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Benedict Bridgerton thought he knew pain and suffering. His father had died unexpectedly when Benedict was barely 16 years of age. The only thing he thought he’d achieved in life thanks to his talent and not social standing or connections turned out to be a lie. His favourite, and only at the time, sister-in-law suffered a terrible accident and Benedict did not know if he would ever see her again or if his brother would ever recover. The only woman he’d ever loved disappeared, as if swallowed whole by the very earth they walked upon, for two whole years, making him think he would never love again. Then, that same woman was taken against her will and imprisoned on false charges, and Benedict was afraid he would never make it in time to fix things between them. Last but not least, he watched his younger, gentlest, sister grieve her beloved husband of barely a year, and felt like the world’s worst brother for his own happiness and very much living wife.
So yes, at the age of eight and thirty, just a year younger than the age his own father was when he’d died, Benedict Bridgerton fully believed that he knew what it was like to feel pain so deeply that one’s soul would tear from its confines. But then, his firsborn son, barely six years of age, had gotten sick with a terrible fever and Benedict learned the depth to which fear and agony are capable of sinking him into.
Even several weeks later, Benedict still found it difficult to sleep soundly through the night without checking in on Charlie. And once he was assured of his son’s wellbeing he’d make the rounds to the nursery to check on Alexander and William as well. Then he’d go back to his own bedroom, shift his wife onto his chest gently, place his hand on the side of her neck in a loving caress and fall asleep to the feel of her pulse thrumming against his palm.
The time of Charlie’s illness is like a dark pit for Benedict where time and space seem to exist in a blur. He remembered their day on the lake with perfect clarity - he and Sophie had taken the boys for a picnic to enjoy the warm weather they’d been having. Benedict, having never been able to resist the call of the water, had dipped into the lake for a short swim. Charlie, who wanted to be just like his Papa and mirror him in all things, had waddled into the lake shortly after him and Benedict had used the opportunity to teach him how to swim.
He remembered Sophie’s concern when Charlie’s appetite had waned the next day. The way he’d dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand, telling himself she was too anxious for her child the way mothers tended to be. He remembered how hot Charlie’s skin was to the touch that evening when Benedict had gone up to read him a bed-night story and to wish him goodnight.
And that’s when the events blurred for Benedict. All he remembered was the mind-numbing fear and dread that he might lose his boy. He remembered how useless he felt being unable to ease his son’s suffering or his wife’s agony. He remembered doing his damndest to stay strong for his wife and children. He remembered his pregnant wife collapsing against him in exhaustion and him feeling like the world’s biggest failure. He remembered with perfect clarity the bone-chilling, mind-numbing realization that he might not only lose his eldest son, but his youngest, yet unborn, child as well with how much distress Sophie was in. He remembered running out of tears to cry, but heaving his grief nevertheless. He remembered reciting every single prayer he had ever been taught and composing his own when he’d run out of them.
The rest was a blur of Mr and Mrs Crabtree and the doctor coming and going, of his darling boy thrashing in bed with a vicious fever and shivers that simply would not let up, of his younger boys crying for their brother and their parents.
Benedict had never wished so ardently to be able to cut and run. Run far away from the pain and be rid of it. Yet, he’d also never been rooted to a single spot. He had not been able to see his father or speak to him before he passed. But Benedict would be damned if he did not spend every waking and sleeping moment with Charlie, even if that meant carrying the terror of watching his boy wane away before his eyes for the rest of his natural life.
But then Eloise had arrived - to this day Benedict was not sure why she was there or how she knew to come in that exact moment. For the rest of his life, Benedict would swear that while he was not a religious man, his sister’s arrival had been nothing short of divine intervention. His most favourite sister who had taken one look at their sorry state and had taken command of his household, selflessly leaving behind her own husband and children and newly-wedded bliss to tend to Benedict in his time of need without a single complaint. And thank God, that wherever Eloise Crane, nee Bridgerton, found herself at - her husband was never far behind.
Benedict admittedly had not been sure what to think of Sir Phillip. Daphne and Colin knew him far better than he. He’d known of him, of course, what with the scandal surrounding his marriage to Penelope’s cousin, Marina. He was not sure he approved of the circumstances of his marriage to Eloise, being the overprotective bear of a big brother that he was to her - naturally, no one would ever be good enough for his brilliant sister.
But then Phillip had gone and proven all his thoughts wrong and had put all of Benedict’s concerns to rest. Phillip went and saved Charlie’s life. It had been a hunch, to be sure, that the willowbark tea would help his boy. But a moment had passed between them, just before Benedict decided to put his son’s fragile life in his brother-in-law’s hands, where they were older brother and husband or even proud men, but simply fathers. Fathers who understood with perfect clarity that neither of them could ever bear the pain of losing their children.
