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"In the silence of my heart, I carry away a stolen dream, heavy with longing."
1830, London.
When Dunwoody had returned from delivering the flowers to Penelope and Benedict’s house, Colin was waiting for him in the foyer of his house. It still felt unsettled to him, despite this being the third month of him staying here. Home to him, perhaps would still be Bridgerton House.
He silenced the voice in his head that insisted home could be a mere hovel, as long as it was shared with Penelope.
“Dunwoody,” Colin exclaimed as the aging man entered the house, “I hope all went well.”
The older man's disapproval was barely constrained on his face as he spoke, “Mrs Bridgerton was with the children. I placed the flowers in the custody of Mr Bridgerton’s butler.”
“Right.”
“Master Benedict was present.” Dunwoody said in a voice that was as close to clipping as a butler of his degree would allow himself.
Colin shared his thanks and walked into his office, happy to escape the judging eyes. In reality, he was not certain what had possessed him. He had been on a long walk after visiting Anthony, who had delicately asked him if he’d be around for their yearly retreat to Aubrey Hall. He hated the weariness in his voice, as if he was a caged animal ready to swipe at any moment.
He was better. He would not have returned if he was not.
And yet, he had passed a flower shop that reminded him of Benedict’s letters and how he and Penelope had begun. Before he knew it, he was purchasing the largest assortment of sunflowers he had ever seen and penning a hasty note to Penelope. He had battled with the urge to deliver them himself, before asking Dunwoody to do the honors.
Now, days after his impulsive decision, he had written a dozen letters in an attempt to articulate his thoughts, yet each time he glanced at them, he found himself dismissing them with a sigh.
It was time, Colin decided, to be brave.
Penelope heard the pitter patter of his feet through the door, immediately sitting up in bed. Benedict, her husband for over six years, slipped into their room with quiet urgency, trying to avoid making a sound. But as soon as he stepped inside, his gaze met hers, and his jaw dropped in surprise at finding her awake at this late hour.
“Oh,” he said with an adorably soft voice. Any other day she would have rolled her eyes and teased him. But currently, she was angry.
He had been avoiding her. For a whole week now. It was either Anthony needed him for estate business, or Violet needed his escort, or Belinda had woken up with the immediate and urgent need to see her cousin Agatha, and Benedict had obliged, taking both the kids to Daphne and Simon’s for a whole day. By the time night rolled around, he had a stroke of inspiration and must attend to his paints, leaving him and Penelope absolutely no opportunity to talk.
He had been steadily avoiding extended periods of time with her not surrounded by their children or family for a week now.
Even since the flowers from Colin had arrived.
And she’d had enough now.
“Benedict,” she greeted, with a raise of her brows.
He made a non committal sound and had the decency to look ashamed, “I did not think you would be up, it is late. Charlie has a tendency to need you early in the morning.”
“I know,” she said in an exasperated voice, she was well aware their son had reached the clingy phase in his boyhood, barely leaving her more than a few minutes during the day “And yet, considering you've been avoiding me like a debutante at a matchmaking ball, I've had no choice but to wait up for you.”
He winced and opened his mouth in what she was sure would be a denial of his avoidance of her. “Do not,” she closed her eyes, calming herself as she spoke,” Do not try to deny it. I know you well enough Ben. What is the matter?”
When he said nothing, but simply proceeded to put down the sheet of paper in his hands and untuck his shirt, she pressed again, “ What is the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter, Penelope.” A sharp tinge to his voice.
She felt her anger crumble into something else, something she hadn’t had to feel in his presence ever since Agatha was born. Uncertainty had been the underlying thread at the start of their entire relationship, from friendship to marriage to parents. Uncertain of themselves and each other's feelings. But since the day Agatha had come into the world, cradled in her fathers large arms, uncertainty had left them. Ever since they’d been brave enough to give voice to what she felt, trust had been the bedrock of them.
“Is this how we are to be, then?” She asked in a small voice, her body angling towards him.
