A perpetual purgatory.
"Ah! Mr. Bridgerton. Back already?" she heard the voice of Mr. Crabtree yell from outside.
Sophie perked up. Benedict was back.
With the children.
This was her chance. Quickly pushing back the covers, Sophie pushed herself up and out of bed, quietly and slowly sneaking towards the window that looked out towards the front of the home.
Glancing through the sheer white curtains, she spotted them coming up the gravel trail to the front door.
It was hard to miss Benedict's tall form as he approached. Dressed in the more casual way she'd seen him while staying at My Cottage, a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up (exposing his very nice forearms for Sophie to look at) with a scarlet vest keeping it all in place and simple tan colored pants. His chestnut hair was messy and windswept. He looked like the pinnacle of fatherhood as he carried a young boy on his hip and pushed the shell-shaped, wicker basket in front of him.
And it didn't help that something deep inside of Sophie arched to be near him as she watched him. No matter how offended she’d been by him, seeing him like that made her stomach flip, and something lower warmed and tightened. He looked…lovely, really.
No. Sophie shook her head. He'd asked her to be his bleeding mistress. She was not going to find him attractive. Not anymore. Under no circumstances.
Not until she knew what had happened after that day.
Spying the little boy on Benedict’s hip Sophie assumed to be Charles, their firstborn.
She couldn't make out much of him, given the distance and his position. Charles was resting his head on Benedict's shoulder, looking close to falling asleep, but what she could make out was a head of dark chestnut hair that matched his father's, which seemed to curl ever so slightly at the ends, more than Benedict's did but not the ringlet shape Sophie's would. He was small, but this was expected for a two-year-old, and as far as she could tell, he appeared healthy.
With one arm out of commission, Benedict was forced to push the small carriage in front of him with his other hand. Much to her disappointment, Sophie wasn't able to catch a look at the four month old baby, most likely sleeping within. She tried to move around the window, seeing if she could catch a better angle, but her movements only caught the attention of her eldest.
Charles' eyes drifted up to the window, and when he spotted her staring down at them from the upper floor, he quickly perked up. Sophie watched as he straightened up his back and threw an arm up, waving excitedly up to her. Even with the window closed, she could still hear the muffled 'Hello, Mama,' he yelled from behind the glass.
Sophie froze.
Oh no.
Slowly and hesitantly, she brought her hand up in front of her, giving a rather pathetic wave back to her eldest son. He seemed so happy to see her.
Benedict's eyes caught her next, widening as he realized she was watching them. He stopped in his tracks, staring up at her in surprise.
Charles was wiggling in Benedict's arms, appearing to be babbling to his father and taking Benedict's attention away from her momentarily as he was forced to put their son down. Once his feet were back on the ground, Charles pulled at Benedict's pant leg and pointed towards the door, but Benedict was still focused on looking at her.
Scraping her teeth over her lower lip, Sophie gave another small, nervous wave as to be polite. She really hadn't planned to be noticed.
And to make matters worse, Mrs. Crabtree had walked out of the home to greet them and, seeing Benedict staring up at her, had turned around to see what was happening.
After a quick gasp of surprise, Mrs. Crabtree put her hands on her hips. "Mrs. Bridgerton, what did I tell you? You should not be out of bed."
Sophie mouthed an apology, feeling somewhat guilty for getting caught. Next to Mrs. Crabtree, Sophie saw Benedict give a small huff, the corner of his lips tugging up into a small smile.
The older woman then let out an annoyed huff of her own, returning inside, likely to come up the stairs to scold her again about ignoring Dr. Wilkes' orders. As Sophie turned away from the window, she hadn't noticed that Charles had already slip away from Benedict, running inside before anyone could notice. Didn't realize the two year old was already hastily bundling up the stairs before the housekeeper had even reentered the home, which was when she heard Mrs. Crabtree shout.
"No, Charles!" It was a quick order but not fast enough, and the doorknob rattled as someone too little to open it was able to successfully twist the knob and shove the door open.
"Mama!" Charles squealed as he ran towards her.
Sophie's limbs froze instinctually. Before she could react, the young boy had wrapped his little arms around her legs, squeezing tightly. He giggled as he pressed his face into her nightgown, swaying from side to side.
" Charles !" Mrs. Crabtree admonished, out of breath as she approached the doorway. "You have been told many times that we mustn't disturb your mother."
"It's alright, Mrs. Crabtree," Sophie assured her.
"You better, mama?" Charles asked, pulling back to look up at her. "Head better?"
She hesitated, unsure what to say.
"I am feeling much better, thank you," she gently replied, giving a weak smile and nodding as she found herself entirely out of her depth.
But now that he was in front of her, Sophie could at least finally get a good look at him.
He was certainly a mix of her and Benedict. While he'd inherited his father's coloring, dark hair and pale blue eyes, many of his features reminded Sophie of her own father. His eyes had the same sharpness to them but with more youth and cheer than she'd ever seen staring back at her when she’d looked at her father. And while his cheeks were round and rosy, she sensed little Charles might have also inherited the same Gunningworth cheekbones she had.
His smile was undoubtedly hers. A big toothy grin with a small dimple on the left side.
And she couldn't help but smile back when she saw it.
"Charles, say goodbye to your mother. It's time for your nap," Mrs. Crabtree interrupted.
"No!" Charles's smile vanished as he whined. "I want mama."
"Charles, your mother is still recovering," Mrs. Crabtree replied, much more gentle this time.
