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Benedict had never regretted anything more in his life than agreeing to paint his brother’s and new sister-in-law’s wedding portrait.

And that was certainly saying something for him. After all, he had a well-known penchant for wine, women, and wild parties, and although he had mellowed and gotten a bit more discreet with age, there had certainly been many regrets in his past. But he could not, for the life of him, remember any overshadowing this one.

It was all Kate’s fault, he would insist. His lovely, kind, very stubborn new sister-in-law had approached him at her own wedding breakfast and requested that he be the one to paint her and Anthony’s wedding portrait. Benedict had been skeptical, offering to introduce Kate to Henry Granville or any of the other talented portraitists he knew, but Kate had been insistent: she and Anthony wanted Benedict. And it was poor form to deny a bride’s request on her wedding day, was it not?

Benedict had spent the next few weeks after the wedding wracking his brain for excuses to get out of the arrangement. He had even dared to ask Anthony about it one afternoon as they went over the estate ledgers in preparation for Anthony’s departure. He’d been certain that Anthony would corroborate that this had been some fanciful notion of his wife’s, that he would agree that the viscount and his new viscountess ought to be captured in oils by a professional.

Unfortunately for Benedict, newlywed-Anthony had not been keen on denying his new viscountess much of anything. He’d quickly shaken his head and insisted that he quite agreed with Kate, that he would be honored for Benedict to paint their wedding portrait.

He had also not-so-subtly indicated that he pitied the man who decided to go back on his word to Kate Bridgerton.

And so it was settled: Benedict would paint the new couple’s wedding portrait when they returned from their honeymoon.

In the six months they’d been away, Benedict had come to something of a peace with the idea. It was rather flattering that Kate had been so insistent, and he quite liked his new sister-in-law. He also would never have admitted this to anyone, most especially to Anthony, but he found that he quite missed painting since he’d left the Royal Academy. As winter stretched on, he’d decided that perhaps this was a reasonable opportunity for him to both pull out his paints again and do something nice that seemed to mean a lot to the newest member of his family.

But that had been then. Now, he was very much regretting every choice that had led him to this point in his life – his decision to agree to Kate’s request in the first place, his encouragement to Anthony to pursue Kate after things fell apart with Miss Edwina, his decision as a five-year-old to pick up a paint brush for the first time.

Their first sitting felt like it had been nothing short of a disaster.

First, there had been the argument about their poses. Anthony had wanted nothing more than to feature his wife most prominently, while Kate argued with him that it was hardly fitting for the lord of the house to take a back seat to his wife. Never mind that Benedict was the portraitist here – the way they argued about posture and lighting, it was as though they fancied themselves master painters with years of their own expertise. It took some wrangling, but Benedict finally managed to get them to agree to a pose with Kate seated in front of Anthony, who would stand behind her with his hands either on the back of her chair or her shoulders.

And it was working, at least until it became apparent that being in each other’s presence but unable to see one another was going to be impossible for them to maintain.

It had started with Anthony’s hands gently massaging Kate’s shoulders, which felt innocent enough in their own private residence. Benedict and his siblings had certainly seen worse from the pair of them, and Benedict could recall their father in similar moments with their mother, though that felt like a lifetime ago. But then of course, in reaction, Kate started twisting her head up to smile at her husband. It would not have been insurmountable on its own, as even the professional models Benedict worked with had to move from time to time, but the action only seemed to embolden Anthony, who began dropping kisses to the top of Kate’s head and murmuring quiet words that only his wife could hear. And frankly, Benedict was glad that he was not able to hear them, as they tended to make his sister-in-law flush.

But then, when Benedict turned back to his subjects after grabbing a new brush, only to discover Anthony bent over his wife’s shoulder and pressing kisses to her lips while she giggled at whatever he was whispering, Benedict had realized that this was not going to work. With a heavy sigh, he’d cleared his throat, pulling the attention of the couple, who had hardly seemed chagrined at all.

“Are you both quite certain that this is going to be a pose you can hold?” he’d inquired with a raised eyebrow. “For several hours in each of our remaining sessions?”

“I do not know what you mean to imply, brother,” Anthony had snapped with a frown that Benedict returned.

