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Fifteen days after their wedding and six days after their family and friends left their cottage, Benedict woke up alone.
This wasn’t altogether surprising - Sophie was, understandably, a habitual early riser and he still struggled to wake before ten - but Sophie had always stayed in their room, eating breakfast or reading or doing a spare bit of mending, the only one of her old chores that Mrs. Crabtree had allowed her to do thus far. But today, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
He smiled to himself. His wife. He liked the sound of it.
And he already missed her, so he threw off his covers, shrugged on a robe, and went off in search of Sophie. It didn't take him long - she wasn't in the library or the parlor, and there was only one other place she made a habit of frequenting in their cottage so far. So while he expected to find her in the kitchen, he did not expect to find her on her hands and knees on the floor, scrubbing at the tile with a wet rag.
“Sophie!”
She dropped the rag and held up her hands as she stood slowly, looking like a caught criminal. “I dropped some jam, I was only cleaning it up!”
Benedict nodded towards the sink. “And the three gleaming pots on the worktop?”
“They were there when I got here?” Sophie attempted half-heartedly.
“Uh-huh. Mrs. Crabtree will have both of our heads if she catches you, I hope you know.”
“Oh, I am aware. She’s already prevented me from cleaning the laundry and rearranging the pantry to make it more efficient before she left for the market.”
“You did all of that before I woke up?”
“Yes. I usually have a walk when I first awaken then return to break my fast with you, but this morning it was raining so I thought I could help around the house a bit but Mrs. Crabtree will not hear of it and - why are you looking at me like that?”
“You are the most amazing woman I have ever known,” Benedict said, closing the distance between them, putting his hands on Sophie's hips and pulling her close, “and the most ridiculous.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“You are also the most hard-working and the most stubborn woman who cannot relax for a moment, even on our honeymoon.”
“I have done plenty of relaxing,” Sophie argued, “but I also like to make myself useful."
"I see," Benedict said, bending to kiss her neck, just once, soft and suggestive. He felt her pulse jump under his lips. "I could make very good use of you."
"Oh," Sophie said, her voice husky, "good. Excellent. Please do."
Then she took a step back. "But not here. Mrs. Crabtree will be back from the market soon and I do not wish to scandalize her."
"Or get scolded for washing those pots."
"Or that. Come along."
She took his hand and led him out of the kitchen, the two of them laughing together as they each quickened their steps more and more and more until they were running, racing back to their bed.
*
Benedict was more conscious of keeping Sophie occupied from then on. But even with his mountain of experience in keeping a partner occupied in the bedroom, he could not hold her there forever. So he took her outside to fly kites, new ones that they made together, and to swim in the lake; he took her to the nearby village to explore and took her for hikes and picnics all around the edges of their property. He taught her more dances and she watched him paint, gave her opinions when asked - which was often - and discussed the history of art with him for hours.
And he bought her books. He bought any book that he thought might catch her interest when he went into town, and he asked Eloise and Penelope for recommendations and bought all of them as well. He had two sets of shelves added in the library to fit all the new additions.
"It is too much," Sophie said even as she ran her hands possessively over the spines of her new novels. "You should not have gotten so many."
"You read one a week. This will barely last you the year."
"I could reread them. And there still are ones from your current collection I have not read yet."
Benedict fixed her with a playful glare. "Am I not allowed give my wife nice things?"
"I ... no, of course not, I only meant ..." Sophie sighed and her shoulders drooped. "I am not used to anyone giving me so many nice things, and certainly not without there being consequences. Aside from my ring and the wedding presents, the last thing I was given was a pair of shoe clips that almost got me sent to prison for the rest of my life."
He grimaced. "Fair point. Well, how about this - you read the books to me. Then they are for both of us."
“Read them to you? Like a bedtime story?”
“I would prefer to phrase it another way, but yes, I suppose. Look, I can never sit still long enough to do much reading, but I can listen to you talk for hours. You'll be improving my mind.”
Sophie smiled shyly. “All right. What would you like me to read?”
“Whatever you like. Surprise me.”
“Hmm.” Sophie picked a book off the shelf and flipped through the pages. “Eloise recommended this. Do not tell her I told you, but I believe your sister is becoming fond of romances, as long as the women in it have their own minds and are engaging characters.”
“Sounds like the perfect bedtime story - erm, I mean, mind improving novel.”
Sophie laughed, sitting down on the nearby chaise. Benedict flopped down lengthwise, snuggling his head into her lap and making her laugh again. She ran her hands through his hair soothingly as she began to read.
“Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage ..."
*
Over the next few months, Sophie took to managing their cottage like a duck to water. Benedict doubted there was a better run household in all of England because no other lady had the experience that Sophie did for when and how best things should be done. And one by one, she poached her friends from the Penwood and Bridgerton houses to make up their own small staff - with his mother's blessing, of course, and Cressida's reluctant acceptance. Having them close and knowing she could give them the wages and treatment they deserved brought a certain lightness to Sophie, even if Benedict could sometimes see the strain of now being their mistress instead of their comrade wear on her.