Since that night, or rather the following morning, Phillip Crane could do no wrong in Benedict’s eyes. In fact, he had half a mind to speak to the parrish priest, his other brother-in-law Hugh Woodson, about how one might go about canonizing Sir Phillip into a saint. But since that was a ridiculous notion, as his ever-practical and most sensible wife reminded him when he’d voiced the thought to her, Benedict vowed to spend the rest of his life repaying Eloise and Phillip for the kindness they had done to his family.
Charles had luckily recovered to a point where one would never know he was so gravely ill, a fact Benedict was so very grateful for. Hopefully, all that would remain from this ordeal would be a bitter memory that is lost among the throng of much happier ones. Sophie’s recovery had taken longer. The stress, uncertainty, and anxiety over Charles’ health, including the already taxing work her body had been doing to grow their child (which Benedict was certain, this time, was a girl), had her exhausted for days on end. It was bad enough for the midwife to prescribe strict bed rest and to make no more effort than it takes for her to lift a fork or spoon to her own mouth. Instructions that Benedict took to heart and made sure to follow even, and especially, when he knew the confinement was driving his wife spare. In those first few days, after they’d been assured time and again that Charlie would make a full recovery, he’d taken on the task of feeding her himself. Sophie, bless her, had indulged him for precisely three spoonfuls of broth before pushing him away and telling him she was with child, not an invalid, as well as that Benedict had better go finish the portrait he’d been commissioned before he made orphans of his own sons.
So when Eloise’s letter informed him that she and the Cranes wished to visit them at My Cottage, Benedict took her up on her offer with little hesitation. Though Eloise and Phillip’s children were a bit older than his own, he thought it would be a good distraction for the boys. He and Sophie had tried to keep the seriousness of their mother’s condition from them as much as they could, but Benedict could tell his normally happy, content, and carefree boys knew that something was wrong. Like him, Sophie Bridgerton, was the boys’ favourite person on this green Earth so while usually they would fling themselves into her arms with enthusiasm, now they would embrace her as gently as if she were made of glass. Even William, barely 2 years of age, who had inherited Benedict’s restlessness and inability to sit still for longer than five minutes, would lie still next to his mother every night when Benedict would deposit the boys on their bed for Sophie to read them a bedtime story.
Plus, it would be a good time to make Eloise and Phillip aware of a decision Benedict and Sophie made in regards to their unborn daughter (because Benedict was certain she was a daughter). And he knew that Sophie would be glad for any company that was not his own or Mrs Crabtree’s.
So when the Cranes arrived at the agreed upon date and time, Benedict watched Charlie lead his brothers and the twins to the nursery with the nurse trailing slightly behind them and Eloise’s warning not to pull pranks on each other bouncing off the walls around them. Phillip had gone to the kitchen with Mrs Crabtree to instruct her how to brew a blend of herbs from his greenhouse that was supposed to lessen any anxiety Sophie might be experiencing. Which left Benedict alone with Eloise for the first time since she’d ordered him, in a tone remarkably reminiscent of their own mother, to go to bed before he keeled over and she’d have to call for a priest instead of the doctor.
With a tilt of his head, signaling her to follow him, Benedict took her and led her to the garden round the back, past Sophie’s now flourishing rosebushes, only stopping once he could clearly see the big old oak tree.
Eloise’s soft gasp next to him gave away the exact moment she noticed the very thing he wanted to show her. He glances sideways at her to find her smiling softly for just a few minutes, before her head turns to look at him and the smile only grows wider. Then he found himself following her through his own home, being tugged behind her, not unlike the countless times they’d been in that exact position as children as well as adults.
“You built a swingset?” Eloise asked as she gently pushed off with her feet, mindful of not dirtying her slippers.
“It feels like having a part of Bridgerton House back,” Benedict told her, “We have become respectable members of society with our own families and households, but sometimes I find myself missing it.”
Eloise nods next to him, “Since you moved to the country I have hardly gone to the swings myself.”
Benedict understood perfectly well what she meant. That had been their spot - to hide, to confess, to complain, to support. It did not feel right to swing when the other was not there to keep company.
“Plus, Sophie never got to swing as a child, so naturally that needed to be rectified post haste.” Benedict says more casually than he actually feels. Thoughts of his wife’s hardships prior to their marriage never failed to make him feel righteous anger on her behalf, no matter how many times she insisted she had put it all behind her.
Eloise nodded thoughtfully, fully aware of Benedict’s one-man crusade to make sure Sophie got to experience all the joys and fun she had missed out on.
“And I bet the boys love it, as well.” She smiled.
“They do,” Benedict said, “Even more so when I told him how special swings can be, especially when shared with one’s sibling.”
“Careful, brother,” Eloise warned with a playful smile. “That sounded almost like a compliment.”
“Perish the thought.” Benedict protested softly, his smile proving the opposite meaning of his words.
They spent the next few minutes swinging in a companionable silence, neither needing to fill the space between them with words. Benedict found himself wondering just how to approach the topic of the real reason why he brought Eloise to the swings. It certainly was not for the sake of nostalgia alone.
In the end, he decided on Eloise’s preferred approach - head on, like a bull in a china shop. He supposed if nothing else, his sister would at least appreciate his straightforwardness.
