Work Text:
The late afternoon sun bathed the lake in molten gold, its shimmering surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a breeze. The estate grounds stretched wide and peaceful around them, the scent of summer grass thick in the air. Benedict Bridgerton stood a few paces away, arms folded, watching the woman before him struggle with the kite in her hands.
Sophie Baek, had been wrestling with the wretched thing for the better part of fifteen minutes. Each attempt to send it soaring into the sky ended with it flopping unceremoniously to the ground. Her frustration was evident in the way she bit her lip, her brows drawn together in concentration.
"You're doing it all wrong," Benedict remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.
Sophie shot him a glare over her shoulder, the breeze catching tendrils of her loose hair and sending them dancing across her face. "Then perhaps, Mr Bridgerton, you should demonstrate how it ought to be done instead of merely standing there like a sculpture making commentary."
Benedict chuckled, pushing off the tree he had been leaning against. He stepped closer, noting the way her fingers clutched the spool of twine with fierce determination. The sight of her here, standing amidst the vastness of his estate, was something he had not expected when he had taken her from her dire situation. He had intended to help her, to bring her to his mother to find work, but every moment in her presence only solidified a troubling thought, he wanted her for himself. Not as a servant, but as something far more improper.
"Here," he murmured, reaching out to take the spool from her. Their fingers brushed, and Sophie inhaled sharply, though she did not move away. For an instant, he felt something stir, something oddly familiar. It unsettled him.
Sophie, however, knew exactly why it felt familiar.
It was not the first time his hands had found hers, nor the first time his voice had sent warmth curling through her chest. Two years ago, on a night of whispered promises and stolen kisses, he had held her just as he did now, but beneath a mask, unaware of who she truly was. And now, here she stood once more, unmasked, and he did not remember.
Benedict drew back, adjusting his grip on the kite’s frame. "You must wait for the wind to catch it," he said, taking a step back before breaking into a run, lifting the kite into the air. It caught the breeze this time, soaring upward, its crimson tail fluttering against the blue sky.
Sophie watched, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at her lips. The sight was… oddly freeing. The kite, unbound and weightless, danced where the wind willed it, unburdened by the world below.
Benedict turned to her, watching her expression soften. "You see?" He extended the spool to her, and when she took it, their hands brushed again. A fleeting touch. A whisper of something unspoken.
The air between them shifted.
"You should laugh more," he said suddenly, voice lower now, thoughtful. "It suits you."
Sophie stiffened. The smile that had begun to form vanished as quickly as it had come. "Laughter has never served me well, Mr Bridgerton."
"Then perhaps you've been laughing in the wrong company."
The words were so simply spoken, yet they landed like a stone in her chest. She turned to look at him fully, her breath catching. For a moment, she wanted to tell him. To remind him of the night he had once held her close, whispered dreams of a future neither of them had been foolish enough to believe in. She wanted to tell him that she was not merely a maid, but a woman he had once loved beneath the glow of candle lit lanterns.
But she did not.
Instead, she turned her gaze back to the sky, focusing on the kite. "It is a fine day for flying kites," she said lightly, her voice steady.
Benedict studied her, something unreadable in his expression. It was as if he, too, sensed something just out of reach, an echo of something lost. But before he could place it, the wind shifted, and the kite tugged at the string in her hands, demanding attention.
He exhaled, stepping back. "That it is."
Yet, as he watched her, with the sunlight gilding her features and the wind teasing at her dress, he could not shake the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, like the very wind that carried their kite into the sky.