Work Text:
Sophie didn’t indulge in alcohol often. That was an understatement, she almost never has. When she was younger, and her father was alive, he would let Sophie drink half a glass of wine or soju on holidays. Her father wasn’t an indulgent man, so he himself never drank much anyway. After he’d passed, Araminta never had Sophie drink either, she saw it as a luxury; something Sophie didn’t measure up to indulge in. Drinking meant celebration, a party or overall money spent on something that wasn’t vital, so Sophie didn’t—shouldn't—indulge in it.
Her husband on the other hand used to be quite the drinker as Sophie came to learn from her brothers-in-law, which made Benedict red in the cheeks when the conversation came up. Sophie wasn’t surprised to hear it; the very night they had met at the masquerade ball, Benedict had been uncoordinated and floaty in movement, or as one would otherwise say, drunk.
Although she hadn’t seen him as inebriated in their later trysts. Maybe the night they met for a second time in the Cavender house he had been drunk too, possibly, Sophie wouldn't recall it if he had, for that whole night was a blur till she got in his carriage.
And now, they were leaving a ball hosted by Philippa Finch, and she was... floating herself. Feeling light as a feather, like the maiden name of the host.
It had been quite a long party. Sophie enjoyed the intricate decorations and the assortment of treats handed out by the diligent staff. She wasn’t as shy as she once was at society events such as this anymore. Two months of marriage and the experience of four balls under her belt, she finally felt like she could belong. Her mother-in-law had been drinking and walking around as if she had something in her mind she wished to run from, so Sophie joined her, not that she herself had anything to run from.
First the taste put her off; champagne wasn’t all it was raved to be. She made a face so obvious in reaction that Violet Bridgerton smiled and fetched a pink colored glass for her from the overflowing trays. Ever the grateful daughter-in-law, she bowed her head in thanks before accepting the drink. Benedict was talking to Eloise about something the last time she’d seen him, not that Sophie wondered. She treasured the time she got to spend with Violet; she found herself missing her company when they were away from Mayfair, residing in Our Cottage.
The pink drink was tasty. Not too sweet, but not as... dull. She helped herself to a second glass and then a third. It tasted like grapefruit juice mixed in with licorice. Sophie always enjoyed sour things.
By the fourth one a voice in her head told her to ‘maybe slow down’. She didn’t know how far her limits went, but she hadn’t drunk anything more than a glass or two till that day. She only had a glass of champagne at their wedding reception and two servings of soju that Benedict brought out for a picnic he set up for her on a date a couple weeks ago at Our Cottage.
Maybe a bit naively she thought that the drink she was having wasn’t as strong as the ones she’d tasted before. It was pink and light! Surely it wasn't just alcohol but mixed with juice of some kind. So, she didn’t think much of it. And she always had restless hands. If she got a hold on something, she would rather be done with it than hold onto it for a long-time during conversation. It busied her lips when she didn’t know what to say in a conversation. Ms. Violet had been going on and on about her latest encounter with Lord Anderson and how “impatient" men could be when a woman simply asked some time for clearance, so it wasn’t like Sophie knew quite what to say. So, she did her best to listen, albeit to the noise, the ever-increasing drum of her pulse and drank.
Shortly after, possibly dissatisfied with her lack of responses, Violet Bridgerton excused herself in search of Daphne Basset. Sophie cringed internally at the thought that Violet would rather discuss her affairs with her daughter than her. She grabbed another glass of the pink drink she had begun to catch a taste of and decided to look for her husband.
Her swaying steps made her go around the rather large building twice, but she finally spotted her husband and sister-in-law behind a bush smoking. Benedict made a move to pass the cigarette to Eloise when he saw Sophie approaching and caught a cough in his haste, but Sophie only smiled. She knew Benedict indulged. And he hadn’t in ages.
“No need to hide from me.” She smiled cheekily. For some reason, there was something in the air that night that made everything seem lighter and more joyous.
“Sorry dear, it is just a reflex from all the times we used to get caught by others.” Benedict smiled back and kissed the crown of her head, holding onto her.
“And what, did you always put the blame on your poor younger sister when trouble seemed on the horizon?” Sophie quirked an eyebrow, to which Benedict only smiled down bashfully.
"It’s because he knows I can play it cooler than him.” Eloise answered for him.
“May I?” Sophie surprised herself, asking for the cigarette in Eloise’s left hand.
“Be my guest.”
Before she could put it in her mouth, Benedict reached and took the cigarette from her, right as Sophie was about to protest, he helped her slide her glove from her arm and returned the smoke back to her hand.
“So, your glove won’t stink of tobacco.” Her husband smiled.
He was simply helping her ease, not dictating her. Not that Sophie expected the opposite, but the gesture made her swoon.
“Thank you, my love.” She said before taking a hit.
It was a strange feeling. There weren’t many sensations that came with it, nor did she cough as she saw many people have. She disliked the taste the cig left in her mouth, though so she passed it back to Eloise.
“I missed you inside.” She whispered to Benedict’s ear while her sister-in-law was busy stomping out the cigarette.
“I missed you more.” He replied and put a warm hand on her lower back, pulling her impossibly closer.