“I am not implying anything, as I have just caught you both straying from the pose, for perhaps the dozenth time, I might add.” Benedict’s tone had been uncharacteristically frustrated as his eyes darted between the couple and his canvas. “If this is not going to work, then now is the best time –“

“I beg your pardon, but we are hardly statues –“

“And you do not need to be, but you do need to be able to keep your movements within a limited range, which requires a certain discipline –“

“Are you calling us undisciplined?”

“Only in your responsibility as portrait models.”

“Well I –“

“Perhaps,” Kate cut in quickly, raising her voice above the brothers and shooting a warning look at her husband, “we ought to take a short break to collect ourselves. Benedict is the artist here, and we should trust his judgement.”

It had felt like a rather bold claim from someone who had been arguing with Anthony earlier about portrait composition as though Benedict was not even in the room, but he was also not about to turn down the truce. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he’d agreed with Kate and told them to call it a day. He’d realized that essentially everything he had done so far was going to have to go out the window so they could come up with a pose that would work better for the pair, and he’d needed a stiff drink before he opened that conversation again.

Since then, Benedict had delayed their second sitting for as long as he feasibly could do so. Luckily, Anthony and Kate were quite busy with the new season, and he’d managed to distract them with some chaos one of his siblings was causing whenever one of them mentioned the portrait.

Unfortunately for him, about a month after their first sitting, Kate had finally cornered him one day when he’d stopped in on Anthony and insisted that they make time for their next session soon.

“I know we were not the most cooperative subjects last time, but I promise you that we are both very committed to and excited about this portrait,” she’d assured him.

Which is how Benedict found himself set up in the drawing room a week later with his prickly subjects. Today, they had thankfully not been as focused on the portrait and pose as last time, and they quickly agreed when Benedict suggested that they both remain seated on the sofa. He had thought about the problem extensively since their last session, and this time, he posed them with Anthony’s arm around Kate’s waist and her hand resting on his knee, angling them so that they could easily glance at each other without destroying the composition.

The approach seemed to be working much better than their last attempt, except this time, the pair had brought some other argument with them into the session and spent their time sniping at each other under their breath. Benedict did not know the details of the dispute, and he had no interest in learning them – indeed, he spent most of the session doing his very best to block out the snippets that floated across the room to him.

“It was a perfectly reasonable question to ask…”

“Certainly, for a gentleman who intends to be an overbearing tyrant…”

“… does not imply any deficiency on your part…”

“… insulting to my competence as lady of this house…”

“… any husband would ask the same…”

“… I am not just any woman of the ton, Anthony…”

“… maddening woman…”

“… vexing man…”

And they are supposed to be the heads of the family, Benedict thought with disappointed resignation as he renewed his effort to focus on his canvas. He was grateful to be at the stage where he was only outlining figures instead of filling in details, as he was certain that the pair would not be best pleased to have their current expressions etched into portraiture forever.

“Honestly, Col, it is miserable,” he complained to his brother over drinks at Mondrich’s a few hours later. He slumped back in his chair and swirled the scotch in his glass, studying it morosely. “I do not know why I ever agreed to it in the first place.”

“Nor do I,” Colin agreed, all too chipper for Benedict’s liking. “I cannot fathom why you thought it would be a pleasant experience after our own ordeal posing for our portrait with him several years ago.”

Benedict shuddered at the memory of their shared portrait sessions about four years prior. Anthony had only stood for the portrait at their mother’s insistence, and he had spent much of his time complaining under his breath about how he might better use his time. And when he was not doing that, he had treated the sessions as an open invitation to admonish both brothers for their perceived misdeeds in his eyes, seemingly thrilled to have an occasion where they could not easily escape his lectures. Benedict and Colin had both sworn that if Anthony desired another portrait in the future, he would sit for it alone, or at least certainly without them.

“I hoped marriage might mellow him,” Benedict grumbled. “And in a sense, I suppose it has. The problem is no longer that he is a miserable lunatic. But unfortunately, he is either being a besotted lunatic or there is now someone else who is exactly like him to engage on his usual lunacy.”

Colin hummed thoughtfully. “It truly is remarkable how alike he and Kate are,” he mused.

