Work Text:
A Patch of Violets
How fortunate was she, after all the years wondering what she had done for fortune to frown upon her so. Sophie could barely tear her eyes away from this image in the mirror.
The woman that stared back at her, with the gentle curls lovingly done up in a fashion that she had only seen in portraits and in ladies visiting with her stepfamily far above her station. The white dress so perfectly suited her frame, elegant and simple, baring shoulders in the latest cut but falling in an airy weight from the belted ribs, just under her breasts. She had wanted to select from the myriad dresses from her sisters’ collection. They had all been new to her, and far grander than any she had owned. Yet Benedict had spoken to her over supper after the queen’s ball, asked simple preferences and stories she had fallen asleep to in her past, childhood wishes and rampant imaginings.
By the end of the night, Sophie stared down at a page in his sketchbook bearing an image of her that she had never dared dream.
“Do not cry,” warned Eloise, even as she surreptitiously dabbed at the corners of her own eyes.
The knock on the door was discreet. Eloise turned to the window and looked out. Sophie noted the fond smile on Eloise’s face.
“He looks so proud and quite impatient,” Eloise noted. “And that would be mother at the door. Her chair is empty.”
Sophie drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Please join your family, Eloise. Thank you for attending to me.”
“Well it is only fair, after you attended me and Hyacinth for months. And for your secrecy, I expect to be paid back with your firstborn child.”
Sophie’s smile grew large, crinkling her eyes until she could barely see Eloise in the hilarity of the concept. “You could barely hold Augie or Edmund for a five minutes, Eloise. And you love Penelope most of all, but you cannot sit with Elliott for a quarter hour before trying to escape.”
Eloise shook her head and gave Sophie a rushed embrace. “Perhaps Benedict’s child will be different. You never know. Alright then, I shall see you at the ceremony.”
Sophie looked back at her reflection in the mirror, and met Lady Bridgerton’s gaze in the mirror as she approached. Sophie turned around and gave a hasty curtsy, and then allowed Benedict’s mother to pull her to the settee and sit her down.
“You look lovely, Sophie dear.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Sophie answered. Lady Bridgerton’s brows rose. “Thank you—Mother.” Sophie licked her lips. “It shall take some time, ma’am. I had no use for the word all of my life.”
Violet nodded and patted Sophie’s hand. “This is precisely why I am here, dearest. I am—I am keenly aware that you had no one to stand as your mother, in the truest sense, your entire life.”
Sophie’s brows drew together as she listened to Benedict’s mother.
“Grateful as I am—as we all are—for the staff in Penwood House who truly cared for you, a mother is still quite different, and has an important role in a young woman’s life, especially in an occasion such as this.”
The question faded from Sophie’s eyes as Violet’s concern dawned on her.
Violet laughed softly, gently, nerves tinging the edges. “I had not done this well for my own children. When they married, it had been far too long. It would be remiss of me, and irresponsible, if I do not take it upon myself to fulfill the role that your own dear mother no longer can.”
“Oh, Lady Bridgerton—Mother—please, it is wholly unnecessary—”
Benedict’s mother shook her head. “I find it is difficult for children to imagine parents as youth. But I shall do this for you because—” A hitch in Lady Bridgerton’s voice stopped Sophie’s protest, realized Benedict’s mother needed to do this favor to her as much for her own self and not merely for Benedict or Sophie’s benefit. “Well, I have been fond of you, have felt the need to protect you, even before I knew of your attachment with my son. And I failed my own daughters. I cannot fail you too.”
Sophie was frozen yet burning at the same time. Lady Bridgerton reached for her hand and squeezed it between hers. Longingly, Sophie looked towards the windows where she knew Benedict, surrounded by family and closest friends, stood waiting for her. Slowly, her gaze shifted and she looked into Lady Bridgerton’s earnest eyes.
“You see, dearest, how the lovely flowers bloom in the gardens right outside this home?” In rapidly descending horror, Sophie managed to nod her head. “As women, we are like that rich, fertile soil that relishes a rainshower and must be tilled to yield such fragrant blossoms.” The hands around hers tightened. “Do you understand me, dearest?”
By God, she did. She truly, horrifically, did. Sophie began to pull her hand away.
“Do not be scared,” Lady Bridgerton pressed, her voice growing firmer, stronger. Dare say, prouder? “Well, as much I should hate to admit it, but my son—your Benedict—well, he has—become adept at tending to a garden, Sophie.”
Sophie’s cheeks burned, nearly scalded.
“Allow the lake to irrigate the soil, as is natural and beautiful. Give yourself to the sun, dearest. Trust that sun, and the water, and just—breathe—”
Sophie did not know if it was she or Lady Bridgerton that would first combust.
Lady Bridgerton’s voice grew softer. “There is nothing lovelier than a garden in bloom. That being said, I must speak with you about what to expect the tonight, on your wedding night. You see, dear, the first time any soil is tilled may prove—challenging.”
Sophie tried to swallow the uncomfortable grin threating to consume her entire being. All she wanted was to be out there in the sun, with all of those she cared for in the world, and take Benedict’s hand to make him her husband for all of her life.
Sophie shifted her other hand and patted over Lady Bridgerton’s. “Mother—Mama—thank you for thinking of me. I am certain that Eloise and Hyacinth will benefit greatly from your wise words.” Sophie fought through the heat going through her body in preparation for her next words. “My betrothed and I—well, we have been harvesting from the garden for some time now, since the cotillion and several times after you bailed me out from court. I dare say, the garden has been tilled quite steadily, Mother.”
Lady Bridgerton abruptly stood and released Sophie’s hand. She released all the air in her lungs and fanned herself with a futile hand. Her flush crept down her neck, turning her decolletage into a deeper red. “Well—let us not delay this wedding, shall we?”
Sophie nodded somberly. “Please, let us not delay further, Mother. Benedict and I have been looking to expand the gardens, add a plot within the year, and more should we be so blessed.” Lady Bridgerton warmed at the thought and smiled. Sophie continued, “A patch of violets if you are inclined.”
“That would be an honor, my daughter.” Violet wrapped her arms around Sophie. “Now, let us see you married.”
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