Benedict hung his head, a soft denial escaping him as he kept his back to her while continuing to disrobe. When he turned, she could see the defeat in his eyes as he tucked his sleep shirt over him and stalked over to their bed. In a second, he was under the covers and held her close. His hand found its way into her hair as it always did as he firmly but sweetly kissed her on the cheek.
And that was when she realized this distance between them was as hard on him as it was on her.
“No,” he said while shifting to sit back in bed and face her. “I have been… evasive.”
“Why?”
“Nothing good will come of it Pen. I.. it is my problem to deal with.”
“What problem Ben?” She moved to sit cross legged in front of him and took his hands in hers, “How am I to help if I do not know what has happened. Why can you not confide in me?”
“Because it is ugly,” he ground out. “It is ugly, and it is not your burden to bear.”
“Aren’t your burdens supposed to be mine?”
“Not this one.” He said firmly, giving her hands a squeeze. “I will be fine, I-I am fine, we’ll go back to how we were soon enough.”
“Ben,” She asked with a deep breath, a sense of dread creeping up on her, “This.. is this about the flowers? Is this about Colin?” And when he dropped her hands and tensed she knew she was right.
A week ago, Colin had sent her flowers, with a simple sweet note. Unexpected, but she had not thought of them much post the thank you note she sent him.
Obviously, Benedict had.
He gazed at her, his eyes misty and conflicted, letting out a small laugh as he shook his head. A sudden urge washed over her to hug him tightly and ease his burden, just as she did with Charlie. Yet she understood him well enough to know that until he confronted what troubled him, he wouldn't truly be able to find peace.
“Will you please tell me?” She asked softly, reaching out to put a hand on his knee.
He took a while to answer, but when he did his voice was low and lacking in the usual mirth, “Do you remember the dinner party a few years ago?” When she scrunched up her face he added, “Anthony and Kate’s anniversary, the one right after Mary was born?” She nodded in response trying to place what happened in that dinner when it finally hit her.
Seeing the realization on her face, Benedict smiled, “Yes, the one where mother overindulged.”
Penelope recalled that dinner vividly, sure that no one in the family—except for little Mary, peacefully sleeping in her father’s arms—would forget it. It had all been going as expected in a Bridgerton dinner with loud noises, laughter, children running around and Hyacinth fling peas at Gregory when the opportunity presented itself. Until, without any warning, Violet had brought up Colin’s absence to the group. While discussing Colin was not uncommon within Bridgerton gatherings, seeing as he was rarely in them, it was different that time. Violet was desolate, having only received a letter from him stating he wouldn’t be leaving India this year either. She missed him, he had missed so much, he should have been here.
So she said so, with her gaze fixed on Benedict while she expressed his disappointment. Penelope had felt the air shift, Benedict’s posture gone rigid and tight, his face passive while Anthony had quickly handed Mary over to Kate and taken charge.
“I know you heard me when I spoke to her that night.” His voice brought her out of her thoughts, watching as he smiled at her blushing. “I was curious,” she defended. “What about that night?” She pressed. Violet had apologized and assured her she meant nothing by it, she simply missed her son. Penelope had not even blinked an eye telling Violet she had nothing to apologize for. She had no doubt in her mind that her mother-in-law loved her, like her own mother never had.
“Well,” Benedict said, taking a deep breath, “a notion took root that day, one I was able to cast aside. Yet now… now it appears I can no longer do so.”
“What notion?”
“That.. that,” He swallowed tightly, looking up at her. “That I am to blame. That I am the villain in this story, not…” He took the time to frame his thoughts, looking at her intently, watching every flicker of emotion on her face as he said, “That I took a place I wasn’t meant to.”
Her breath hitched as she ground her teeth, “Benedict…”
“No,” he stopped her, a hand lightly brushing her cheek, “Let me say it all. And then I will listen, but I beg of you to listen to me now.” He waited for her tight nod before he spoke again. “Until that day at tea, you were always an extension of Colin and Eloise to me. You were always theirs . Their friend, their companion, their confidante. And then we became friends, and then engaged, and then married, and then more . And then you became everything to me. You became mine.”