“I should like it to be less remarkable,” Benedict muttered. “You are not the one who had to listen to them needle each other over god-knows-what for two hours.”

“You should be glad that all they are doing is needling each other. Now that we have all been relocated to Bruton Street, just be thankful that you have not gotten the same eyeful that Eloise did.”

Benedict grimaced as a reflexive shiver ran down his spine. He and Anthony had always been close enough in age that they’d had no problem discussing sexual conquests, at least inasmuch as gentlemen discussed such matters. But since Anthony’s wedding, the same discussions that might have been commonplace before felt tawdry and indecent now. The irony was not lost on Benedict that he’d held no such misgivings about discussing those activities when the activities themselves were tawdry and indecent, but it was quite different when he now had to look his sister-in-law in the eye over tea the next day.

“Know that I take no pleasure in suggesting this, but I believe the needling is all part of the same mission for them,” Benedict said with a grimace. “It is why I beat a hasty retreat from Bridgerton House and dragged you here to help me forget whatever they may or may not be doing right now.”

At this, it was Colin’s turn to shudder and take a large gulp of his drink. “I can hardly believe there are two of them,” Colin muttered with a shake of his head. “Do you believe Anthony realizes how fortunate he is to have ended up with Kate instead of her sister?”

A combination of gratification and, strangely, melancholy swirled through Benedict at his brother’s offhand question. Of course, he was thrilled for Anthony to have found happiness with a wonderful woman, and he’d been overjoyed to welcome Kate to the family. But the thought of how close his brother had been to dooming himself to a life of cold attention to duty made something ache with almost-heartbreak in Benedict’s chest. It was enough to make a man wonder if he ought to be doing more to seize his own destiny, as much as he would never admit to such notions in front of his mother or Anthony.

“Truthfully? I believe it is one of the only things Anthony is certain of most days.”

Benedict tried to take a more considerate view of things after the conversation with Colin. He could not claim to be looking forward to their next portrait session by any stretch of the imagination, but he vowed to go into the next session with his best attempt at a more charitable mindset.

The couple seemed to arrive at their next sitting without the same argumentative notions as they’d held last time, a miracle for which Benedict shot up a short prayer of thanksgiving to the almighty himself. He spent a few minutes posing them on the sofa, consulting his canvas to make sure they were in roughly the same position as last time, before settling in to paint.

Perhaps his conversation with Colin had given him a new perspective, or perhaps he had simply caught his subjects on a good day – one in which they were not hell-bent on besting each other at every turn. But as he studied his brother and his wife, he couldn’t help but notice an unexpected warm feeling prickling in his chest that he couldn’t quite place.

Benedict knew objectively that they were a striking pair – both tall and imposing, quite handsome, a certain arrogance that demanded the respect of those around them. But in this private moment, he noticed other aspects of them, as a pair, that he had perhaps skimmed over before.

The lightness in Kate’s eyes each time they connected with Anthony’s. The way Anthony tilted in towards his wife, as though helplessly caught in her gravitational pull and uninterested in fighting it. The small, secret smile that tugged at Kate’s lips whenever Anthony leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and the way that expression was mirrored back onto Anthony’s face when Kate did the same.

Heavens, when they weren’t being annoyingly stubborn and generally frustrating, they were actually quite a beautiful picture of a couple in love.

Not that Benedict had ever questioned that they were in love. After the Featherington Ball last season, Anthony had certainly taken to proclaiming his love for Kate as loudly and often as possible, a sentiment that Kate echoed, albeit with slightly more decorum. And love had turned Anthony from a man who was far too buttoned up for his own good to one that was prone to wildly inappropriate displays of affection for his wife. It was a good thing both the Queen and Whistledown had become supporters of the match, otherwise the couple might have found themselves facing the scorn of ton. Not that they likely would have noticed, as they still hardly noticed the scandalized whispers whenever Anthony stole a kiss during a dance or when Kate’s hands wandered when out on a promenade. Which was to say nothing of the familial groans and teasing they ignored on a weekly, if not daily, basis for the far more passionate embraces that they seemed to feel little need to hide from the family.