One afternoon, Benedict walked in on a scandalous scene in his parlor - Sophie on the couch embroidering patterns onto the hem of a gown.
Well, that part wasn’t scandalous. What was scandalous was that Archie was next to her, working on the design with her, while Hazel cleaned a pair of shoes in the chair across from her.
Benedict carefully cleared his throat and the two servants jumped up immediately. “Please, do not get up on my account,” he said, then raised his eyebrows at Sophie. “I only wish for a word with my wife.”
Sophie smiled reassuringly at her friends until they resumed their seats, then put down her embroidery and walked out into the hallway, nervously smoothing her skirts as she looked up at Benedict. “You are home early.”
“Yes. The tailor has taken ill so my vests from last season will have to be taken in at a later date.”
“A tragedy.”
“Truly." He tilted his head and pursed his lips. "So -"
"Before you say anything, I would like to remind you that embroidery is a perfectly acceptable pastime for a lady. And yes, I know that servants usually do not do their chores with their employers, but Archie was teaching me some of the more difficult embroidery patterns and Hazel was ... supervising."
"While cleaning shoes?"
"Well, our shoes need to be cleaned, why not do it while she is supervising?"
"And you cleaned none of these shoes yourself, of course."
"No," she said while not quite meeting his eyes.
"Sophie."
"They are my friends," she said, lifting her chin stubbornly. "It is odd enough to have them wait on me, I need to -" She broke off and took a sharp breath through her nose. "I need things to be the way they used to be, sometimes. Even if it is a lie."
"It is not a lie," Benedict assured. "I know that it's complicated and that the divide in your stations makes it difficult to keep those friendships, but that does not make it a lie. They adore you."
"But it is different now," Sophie said, soft and sad. "And sometimes I need to act like it isn't."
"I understand. But why did you hide it from me?"
“I know how people talk about these sorts of things. I suppose I did not want to hear that I shouldn't do it anymore.”
“That is one of the benefits about living out in the country where the only staff have either been with the family for years or are your own friends. No one is around to see and no one is likely to tell.”
“But it could still get out somehow, and if people decide it is too improper -“
“Like you said, embroidery is a perfectly acceptable activity for a lady. If you do it from time to time with your maids and coachmen and such in the room, who is going to argue?”
"Thank you," she said, leaning up to give him a kiss.
"There is nothing to thank me for," he insisted.
"There is, actually."
He squinted his eyes, examining her guilty expression. "You have not told Mrs. Crabtree about this?"
"No."
"And you wish for me to do it for you?"
"Yes. Also tell her that I intend to start giving them reading and writing lessons, perhaps sums as well. Some of them would like pursue other employment and I want them to all have the opportunities I have; and others simply want to be able to read our books, and I would like to help them with that as well. You are the best husband in all of England and I love you so very much," Sophie said before giving him another quick kiss and going back to her embroidery.
Benedict laughed and shook his head. Every day with Sophie challenged him and expanded his view of the world, and he would not have it any other way.
*
Their return to London in the new season was at first a dream. Sophie was delighted to spend more time with their family and see Posy again and attend her first balls as Sophie Bridgerton. But as the weeks wore on, Benedict noticed that same restlessness rise up in her once again.
So one night as they crawled into bed together, he brought up the topic that they had been avoiding for many months, ever since their wedding. "My mother asked me something important today."
"Is it about your paintings? Because I really do think that the new ones of Mayfair are some of your best work. I believe you are ready to start selling them, if that is what you want."
"No, I - really?" he asked, distracted by the compliment. "You think that I'm ready? Because I was considering - sorry, wait, no, that was not what she asked. Um. She asked if we might be having a child soon."
"Oh," said Sophie, her expression unreadable in the dim light of the single candle sitting on her bedside table.
"And I thought ... I know we have taken measures to try to avoid it, so far. And of course we still can, if you are not ready. But I thought, you seemed at such loose ends, and we both agree we want a family one day. Why not now?"
Sophie took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I suppose it is unusual we have waited this long."
"Not so unusual. But we have been married nearly a year. I think it is time we at least talk about it."
"We could have a child. If we wanted."
"But you do not want one," Benedict noted, his stomach sinking.
“I did not say that," Sophie corrected, turning towards him and taking his hand in hers, playing with his fingers. "I know I want to be a mother, someday. Someday soon, I think. But I do not think I can be only a mother and wife. I need other things to occupy me, something beyond running our cottage and doing chores. I need something ...”
She cut herself off, clearly frustrated by her inability to explain. That was alright; Benedict understood her completely. "You need something that you are passionate about. Something that drives you, like my painting does for me."
