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“You met a gentleman,” Irma doesn’t ask, but tells Sophie.
She has always known Sophie better than herself, always able to figure out what is bothering her.
Sophie’s mind flickers back to the wondrous night of last, and specifically the man she met under the glimmering chandelier.
“I met a gentleman,” Sophie replies, with the smallest of smiles, implying he has already charmed his way into her heart.
Irma sighs as though Sophie is a teenager again, “Dare I ask his name?”
“No….Benedict Bridgerton.” Sophie replies shyly.
Alfie found the whole thing hilariously amusing while Irma found herself utterly concerned, but Sophie was quick to tell them both that none of them was to even think of Sophie meeting Mr Bridgerton.
While both of her friends were cordial and promised not to speak of it. That certainly didn’t stop Sophie, of all people, from allowing Benedict into her thoughts and dreams.
It appeared that every moment she spent cleaning floors, dusting the china, or re-stitching one of Ariminta’s shoes in her endless collection, her beguiled mind ran off to the happiest memories of Benedict Bridgerton.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From the moment she entered Bridgerton House, it was as if she walked into one of the storybooks from her childhood.
She was surrounded by fairytale princes, magical creatures, and mythical gods. All under the captivating lights of the chandeliers.
Sophie had become accustomed to cleaning such fixtures but had never been able to view them in all their glorious purpose.
That was when she was approached by a gentleman. While it was pleasant to be approached as though she were a young lady in the marriage mart, it was overshadowed by fear of being asked to dance.
She was able to slyly hide her dance card till another gentleman intervened, holding a blank card as though it were her own.
The previous gentleman left them alone, and she looked to the man who rescued her from such an awkward situation.
In an instant, he felt like someone she had known for years rather than moments. There was a calm to his presence, one that had silenced her anxiety of attending such an event.
Before Sophie knew it, they were hand in hand, running out of the house and into the gazebo.
Now under the stars, surrounded by the Bridgerton ivy, and with a gentleman who, for whatever reason, showed interest in her.
With each question he asked, about where she grew up, who her parents were, she was able to cheekily answer each one more vaguely than the last.
It was quite entertaining to see him so perplexed by her. Perhaps if she were a true debutante, she might play this game more often.
A small part of her felt guilty for taking up so much of his attention, only to disappear from his life forever in mere hours.
However, her conscience cleared when she told herself, ‘He’s a wealthy, handsomely charming man. A Bridgerton no less. He will certainly forget about this night and marry a woman far prettier and younger than me.’
So she continued her game, continuing to live in the fantasy that she is that young, pretty woman whom he will call upon the next morning.
As he teaches her to dance, slowly trusting her to handle herself, she closes her eyes to remember every part of the moment.
The feeling of his warmth in her hands and on her back. The smell of gin coming off of him, the notes of orange and juniper being more intoxicating than the beverage they came from. The sound of his soft voice in her ear and the music coming from inside the house.
Then came the sound of bells, which signalled her night had to end. She began to run till he called for her to stay.
Sophie turned to the man she had learned to be Benedict Bridgerton, and thought to herself, ‘There is one simple thing that would make this night perfect. Given his reputation, surely he would allow it to happen?’
Sophie summoned all the courage within and stood in front of him again, before leaning in brashly and kissing him.
‘I shall never have a night like this again. A night with a gentleman whose presence I enjoy so greatly.’
It was then she could add another sense to her memory, the subtle taste of gin on his lips and something she assumed to be purely Benedict.
As she began to pull back, he lingered further, following her till their lips could no longer meet.
With one last look at the charming man of her dreams, Sophie ran away, through the house and to the carriage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Sophie!” Araminta’s harsh voice came from her room.
Sophie then left her bucket and wash brush and hurried to the Countess’ voice.
She entered the room with a small bow. Araminta looked her up and down like a wolf to a young deer.
“The girls and I will be on promenade today, and we will likely do so multiple times this season if Rosamund is to procure Mr Bridgerton.” Araminta began with an air of immediate annoyance at Sophie simply being in the room. “You shall go to the modiste immediately and pick up Rosamund’s new dresses. Is that clear?”
Sophie took a small inhale to prevent herself from snapping at her for giving her yet another time-consuming task. “Yes, ma’am. I shall head out at once,” Sophie replied, looking down at the tiled floor.
Araminta smiled slightly, although it didn’t reach her eyes, and stated, “You are dismissed.”
Sophie quickly ran to her room to find her jacket and then left the house and went into town.
Of course, the shops were most busy on the one day she was sent to town.
On the way to Madam Delacroix’s shop, she gave a friendly smile and nod to her fellow servants. All of which involved joking and gossiping about their employers’ families.
Sophie turned away and into the modiste. After waiting in a line of other maids, the Madam quickly retrieved five dress boxes.
“Are you accompanied?” Delacroix asked her.
“N-no, it is only me,” Sophie replied.