But somehow, Benedict wasn’t quite sure that he had ever truly seen their love in the same way he was witnessing now. Despite the fact that he’d had to witness his brother grope his wife on the pall mall field, something about this moment felt different. Softer, perhaps, or more private. This was not the flash of passion that he knew with certainty that the pair shared, but a deeper, steadier love.

He realized that the feeling in his chest was an immense contentedness to see his brother so happy. And perhaps, most foreignly, a soft longing for such happiness himself. Oh, he was not about to alert his mother and let her shove him into the arms of every eager young debutante – heavens no. But studying Anthony and Kate, he could see why the trials of the marriage mart might prove worth it in the end.

As he concentrated on the specific angle and shape of the pair’s arms, he glanced back to find Kate giggling at something that Anthony had whispered in her ear. A wide, roguish smile stretched across his brother’s face as Kate shook her head in amusement, pursing her lips in a poorly disguised attempt to appear chiding. Benedict watched as Anthony leaned into his wife’s space again, this time to press a gentle kiss to her lips. Kate certainly didn’t protest, though Benedict was relieved when they kept it to a level of chastity appropriate for the presence of others.

Benedict raised an amused eyebrow when they finally turned back to face him, a light blush spreading across Kate’s face while Anthony narrowed his eyes at Benedict slightly in a smug sort of challenge, as though daring him to say something. Benedict just grinned at them.

“I do hope your whispering is not at my expense,” he teased as his gaze flicked back to his canvas. “I should warn you that it is poor form to antagonize your portraitist, given their control over the final image.”

“Even when you and your portraitist have spent an entire lifetime antagonizing each other?” Anthony asked archly, ignoring Kate’s light glare.

“Especially then,” Benedict chuckled as his hand skated across the canvas. “I should hate for my hand to slip and accidentally give you a large wart on your nose.”

Anthony’s nose wrinkled at the thought as he glared at Benedict, who couldn’t help but chuckle as Kate turned to her husband and appraised him carefully. Anthony’s eyes snapped to his wife’s, frowning at the reflective look on her face. Benedict could see the familiar flush of frustration rising up his neck – it had been Anthony’s tell ever since they were children, and it was just as satisfying to elicit now as it had been when they were younger.

“You are thinking about it!” Anthony accused, glancing back and forth between his wife and his brother with a frown. “This is your fault for putting the image in her head!”

“Yes, well, we cannot all maintain our youthful appearance forever now, can we?” Benedict mused, enjoying the glint in Kate’s eye as he teased his brother. “I am simply preparing your wife for future possibilities. After all, she has agreed to ‘until death do we part,’ which could be a good long while.”  

“For what it is worth, dearest, I believe I would still find you handsome, warts and all,” Kate quipped. She cast a knowing look to Benedict, the same look a partner-in-crime would cast towards their co-conspirator. He grinned as he turned back to work on the details of their hands.

“I do not like you two scheming together to needle me,” Anthony grumbled. “I thought a wife was supposed to cleave unto her husband?”

“Only on the most important matters. If you truly thought that I would cleave to you on every matter, then I must question how well you knew the woman you were marrying.”

The snort that escaped Benedict was entirely involuntary, and he did his best to cover it up with a cough. Though from Anthony’s suspicious look and Kate’s amused one, he did not believe he did an entirely sufficient job of it.

“Besides,” Kate continued, glancing at Anthony with a smirk, “I did promise, when we got engaged, to vex you every day, did I not? And there could be no better ally in that mission than your brother.”

“I think, dear wife,” Anthony ground out, “you will recall that you promised to be vexed by me every day, not the other way around.”

“Are you certain? I’m sure I remember it the other way around.”

“Quite certain. I assure you that every word in that garden has been etched into my memory forevermore.”

“Hmmm, well perhaps it was an oversight on my part, as I assure you that I intended it to be mutual.”

“It is a task at which you are doing a thoroughly commendable job, Kate,” Benedict cut in with his own smirk, delighted by the way Anthony’s eyes flashed at him. A wide grin stretched across Kate’s face.

“Thank you, Benedict, I am glad someone appreciates my efforts.” Something light and mischievous glimmered in Kate’s eyes. “Now, you must tell me some of your own greatest successes. Do share – was Anthony quite as easy to rile as a child?”