She nodded, clearly relieved. "Yes. Exactly. I know it is not considered proper for a lady -"
He snorted. "As if any lady in this family has ever cared for what was proper for a lady? Except Daphne, sometimes, and Francesca." Something occurred to him. “Perhaps you can help Francesca. Oh, and Eloise, too.”
“Help them with what?”
“Eloise told me just the other day that she has begun a project of sorts. It’s two-pronged, I suppose. First, she and Alice are trying to persuade the queen to allow women more options in the world. Being able to inherit their own money and titles without relying on a male relative, for a start.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “That is quite the undertaking.”
“That is my sister. And the second prong is that as long as women are beholden to the men in their lives, she is determined to set up as many for success as she can, like she did with Posy.”
“You mean, by finding them well suited husbands? So she is a matchmaker?”
“Never let her hear you call it that, but yes, she absolutely is. A matchmaker with the best intentions for the women she helps, to save them from potential misery. Eloise does not always do well at listening for gossip and knowing the secret lives of these men, and Penelope helps when she can, but she has just had her second child. And who better to suss out people's darker secrets than a former maid?"
“A worthy cause. And what of Francesca? What can I help her with?”
“She is doing her best to hold on to the Kilmartin estate and titles. The House of Lords are tempted to take it from her and the Stirlings, but now that Michaela has returned, they are fighting to keep them. It requires a lot of paperwork and research for legal precedents, and no one is more detail oriented and organized than you.”
"That is true."
"So you will help them?"
"If they want my assistance, of course I will."
"Good. And if these pursuits are not your own passion, perhaps they will lead you to what is."
Sophie reached out and cupped his chin in her hand. "Perhaps they will. You have always led me my passions, after all."
"I have, haven't I?" Benedict said with a crooked grin, giving her only a few seconds to laugh at his bravado before kissing her silent, and there was no more heavy conversation after that.
A few nights later, Sophie had a surprising topic of her own to broach as soon as they retired for the night. “I think that you should speak to Francesca.”
He frowned. “Me? What about? Has something gone wrong with the legal proceedings and how can I help?”
Sophie fidgeted until he reached out and took her hand, stilling her fingers. She looked at him then, her face troubled. “Do you remember that night in the garden, when you told me that we could make our own world together?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you remember what you said to me about how you … how you could care for a man like you would for a woman?”
“Yes, but what does that -“ His mind caught up with his mouth, remembering how Francesca had seemed almost as devastated by Michaela’s departure as she had been losing John. How angry she had been when Michaela first returned, but how quickly she had forgiven her. How close the two of them seemed.
He took a calming breath. “Are you sure?”
“I … I think I should not say any more at present. I do not think Francesca would like me to say more, but she needs you, Benedict.”
“Yes, of course I will.” Benedict pulled Sophie closer and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
"For being the kind of person who accepts others. For being someone whose kindness knows no bounds. For loving my family as much as I do."
Sophie slid across the bed, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him. "Your family has been accepting and kind and loving to me. How could I be anything else in return?"
*
One evening towards the end of the season, Benedict brought a bottle of scotch and two glasses up to Anthony's office. "Can I tempt you into taking a break?"
Anthony threw down his quill and groaned. "Absolutely. The numbers in my ledgers are starting to all bleed together."
"I'm not sure this will help with that, but at least it will help with the headache. Probably," Benedict said as he poured the liquor. He handed over a glass to his older brother, then sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and took a healthy swig of his own.
"How did you know I have a headache?"
"In case you forgot, dear brother, I took care of those ledgers when you were in India. I have had more than a few headaches of my own I had to drink away."
"Is that what drove you to drink last year? I thought it might have been your secret romance with our sisters' lady's maid."
"Ha-ha. I've actually cut down on the drinking quite a bit since I met Sophie. Those ledgers make me want to detach from myself; she makes me want to stay exactly where I am, as long as that is with her."
"My brother, the romantic," Anthony said, shaking his head in wonder.
"I can write more poetry for you to read to Kate, if you'd like."
"Hilarious. Kate finds me plenty romantic, thank you." Anthony frowned. "Why, has she said something?"
Benedict cleared his throat and put his own glass of whiskey down on the desk. “I actually had a question to ask you about Kate. Does she, um. Does she ever wish for something more to do with her time?”
“More? Like what? ”
“Something to occupy her time, to give her purpose, something that she was a passion for. Penelope has her writing and Francesca her pianoforte and her estates and Eloise her many crusades. Does Kate have anything similar?”
“This is about Sophie, I take it," Anthony said, relaxing into his chair.
“She spent so much of her life doing the work of several maids all at once that the usually duties of a lady are not quite enough to hold her interest.”
“I thought she was helping our sisters.”
“She is, but now that the question of the Kilmartin estates has been put on hold for the time being and Penelope’s newborn is old enough for her to be away from him more often, she does not have as much to do. And I think she would like something of her own to work on.”
