Chapter Text
Benedict
Benedict Bridgerton knew something was wrong the moment he entered his mother's drawing room.
The atmosphere felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too deliberate.
The sort of silence that only existed when someone was preparing to ruin another person's day.
His mother sat near the fireplace, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Anthony stood beside the window with the rigid posture he adopted whenever he was being Viscount rather than brother.
Neither expression reassured him.
Not in the slightest.
Benedict glanced between them.
"What have I done now?"
Neither laughed.
His stomach sank.
That was never a good sign.
"Benedict."
His mother's voice carried a softness that immediately put him on guard.
He hated that voice.
It was the voice she used when delivering condolences.
Or bad news.
Or both.
Slowly, Benedict lowered himself into a chair.
A terrible feeling began forming in his chest.
Because he already knew.
Perhaps not the details.
But the subject.
The subject was Sophie.
It was always Sophie.
For nearly a year now, she had occupied his every thought.
His every plan.
His every dream.
And judging by Anthony's expression, she had occupied his brother's thoughts as well.
Unfortunately.
"Say it."
Anthony exhaled sharply.
The sound carried the weight of responsibility.
Duty.
Obligation.
Everything Benedict had spent his life trying to avoid.
"We need to discuss Miss Baek."
There it was.
The axe finally falling.
Benedict leaned back.
Crossing his arms.
Immediately defensive.
"Then discuss her."
His brother's jaw tightened.
"Not like this."
"Like what?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
No.
Benedict knew exactly what Anthony feared.
Which was considerably different.
Anthony feared scandal.
Society.
Expectations.
The endless invisible rules that governed aristocratic life.
Benedict feared losing Sophie.
Only one of those concerns seemed worth discussing.
"I intend to marry her."
The words landed between them.
Simple.
Direct.
True.
His mother's eyes immediately closed.
Anthony looked away.
And suddenly Benedict's certainty hardened into something colder.
Because neither of them looked surprised.
Which meant this conversation had been planned.
Discussed.
Prepared.
Without him.
Without Sophie.
A familiar Bridgerton family tradition.
"We know."
Anthony's answer was quiet.
Careful.
Too careful.
Benedict hated it instantly.
"And?"
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
His mother's fingers tightened in her lap.
Anthony stared out the window.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
The room seemed to shrink around them.
Benedict's heartbeat grew louder.
Then louder still.
Until finally Anthony turned around.
And said the one thing Benedict had feared.
"It would affect the family."
The words sounded ridiculous.
Even before they finished leaving his mouth.
Benedict actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he could not believe his brother was saying this aloud.
"What family?"
Anthony's eyes flashed.
"You know perfectly well what family."
"No."
Benedict stood.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
"I genuinely don't."
His voice remained calm.
Too calm.
The sort of calm that came immediately before disaster.
"What family are we discussing, Anthony?"
Anthony's expression hardened.
"Eloise."
One name.
"Gregory."
A second.
"Hyacinth."
A third.
The youngest siblings.
Still unmarried.
Still vulnerable to society's opinions.
Still hostages to its expectations.
Benedict felt something inside him crack.
Not entirely.
Just enough.
Enough to hurt.
Enough to understand.
Enough to realize exactly where this conversation was heading.
His gaze shifted to Violet.
His mother.
The woman who had taught him about love.
About kindness.
About choosing happiness when possible.
Surely she would object.
Surely she would—
"Benedict."
Her voice broke.
And suddenly he knew.
She agreed.
God.
She agreed.
The realization hurt more than Anthony's argument ever could.
"We are thinking of everyone."
The words nearly made him laugh again.
Everyone.
Everyone except him.
Everyone except Sophie.
Everyone except the two people whose lives would actually be affected.
"Everyone?"
His voice was very quiet now.
His mother flinched.
Because she knew.
She knew exactly what he meant.
"Benedict—"
"No."
The word emerged sharper than intended.
He immediately regretted it.
Not because he was wrong.
Because Violet looked heartbroken.
Unfortunately, so was he.
"Do either of you believe I love her?"
The question caught them off guard.
Anthony frowned.
"Of course."
"Then why are we speaking as though she's a problem to solve?"
Silence.
No answer came.
Because there wasn't one.
Not a good one.
Not one that would justify this.
Not one that would make any of it acceptable.
The room suddenly felt suffocating.
Too small.
Too full of expectations.
Too full of duty.
Everything Benedict had spent his life running from.
Everything Sophie had spent her life suffering beneath.
"I love her."
The confession emerged quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not passionate.
Simply true.
"I love her."
His gaze moved between them.
"I want a life with her."
A home.
Children.
Ordinary mornings.
Shared dinners.
The future unfolded before him with painful clarity.
Everything he wanted.
Everything he had finally found.
After years of wandering through life without direction.
Without certainty.
Without purpose.
Then Sophie arrived.
And suddenly everything made sense.
The realization had been terrifying.
And wonderful.
And now—
now Anthony wanted him to surrender it.
For the possibility of future consequences.
For society.
For appearances.
For fear.
Benedict's hands curled into fists.
"I will not give her up."
The declaration hung in the air.
Absolute.
Uncompromising.
Anthony's face tightened.
Violet's eyes filled with tears.
And somehow that terrified Benedict more than anger would have.
Because tears meant they believed this was already decided.
Already inevitable.
Already lost.