“Hang on - !”

“I would be delighted to,” Benedict interrupted Anthony’s protestations with a wicked grin. “Tell me, has he ever mentioned why he does not like to go near the cottage on the eastern edge of the lake down in Kent?”

He spent the next several minutes – over Anthony’s objections – regaling Kate with the tale of the time he managed to trick Anthony onto the roof of one of the cottages near Aubrey Hall as boys. And not only had he managed to get Anthony onto the roof, but he’d promptly knocked down the ladder and left him stranded up there for the better part of the afternoon. It hadn’t been until their father had pried the truth out of Benedict just before dinner time that Edmund had rescued a weepy and sunburned Anthony from the cottage.

“In my defense,” Anthony interjected over Kate’s rolling laughter, “Father had mentioned the roof repair to me earlier in the day! He had started sharing more of the workings of the viscountcy with me, and it was perfectly reasonable for me to believe that he required my assistance!”

“Yes, because I’m certain he intended for his twelve-year-old son to make those repairs,” Benedict teased, grinning fondly at the memory. Anthony had just been so pompous for weeks about how much Father trusts me and how important my role to the estate is that when Benedict had overheard the earlier conversation, he had not been able to resist the opportunity.

“Well, regardless, Father certainly paid you back on that one.” His own grin stretched across Anthony’s face. “Did I tell you that I mentioned the glue-in-the-shoes incident to Gregory last year?”

Laughter burst out of Benedict’s chest. “God, I thought I was going to get walloped,” he recalled, the passage of time allowing him to look back on it with a fond recollection. “But he knew what he was doing, because the torture of having an unknown punishment hanging over my head for an entire week was far worse.”

They settled into an easy rhythm from there, trading tales of their childhood and laughing extensively. Kate even began contributing some of her own tales of childhood mischief, and Benedict found himself developing a greater appreciation for the Sharma sisters (and perhaps more importantly, Lady Mary’s patience with them).

Before they knew it, several hours had passed, something they only realized when Kate mentioned needing to stretch her legs. Benedict had quickly apologized – he had certainly not intended to keep them quite so long, but between the easy conversation and the flow he got in when painting, he was not surprised that he’d lost track of time. They called it a day and agreed to a time the following week for their next session.

This time, Benedict found himself almost looking forward to the session (though he was quite firm mentally in his “almost” qualifier). He seemed to have settled into something of a rhythm with his difficult models, and they spent most of their several hours together swapping stories from the fall and winter. Anthony and Kate had no shortage of amusing anecdotes from their honeymoon, and Benedict delighted in telling them some of the stories that must have slipped through the cracks when the rest of the family filled the couple in on what they had missed while they were away.

The session felt shockingly… normal. It had become easy and delightful. But the most confusing part of all was that Benedict’s relationship with Anthony had not felt easy and delightful for about thirteen years, which made the whole experience rather jarring to slip into such an easy rapport. The whole thing felt both foreign and familiar at the same time, and Benedict was not entirely sure what to do with such feelings.

However, he could not deny that it was nice to have his joking older brother returned to him. Even outside of their portrait sessions, Benedict could feel that Anthony seemed more at ease around him of late, whether over a drink at Mondrich’s, in his study going over ledgers, or with the rest of the family on a promenade. The two brothers had never talked about Benedict’s departure from the Royal Academy, nor did Benedict desire to do so. Anthony had said what he’d wanted to say at the Featherington Ball last season, and Benedict had still made his choice to leave. As far as he could tell, there was nothing more to say between him and Anthony on the matter, though he couldn’t deny that things had felt more stilted than usual between them since Benedict discovered the donation.

He was only human, after all. And even if Anthony insisted that the matter had nothing to do with Benedict’s own talent, well, it was hard to quiet such voices in his head.

But there was something rather refreshing about spending this time with his brother and new sister-in-law. Most of their conversations continued to be easy and amusing, and Benedict felt quite honored to get this glimpse into the pair’s relationship. And it didn’t hurt that each session, the couple seemed suitably impressed by Benedict’s progress.