“Hmm. I am not sure I can help you. Kate has spent her whole life living for other people, so she is happy to live for herself and our family for a while. And she does still have duties of her own, as the soon to be lady of this house.”
Benedict sighed and nodded. “I understand. I suppose I shall have to keep searching.” He noticed Anthony was starting intently at him with a small smile on his face. “What?”
“Nothing. I simply cannot believe this is the same brother who had a new passion every season and a new lover more often than that. How you have grown.”
He smirked. “Are you saying you're proud of me?”
“Do not get used to it,” Anthony teased, but his expression remained tender.
It was too much for Benedict to handle, so he cleared his throat and stood. “Well, as long as I'm here, let me see if I can help you with your ledgers."
His brother threw his arms wide. "You are welcome to them."
"What do we have to work with here? Copper, boundary disputes - what is this?"
Anthony leaned over to look at the paper Benedict had unearthed beneath the dreaded ledger. "Ah, that. A proposal to open a school for the lower classes like the ones they have in America. There are some interesting ideas of how to make it work in England, but the gentleman who was championing the project passed away last month. A shame."
"Yes, quite a shame. May I keep this?"
Anthony quirked an eyebrow. "That is quite an undertaking and I never knew you to be that interested in scholarly pursuits."
"Oh, it isn't for me."
*
“A school.”
“A single school to start, yes.”
“And not like Eton or Harrow, a school for children of the lower classes of both sexes?”
“Exactly.”
Sophie swallowed nervously as her eyes skimmed the proposal. “When I said I needed something to do, I never considered something this … important. Do you think this is something I can truly achieve?”
“Perhaps not on your own, but you are not on your own. Posy’s husband is in Parliament, is he not?”
“He is.”
“And Alice has the queen’s ear, as does Penelope now that she is helping the queen unmask the new Lady Whistledown. We will have loud voices of support among the nobility with the Viscount Bridgerton and Duke of Hastings on our side, and of course Eloise will be thrilled with the prospect and help you in whatever way she can, and I,” he said,” reaching out to take her hands and kissing the back of them, one after the other, “will be your champion in every room you will not be allowed to go into.”
“Then what will I do?”
“You will plan out how the school will run, show how it will function on a day-to-day basis, what the children will be taught, what supplies will be needed, what the building should be like, what kind of instructors should be hired. We will be your champions, but you will be the one to make all the real plans. There is no one more capable than you when it comes to running a house like clockwork, and you are more learned than anyone in our family, not because we are not a clever bunch but because you genuinely enjoy learning.”
“I do. And I could give that gift to children like me. Children with little to no other options who wish to make their lives better." He could see the wheels spinning in her head as her eyes ran over the lines of the proposal once again. "Benedict this is ... I think it's perfect."
"Good," Benedict said, his voice rough with emotion, relief flowing through him. "You deserve nothing less."
*
Benedict was awoken by loud cries and sighed when he realized he was alone in bed again. He shrugged on a robe and made his way across the dark room.
“Hello, my boy,” Benedict whispered, picking his son up out of his bassinet and cradling him close. “Did your mama fall asleep at her desk again? Did she? We shall have to go get her.”
Charles gurgled at him and waved his hands, which Benedict took as agreement.
He carried his son down the hall to Sophie’s office, where she was indeed sprawled on top of her desk, her head laid down next to a letter with completely dried ink. Benedict bounced Charles and asked him in a loud whisper, “Your mama looks silly, huh? Is she so silly, sleeping on a desk when her bed is only a few rooms away?”
Charles giggled.
“But let me tell you a secret,” Benedict whispered to his son. “Your mother is one the most amazing women in the world. She is going to change things in this country for the better. You come from a family of amazing women, never forget that.”
“The men are not so bad, either.”
Benedict grimaced as Sophie lifted her head, blinking her eyes slowly and smiling. “I did not mean to wake you up - well, I did, but not quite yet. I thought I might carry you to our bedroom like one of Penelope's romantic heroes.”
“While also holding our son? No, I think I can walk just fine.” Sophie stretched, then stood and proved her abilities by walking over to Benedict and Charles. She tickled their son's belly and he giggled again. "Your father should give himself more credit, shouldn't he, sweetheart?"
"And what am I not giving myself enough credit for, exactly?"
"For not giving up until you helped me find my path. For always encouraging and supporting me."
"Then I suppose I can say the same thing to you," Benedict said, nodding at the office walls. They were adorned with paintings, as was every wall of their cottage, half of them by Benedict's artist friends that he'd made since he begun selling his own paintings. And across from the desk hung one of his own newest pieces - a portrait of their family, him and Sophie and Charles.
And next to it was a portrait of Sophie in school robes. One day, it would hang in the entrance of the school she helped create.