“But in these moments, miniscule but significant, I wonder if I’m like a thief in the night, stealing away a treasure too bright to keep." Penelope stood frozen, her heart ablaze with a mix of anguish and confusion. She longed to chastise him for reducing her to an object, to wrap her arms around him and offer solace, even as a gnawing fear gripped her. A question had taken root in her mind, one she couldn’t shake since he began to speak, and the weight of it threatened to suffocate her.
“But I know I didn’t steal you. I befriended you, I found you, I saw you, and I loved you. And that cannot be wrong can it?” She shook her head in response to his rhetorical question, willing the tears to not fall.
“And yet, I am the reason my brother spent years abroad, too scared to come home. And I know he’s been in pain Pen, I know it, I have held him and loved him since the day he was born, I know him.” His tears fell freely then, and he angrily swiped them away. She couldn’t help herself, she scooted forward on her hips until her legs were touching him and brought her hands to rest in his lap. “I am the reason Mother has barely seen him in six years, I am the reason Daphne has not had her favorite brother see his nephews and nieces, I am the reason every time Anthony looks at the family portrait his eyes linger on the empty space Colin should have occupied.”
“If you are the reason, so am I.” She protested, interrupting him “You did not drag me to the altar, I walked to you willingly, happily. “
“No,” he said resolutely, “And I can deal with this, because below that guilt and blame, I know I did nothing to intentionally hurt him. You were not promised to him, he was not promised to you. We did not… I did not do anything wrong. I can deal with this guilt, because this is not wrong, this cannot ever be wrong.” He held her hand tightly, bringing it up to give it a light kiss.
“But... ever since those flowers arrived, I’ve been haunted by a thought,” he said, turning to face her, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and vulnerability. “I’ve wondered if I've stolen something from you as well.”
It took a minute for his words to sink in, and Penelope harshly moved back to look at him properly, to assess if he had truly asked her that.
“You loved him once.” His voice was like a whisper in a windstorm, and if she hadn’t seen the fear in his eyes she would have taken offense to his question.
“Benedict Bridgerton.” She let out in a tight whisper, her face displaying her disbelief. “Are you truly asking me this while our two children sleep in the next room and I am currently increasing with our third?” The last part left her in a small hiss as she all but resisted the urge to throttle him.
“I am not saying anything about the love you bear our children. Or me.” He added upon seeing the mutinous look on her face. “But you know now.”
“I know what?”
“That if you had waited, that if you had… that he would find his way to you. That Colin loved you, loves you still.” He added. “When you agreed to marry me, you had no idea, no inclination of his affection. And now.. now you do. Now you know you could have had… him.”
A beat of silence hung heavily in the air after his words, and Benedict turned to her, his expression a mixture of distress and confusion. “I have been terrified of this since those blasted flowers, Pen, and I… I cannot.” He trailed off with a huff and a shake of his head.
She did not know what he could not do, because she could no longer bear the sight of him in turmoil. She pushed herself to her knees, urging him back to rest against the headboard and climbed into his lap. He protested weakly, claiming he was alright, but she pulled him into her, breathing in the smell of paints in his hair as she clung to him. Touch had always been a calming factor for Benedict, hers particularly. She only wished she could engulf him in her arms as she did charlie and aggie until she poured all her love into them.
“Oh Benedict.” She soothed, running a hand over his back, “I wish you’d told me, I cannot bear to think of you carrying around this pain and guilt for a week. And when it is so unnecessary.”
“If you have been worried about this, then I feel like I have failed. Have I not told you, not shown you how much you mean to me. How much I love the life we have built,” When he gave her a slightly edged look she continued on, “But perhaps, this doubt you have is because we have never spoken about Colin. Not truly, not like we should.”