The Madam gave her an odd look, perhaps a mix of confusion and pity. However, it was enough for Sophie to give the Madam a look of her own; one a mix of pride and challenge.
Sophie then left the shop with all four boxes in hand. She began walking down the street without much bother or attention.
“Benedict!”
Sophie quickly looked to the other side of the street, towards the sound of the woman’s voice. It was the Lady Dowager Bridgerton, arm in arm with her daughter, Miss Eloise Bridgerton.
Sophie stopped in her tracks when she saw who the Dowager had encountered. By some cruel twist of fate, it was none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the man whom she shared the most enchanting of evenings, who was mere strides away from her.
Time seemed transfixed on him alone. All else faded away in Sophie’s eyes, as it was the first time she was able to truly see him without a mask or costume.
‘Had he grown taller?’ Sophie thought to herself. He clearly looked even more handsome in the morning light.
“Sophie? What are you doing?”
She turned around to see an old friend, Frances Collier. When Sophie began working under Araminta, Frances was already a maid for Penwood House.
She came from a large family in the country, so she came to London to find respectable work when she was the age of seven and ten.
As such, when Sophie began her work at the age of eight and ten, Frances already had five years of experience in Penwood House.
While Irma acted as Sophie’s mother figure and mentor in cooking and cleaning. Frances acted as Sophie’s elder sister, teaching her how to be a part of the working class. How to take care of herself.
Frances was no stranger to the more underground world of the servant class. Often giving Sophie anecdotes of her nights beside another or stories of her friends who climbed the ranks via climbing a wealthy son.
It was because of her nights that she was fired by Araminta. Sophie was relieved to find out that she was able to find a new position within a month's time, but she still greatly misses having a friend her own age in the House.
“Franny! I was just…” Sophie began, nervously avoiding Frances’ eye contact. “Thinking of all the horrendous tasks I must return to.”
Frances raised one eyebrow, clearly disbelieving her friend, but gave her grace. “Alright then…if you say so.”
Sophie continued her walk, now accompanied by Frances, back to Penwood House. Two boxes in each woman’s arms.
“You hear ‘bout that Bridgerton Ball, the Masquerade. Supposedly, the Queen showed quite an interest in the marriage prospects of Benedict Bridgerton.” Frances began.
“Is that so?” Sophie replied; she knew that once Franny got started on gossip, she truly wasn’t listening to the person beside her.
“One of the ladies I help dress spent nearly £20 on a handcrafted mask. Ha, and supposedly that ain’t uncommon.”
Sophie simply raised her eyebrows in shock. After all, Rosamund's mask and dress altogether cost £50 for God knows what reason. Sophie wasn’t new to the ridiculous prices that debutantes pay for new frocks.
“Anyways, despite all the money these ladies pay. Benedict Bridgerton’s attention was only towards some lady whom no one in the party knew. I tell ya, I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from laughing at Miss Cecilia’s rampage.” Frances laughed.
From then on, Frances continued badgering her about the young ladies whom she served. How they were utterly posh and spoiled.
‘My, how they resemble Rosamund & Araminta. Even though Araminta is a grown woman.’
They arrived at the steps of the House, and Frances handed over the boxes she carried.
“I apologise, Sophie, I have rambled this entire walk. We must speak again, and promise to better listen,” Frances vowed with a kind hand on her arm.
“No apologies necessary, I have missed your ramblings. I shall see you whenever Araminta gives me the day off,” Sophie told her genuinely.
“I see…” Frances replied.
With an understanding smile, Frances left, and Sophie made her way inside.
~~~
After a lecture from Araminta about how long Sophie took at the modiste. She was able to return to her chores.
Her day continued as regular, an endless cycle of cleaning, re-stitching, polishing, and laundry.
Usually, she would sneak down to the servant's floor between her tasks to speak with Irma or laugh with Alfie, but she didn't feel like much conversation on this day.
She’d wished to make the day end as soon as possible. So that she could live in that dream world for one more night.
In the final hours of the night, after all work is done, does Sophie allow herself to fully fall into her memories of that glorious night?
To remember the feeling of his strong arms holding her up, as well as his intoxicating scent of juniper & orange.
She is certain she’ll never meet a man quite like him. A man who finds her presence so enjoyable, and doesn’t make her a fool when she makes a foolish mistake.
Of course, Araminta chases after him so strongly, like a bull storming towards a humble farmer.
However, Araminta certainly doesn’t know all of the goodness inside of him; she simply chases the gold coins in his pockets and the title she desires Miss Li to hold.
No matter how much anger festers towards her cruel employer, Sophie knows that she alone will ever know Benedict Bridgerton. At least, that is what she will let herself, till she reads of his future marriage in Whistledown.
So, as she falls asleep on this night and every other, she remembers the twinkling lights and dazzling eyes of Benedict Bridgerton.
Remembering all of the little things she learned about him, about the man she danced with once upon a dream.