Charles' whines only grew louder, slowly turning into cries of frustration and exhaustion that agitated the ringing in Sophie's ears as he begged to stay with her. Sophie couldn't help but wince. Each time he was denied his voice rose higher. He wrapped himself tighter around Sophie, gripping the skirt of her dress as tightly as he could and shoving his face into the fabric.
Mrs. Crabtree moved forward to take him, which Charles seemed to sense, and his cries only pitched up higher, muffled by the fabric he was crying into. He was adamant about not leaving her side. But the noise was beginning to aggravate her pounding headache.
"It's alright, I can take him," Sophie told her as she reached down to get her hands under Charles' armpits, lifting him up.
"Mama," he cried out to her as she picked him up, tears already slipping down his face, making Sophie's heart ache. Ache for the child seeking comfort from his mother. A mother who remembered nothing about him.
But, mercifully, he did not know that.
"Shh, shh, it's alright," she soothed, rubbing her hand up and down his back as he pressed his face against her shoulder and neck, moaning now. "I'm here."
"Everything alright?" Benedict's voice asked from the hallway. A second later, he appeared in the doorway behind Mrs. Crabtree. When he spotted Charles, he frowned. "Is he bothering-?"
Sophie shook her head. "He's just tired."
"I can put him down for his nap. We walked for quite some time," Benedict informed her, stepping forward with his hands out to take Charles.
Only Charles moaned at the suggestion, but what caught Benedict off guard, what caused him to stop and blink at her in surprise, was that Sophie instinctually stepped back, clutching her son tighter against her chest. Not willing to give him back. Sophie frowned, confused by her actions, as Benedict just watched her, waiting.
"No, it's… it's okay," she told him after a few awkward moments. "I…I can tuck him in."
He shook his head. "Sophie, you shouldn't be moving around."
"Then he can stay here," she replied, motioning towards the bed. "It's fine with me, and anyway, he's tired. I'm certain he'll be asleep soon enough."
As she said it, Charles' little body sagged against her as he relaxed. The exhaustion had finally caught up with him. The relief that she – that someone – was relenting to his pleas.
But Benedict still looked ready to refuse her, opening his mouth to say something against it but stopping. He glanced from her to Charles with a conflicted look, unsure what to do. He looked increasingly more uncomfortable with having to refuse her then he did refusing their son.
"I really don't mind," she told him.
"Alright," he finally relented.
She nodded. "Thank you."
Heading back towards the bed, Sophie slid over the mattress, and sat down, still holding Charles in her arms. She flinched in surprise when Benedict's arm reached around her, pulling the duvet back for her.
"Sorry," she quickly told him, not wanting to offend him. She hadn’t meant to.
Slowly, Sophie released Charles, allowing him to gently sink onto the mattress next to her. However, he did not go too far. Charles still did not want to let go of her, staying pressed up against her side, an arm wrapped around her waist as far as his little arms could reach. His eyes were drooping, slowly blinking at his surroundings as Sophie got comfortable next to him. A few more blinks, and they closed completely as Charles fell fast asleep.
"I think that's the quickest I've seen him go down," Benedict remarked.
“He must have been very tired,” she replied.
“We walked for some time, and he wanted to push the pram too. I think he just tired himself out,” Benedict told her.
Glancing down at Charles' feet, Sophie gasped.
"Oh! He's still wearing his shoes," she said, realizing her son's little boots had not been taken off in his haste to see her.
Benedict held up a hand as he saw her move to take them off. "I've got them," he assured her.
Sophie stopped and leaned back against the pile of pillows behind her, quietly watching as Benedict moved around the bed before coming to sit next to Charles. He carefully pulled off Charles' shoes one at a time, lifting a leg and giving one sharp tug on the boot before it slipped off with ease. At her waist, Sophie felt Charles' hand tighten in his sleep, squeezing the fabric as if he unconsciously thought his father was trying to pull him away from her. Carding a hand through his little curls, Sophie attempted to prevent him from waking. He didn't. Thankfully. Charles kept sound asleep as Benedict removed his shoes and socks, and then pulled the blanket up to cover his little body.
"How are you feeling?" he finally asked.
"Fine," she replied. "The headache is not as bad anymore."
Benedict nodded his head. "Good."
It was the most they'd spoken to each other in days.
"I have to go move Alexander inside. He's still in the pram downstairs," Benedict told her as he tucked Charles in next to her. "Charles will probably sleep for the next hour. I’ll have the nursemaid come get him when he wakes."
"It’s fine really–"
"Do you want me to bring you anything? Tea? Food? You're knitting?"
She shook her head. "Oh no, I'm okay."
"Okay, I'll come back up and check on you later," he told her simply, brushing a hand over her curls.
And then leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
Sophie blinked and froze.
Benedict froze.
And Charles just continued quietly snoozing against Sophie's hip.
Her eyes caught Benedict's pale ones, wide open in shock at what he'd just done. From the look on his face, she could tell he was as surprised as she was. That he'd done it on instinct, a small, simple action that gave Sophie an insight into their regular routine.
Sophie didn't detest it. Quite the opposite. There had been a small burst of electric shock through her and down her spine as his lips pressed against her forehead, making her shiver and her heart flutter with excitement. Surprised as she'd been by the sudden action, a small, tiny part of her had enjoyed it.
And a wholly different part of her wanted more.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Benedict cleared his throat.
"Sorry. I'll-um…it was just a-I… I'll go check on Alex," he finally told her after a few nervous stutters.
She nodded her head, unsure what to say, chewing her bottom lip. "Of course."
Benedict stood beside the bed for a few awkward moments, watching her as she continued to silently watch him until he finally gave her a quick, curt nod and practically fled the room.
She did not see him for the rest of the day.