“I believe it is time we do, openly, and without hiding the worst of us.” She looked at him in question, and he nodded solemnly, bringing his hand to rest at her waist.
“Do you want me to move?” He vehemently shook his head in refusal, bringing a soft smile to her. “Ask what you wish, my love.”
“Did you love him?”
Penelope had asked herself that question for years, and only in the last few years did she truly think she knew the answer herself. “I think I did.” She said, keeping eye contact with Benedict as he smiled sadly and looked down. “I loved him like a whisper in the summer rain, a fleeting ember in the night, but soon to vanish into the warmth of dawn. I loved him as a girl loves a boy. I am certain my love for him is very different from my love for you.”
“Do you… think you love him now?”
“I love him as a friend, as one of my truest friends actually, I love him as a brother-in-law, I love him as an uncle to our children.” She brought her hand to his jaw, lightly scratching against the stubble there. “I did not truly know what love is, real, raw, steadfast love is until I found it with you. It is different.”
“How?” And in the depth of his eyes she could see how important her words would be now.
She weaved her hands through his locks, scattered with grays, as an idea struck her, “If love is a blank canvas, then with Colin, I painted with the uncertainty of youth, blending dreams and fears, seeded in infatuation where every glance felt monumental but ephemeral. Now with you, with us, I choose my palette with intention, blending shades of trust and devotion, creating a legacy that tells a story of enduring passion and love.”
She estimated that his usual passion won out at her words, as pushed forward to give her a kiss, slow but sure. “You never have to doubt my love, my surety that I am where I was meant to be. Not one day have I thought you have robbed me of anything, ever . I never thought I could be loved the way you love me.Your love has shown me what it means to truly belong. Never doubt it, please.”
“And do not mope around for a week ever again or I will tell Violet on you.”
Benedict laughed. It was his usual laugh, His familiar laugh danced in the air, eyes crinkling at the corners, shimmering with light, while his whole being seemed to resonate with the joy of the moment. She let him pull her to him, sprinkling kisses along her jaw and cheek as he murmured his apologies. She rejoiced in his affection before lightly pushing him back to look down at him.
“You do not…,” She paused, suddenly nervous to ask what she was mostly certain she had the answer to already, “You do not regret it right. Regret us?”
She saw the change in his face instantly, from curious to confused as he said, “Of course not. Never, not a single day.”
“The things you said, how you feel with Violet and Anthony…”
“No, no Pen,” He stopped her, “I may feel that way at times, but I would not change anything. What I said to my mother that day was true. I will pay for my penance if I must, but I will not give you and our family up for anything.”
“You do not have to.”
“I know, I know.” He agreed, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, “Words often fail me, but in everything I do for you, I hope you see how deeply you’ve impacted my life, how much I love you. I was lost, untethered. But you anchored me.” She knew this. Benedict had never been good with words, he’d always shown her what she meant to him much before he’d ever told her.
For a while, they sat in silence, her fingers tracing soft, abstract shapes across his back—just as she knew he liked—while his hand rested gently on her still-hidden belly.
“What can I do to help you?” She asked gently, “I don’t want you to feel this way anymore, and I-I will do whatever you think will help you.”
He smiled, stroking over her stomach in a way he knew would become very soothing to the babe once it started to kick, “I think… I think I need to speak to Colin.”
“I believe that will help,” She said softly, bringing his face up to her again. Words needing no space between them now.
They lost themselves to the depths of their love that night, entwined in a fervor that wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Limbs tangled, hearts beating in unison, they held each other close, a steadfast refuge against the world.
When dawn broke, Benedict kissed her lightly on the cheeks and readied himself to travel the short distance to his brother’s bachelor house. With quiet resolve, he steeled himself to have a conversation he knew would be emotionally charged, only to find Colin waiting for him in the foyer.
“I think it's time we have a conversation, Benedict.”
“Wrestling from fate a cherished fragment, wrapped in guilt’s embrace."