“With everything that has happened between Charlie’s fever and Sophie’s confinement,” Benedict said, twisting around on the swings just enough to face Eloise. “I never got to thank you, sister.”
“Thank me?” Eloise asked, brows scrunching in confusion. “Whatever for?”
“For caring for Charles when I could not. For getting Sophie to eat and rest and in doing so quite possibly saving our unborn child. For forcing me to sleep and not backing down no matter how much grief I gave you.” Benedict said plainly, the sincerity pouring out of his every syllable.
He watched Eloise break their eye contact and lower her eyes to her feet in a gesture that seemed most uncharacteristically bashful. He sat there quietly, his feet firmly on solid ground to prevent the swing from moving, and gave Eloise a few moments to let his words sink in.
When Eloise lifted her head to make eye contact with him again, he saw the scrunch of her brow and the way her mouth would open and close silently a few times as she no doubt tried to put her thoughts in order.
“I need no thanks, brother.” Eloise says at last and leans forward to place her hand over his.
“In saving my wife and children, you have saved me.” Benedict whispers and it is the most honest he has been about it all since it happened. Had anything, God forbid, happened to Charlie or Sophie, or their baby, he did not think he would have survived it. “Of course, thanks are in order.”
The thought of the possibility alone is enough to blur the edges of his vision with unshed tears.
“I only did my duty as a sister, an aunt, and a Christian,” Eloise reminded him gently. “It is nothing that you would not have done for me had our situations been reversed.”
Benedict nodded silently. Of course he would have done the same in return. He would have done worse - as the one who was older and stronger he would not have been satisfied with just telling Eloise to go to bed and rest. He would have manhandled her into bed and sat on her legs just so she could not have gotten back up. He would not have been satisfied with insisting she eat and drink, he would have threatened to push it down her throat. He would have made good on his threat, too.
Now, Benedict was not satisfied with his sister’s modesty, especially since, for once in her life, she was fully within her rights to gloat.
“Besides,” Eloise said. “It was Phillip’s tea that did the job. My care for you all only went so far.” added, waving him off.
“I am equally grateful to Phillip.” Benedict told her “I owe you both my entire world.”
“Brother,” Eloise interrupted him, but quieted down after Benedict put up his hand to stop her.
“You have always been my favourite sister and my support for you has always been unconditional. Sophie has loved you, like the sister she’d always hoped for, from the minute she met you.” he said, “But as far as Sophie and I are concerned, for the rest of our lives, your husband will be no different to me than Anthony, Collin, or Greg. Your children, the twins and any other you may end up having we will love just as well and as thoroughly as we do our own.”
By the time he’s finished talking, Eloise was not even attempting to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks. Benedict lifted his free hand to gently wipe them away.
“I know any of our siblings would have done what you have done for us in your place,” Benedict said, his voice wavering as emotions threaten to overtake him. “But I find it especially fitting that it was you, El. Anthony and I are closest to each other due to our ages and positions in the family. But you, you are the closest to my soul, to my very heart. And you always have been.”
He was crying openly by the end of it, causing Eloise to jump off her swing and throw her arms around him, squeezing tightly as she did so.
They hold each other for a few moments in silent acknowledgement of what they have gone through. Benedict held onto her as tightly as she did him, each trying to compose themselves.
“You absolute beast,” Eloise scolded with a light smack to his chest as she pulled away. “You have made a mess of me.”
Benedict chuckled at her antics and got up from the swing, outstretching his hand towards her.
“Then let us go inside and make ourselves presentable.” Benedict offered her as soon as Eloise took his hand.
He pulled her up to her feet and snuck her hand around her own, much like he used to when they would promenade together in Hyde Park.
“You should wipe those tears, brother. I should hate to cause Sophie any distress.” Eloise smirked at him.
“You should follow your own advice.” Benedict retorted without missing a beat. “Though that would be for my own benefit.”
“How so?” Eloise asked.
“I fully believe your husband might shoot me if he believes I have upset you in any way.” Benedict confesses.
Eloise laughs so loudly, that Benedict is almost certain Sophie can hear her in their bedroom.
“He might,” Eloise nods, Phillip was just as overbearingly protective as Anthony and Benedict. “Though he is a better shot than you are, so he will likely not miss, either.”
Now was Benedict’s time to laugh with a slightly nervous edge to his voice.
“Then let me deposit you safely into his arms.” he said, “As a new bride you must be anxious to be back with your husband.”
“Please, it is you who is anxious to be back with your wife.” Eloise snorts in a most unladylike manner. “No matter that you have been married almost a decade and are expecting your fourth child.”
Benedict laughed and nodded happily, not in the least bit embarrassed about his attachment to his wife.
“She has spent so much of her life alone,” he said quietly. “I swore on the day I proposed that she will be surrounded by love and happiness and joy for the rest of her life.”
Eloise squeezed the forearm that she was holding onto. “Then we must make haste.”
And so they did.