They continued in much the same way for weeks as the season got into full swing. The family was busy, but Anthony, Kate, and Benedict made time every week or two to sit down for a session, which had (much to Benedict’s absolute astonishment) become something of a respite and a high point in his week that he looked forward to. And in between the sessions, Benedict quite enjoyed making his own progress on the pieces that he could attend to without his live models.

Finally, by what Benedict was sure would be the penultimate sitting, he informed the pair that they would no longer be allowed to see his progress until the end. Although they had certainly seen the drafts and progress along the way, he wished for the final product to be something of a grand reveal, such that it was.

Benedict managed to put the pair off at their final sitting, insisting that he needed to make final adjustments before it would be fit to hang. He promised to return to Bridgerton House the following week with the final product.

One week later, he was back on their doorstep with canvas in hand, anxiously twisting his fingers in the sheet wrapped around the canvas. Mr. Clarke ushered him into the drawing room, though Benedict still found it strange to be treated as a guest in the house he had lived in, by the butler he had lived with, until just a few months ago. Still, Mr. Clarke was delighted to see him, as he was by any of their siblings when they dropped by Bridgerton House. He quickly dispatched the footmen to find the lord and lady of the house, who he assured Benedict were quite eager to see the results of their project.

A few minutes later, the pair entered the drawing room together, looking entirely too flushed and disheveled for Benedict’s liking. He tried not to think about what he might have interrupted when Kate’s face lit up as it landed on him.

“Is it done?” she asked without preamble, her expression quickly turning to that of a child on Christmas morn. Even Anthony, who was certainly putting on more of a show of being reserved than his wife, was eyeing the canvas at Benedict’s side with interest. Benedict couldn’t help but grin at the pair’s enthusiasm.

“Indeed it is, dear sister.” He hauled the piece onto the sofa, ensuring that it was still covered by the sheet. As the couple crowded next to him for the reveal, his stomach twisted again with nerves. He glanced over at them as uncertainty roiled in his gut, locking eyes with Anthony. “Now, you must tell me if you do not like it,” he said, speaking straight to his brother. “If you are unhappy, there may be adjustments we can make, so although I thought this felt final, there is no reason why we cannot continue –“

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Benedict,” Kate snapped. Her voice held an impatient tone that was usually reserved for Anthony, which pulled Benedict’s attention. “Stop with the excuses and show it to us already.”

With a deep breath and a mix of excitement and dread settled in him, Benedict gripped the sheet and nodded.

“Very well, then.” He spared just enough attention to focus on pulling the sheet away before his gaze snapped back to the pair anxiously.

Almost immediately, he watched Kate’s face pinch and lip wobble in a way that made his stomach drop in dismay. Had something happened to the canvas on the ride over? With a frantic glance, his eyes snapped back to the portrait to confirm that it was indeed still as he remembered it. Though that did little to quiet his nerves, as that could only mean that it was the portrait itself that had so upset her – not exactly the reaction he was going for.

As his gaze turned back to Kate, he saw the tears quickly gathering in her eyes and watched her press the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to quell her emotions. Anthony, ever attuned to the smallest shift in his wife’s mood, had quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders while Benedict began stammering out an apology.

“I – I am sorry, I did not mean –“ his eyes connected with Anthony’s, who looked just as confused as he felt, “ – like I said, we can still try to fix it –“

Kate shook her head firmly, waiving an arm even as emotion seemed to choke her words.

“No, it is not… that’s not what I…” She cut herself off with a sniff and wiped at her eyes before turning to Benedict, her eyes shining with another round of quickly-welling tears. “Benedict, it is so incredibly beautiful, I am without words,” she assured him, sincerity laced through her tone.

Benedict felt an embarrassed flush rise in his cheeks. He felt good about the work he’d done, but he had been expecting a reserved satisfaction from the pair at best – after all, the portrait might be one of his best, but he was certainly not the height of talent in London. To see someone have such a strong reaction to his work was humbling, to say the least.

He glanced back at the portrait, aiming to now see it through an objective eye. He’d been pleased with how well he felt like he’d captured his subjects’ striking appearance, as they were no doubt a handsome pair. And he had been working for months to infuse the appropriate intimacy into their pose – it was an intimacy that he undoubtedly felt in the room with them, but that he had significantly struggled to capture it in oil.

But perhaps his favorite part of the portrait was a decision he’d made in the last two sessions, making it a surprise to Anthony and Kate. Instead of painting the couple in a traditional pose looking forward, as though staring into the eyes of the viewer, Benedict had turned their gazes on each other – a pose he had plentiful exposure to during their sessions. It was just the slightest inward turn, a shared sidelong glance and secret smile dancing between both faces. But it was that look, one that he’d seen on their faces countless times, that felt the most emblematic of the pair. It was a bit of a creative risk painting them thus, but one that seemed to have paid off, given Kate’s praise.

“Well,” he said sheepishly, “I am pleased that you like it. I know it is hardly the most traditional – “

“Which is perfect, as we are hardly the ton’s most traditional couple,” Kate insisted. She turned to her husband, who had remained silent, his studying gaze fixed on the portrait once he realized that his wife was not upset. “Anthony?” she prodded gently, snapping him from whatever thoughts he was immersed in.

Benedict felt another surge of anxiety swoop through his stomach as he waited for his brother’s judgement, watching carefully as Anthony’s attention darted from the portrait to Kate to Benedict in quick succession. The moment hung thick in the air between them.

“It is… truly exceptional, brother,” Anthony assured him, his voice soft with a kind of wonder that was foreign to Benedict, at least coming from his older brother. Something warm settled under Benedict’s sternum as Anthony gave him a soft smile. “You have sold yourself short to us, it would seem, as you have quite a talent.”

Benedict could not help the smile that split across his face. “I am glad you think so, although it is a small miracle we made it past the first session, as you two seemed quite satisfied to consider yourselves the artists in the room,” he teased, his stomach unable to decide if he was pleased by or uncomfortable with his brother’s sincerity. Needling him felt like the safer ground.

Sure enough, Anthony huffed and raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Kate, who was studying the brothers with a satisfied grin on her face.

“I hardly think we were that bad,” Anthony insisted. “I do not recall such imposition on our part.”

Now it was Benedict’s turn to snort disbelievingly. “How lucky indeed, to not have that burned into your memory,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “I almost quit after that day.”

“Well, we are most grateful that you did not quit,” Kate interjected, to which Anthony nodded his agreement.

“Indeed. It is not only a remarkable portrait, but you have also given me bragging rights over Hastings. I cannot wait to needle him about how our wedding portrait is better than his and Daph’s.” With a sly grin, he glanced at Kate. “Perhaps we might invite the duke and duchess over for dinner later this week. It has been too long since we have dined with them, has it not?”

Kate’s eyes sparkled with the same competitive spirit as Anthony’s. “Indeed, I think we are long overdue to host them at Bridgerton House, as we were at Hastings House last time,” she chuckled. “I shall pen a note to Daphne this afternoon.” She glanced back at Benedict with a smile. “Speaking of, can I tempt you to stay for some tea, Benedict? I should love to hear about who else is on your illustrious list, waiting for their chance at a Benedict Bridgerton original.”

He laughed and leaned the canvas against the table. “It is a nonexistent list at the moment, but I would be delighted to discuss it over tea,” he agreed. He was not about to tell Kate that his list currently only included her beloved corgi, Newton – a portrait Anthony had approached him about several weeks ago, and one that Anthony intended to be a surprise for their quickly-approaching wedding anniversary. “Perhaps my list will grow, now that the world may see your portrait.”

Kate hummed in agreement as she rang for tea. “Indeed, we shall hang it forthwith, and I am certain that we can drum up some more business for you. Come, let us discuss who you would like to take as a client, and then we may work on a battle plan.”

Warmth flooded Benedict’s chest as he took a seat with Anthony and Kate, grinning as Anthony lectured her (“Leave the man alone, Kate, he can run his own life.” “I am only trying to help! Is that not what a good sister should do?”) and he settled in with the plate of biscuits that had just appeared.

He was not entirely sure he could account for it, but what had started as a dreaded chore had become one of his most pleasant memories of the season. It was quite remarkable how that happened.

But he was still not offering the same service to Colin and Penelope. Some things were a bridge too far.