While they were smiling at each other, still in their newly married and in love bubble, Eloise declared, “And that is my cue.”
“No, you can stay! We all can!” Sophie tried to no avail. She was already making her way back to the party inside.
After watching her leave, Benedict pulled Sophie towards him to meet his eyes rather than his side.
“What is up with you?”
“What, can I not smoke?” Sophie asked mischievously.
Her husband rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t mean that, I mean that also I guess— You just seem a bit different.”
“How so?” Sophie questioned, then as she tried to nestle onto her husband’s side, she hiccuped.
She covered her mouth in mild horror as she hiccupped again.
“Sophie Bridgerton, have you been drinking?” Her husband asked, his green eyes practically shining with how much he was enjoying the sight before him.
“Can I not have?” Sophie cocked an eyebrow at him and put her hand on her hip.
“Of course you can, I am just surprised. I don’t believe I have ever seen you drunk.”
“I am not drunk, Benedict.” She replied, sounding certain. “I only had juice.” She hiccupped again.
Benedict slighted his head to the side, as if to show that he wasn’t buying her response.
Then seeing another servant carrying a tray of that same pink drink Sophie craved once again, she snatched one more. “See, only juice.” She made a show of gesturing at it to Benedict before taking a huge swig.
“Darling, that is not merely juice.” This time, he couldn’t hold his laugh at his lovely wife’s adorable antics, watching it in awe.
“Fine, juice mixed in with spirit.”
“Well, don’t let me ruin your fun.” Her husband giggled with hands in the air. He was happy simply to observe her. It wasn’t a seldom opportunity when he saw his Sophie in this quite state. It suited her. She looked lighter, her cheeks even pinker.
“Noo, I missed you.” Sophie couldn’t believe the tone of her voice. It was almost childlike.
“Did you, now?” Benedict decided to play along.
“Have I ever told you that you are beautiful, husband?”
Benedict tried to laugh it off, but even inebriated, Sophie noticed him blushing.
“Ha! You are blushing! Which makes you look even more beautiful!” She voiced triumphantly. Then added with a rather wistful edge to her voice, “I should tell you more… I should’ve told you so before!” She then, to Benedict’s complete surprise, started yelling to the night sky, opening her arms as if to show the magnitude of her declaration. “My husband is a beautiful specimen! And he loves me so!”
Never ever wanting to be the one to ruin Sophie’s joy, Benedict only watched her in awe. Hands crossed on his chest to shield his shyness; he smiled with his chin tucked into his body.
“Do not be shy, husband! As you always tell me so.” His wife then added, putting her small hands on his face, looking right into his eyes while trying to straighten his bashful posture.
“I’m not—I am not.” He said, trying to laugh it off.
Sophie didn’t look like she was buying it and raised her eyebrow. “Do you want more proof of my confession, Benedict?” She breathed into his lips; Benedict didn’t know if he was imagining the suggestive tilt in her voice. She has always been a brave woman, and he loved that about his wife; alas, he has never seen her this… unconstrained. He was both enjoying it immensely, reveling in the freer side of Sophie’s desire and love and all the emotions under the moonlight she bestowed upon him, and he couldn't help but feel taken aback a little. He has never seen her this way, well, except on a bed after a few rounds after she'd finally relaxed and let herself lose control; and took it back all the more cunningly. And Benedict loved it then too.
“And what does that mean, Soph?” He asked, his breath caught in his throat due to all the scenarios he was imagining now. He ran his hands through the fallen strands of Sophie’s hair, careful not to mess it up.
In turn, Sophie took half a step back and gazed at his face. She took him in, and took her time doing so. Being seen. Wasn’t that what love was all about? Then, she bit her lip, as if she were deciding, her eyebrows crinkling in the middle. Before Benedict could soothe it over with words or a touch of his thumb, she was on him. She was kissing him hungrily and backing him up against the wall they had been leaning against a second ago.
“I want you. I want all of you, right here, husband.” She breathed. Then backed away a millimeter and closed her eyes in embarrassment to what she had said. “Shoot, did I say that out loud?”
Benedict could only smile to ease the tension. He would be the biggest liar in all of London if he said he wasn't interested in the offer.
“It’s alright. And as much as it is my God-given duty to cater to your every whim; I shall have to suggest we skip just this once.”
Despite her embarrassed gesture seconds ago, Sophie seemed ready to argue and pout. Didn’t she know that Benedict was trying his hardest to say no? This role reversal business was an arduous predicament. It was usually Benedict who offered something risky and scandalous while Sophie was the voice of reason. Benedict didn't like this part of his role, not one bit. He didn't like telling Sophie no. Ever.
“So, what if we went home and called it quits for tonight?” Benedict tried again.
“So you can lay me down on our bed and have your way with me?” Sophie wiggled her eyebrows.
“Good Lord, what did those Featheringtons put in those drinks?”
“It is not the drink itself, Ben. It is my desire finally making its way to my lips.”
Whatever that meant, thought Benedict.
Then, with not much effort (since Sophie's body was as light as her drinking tolerance); Benedict hauled her (with polite conversation as a tactic to keep her mind busy) into the front of the building where the carriages resided.
“Noooo Benedict, we have to say our goodbyes at least!” The drunken whine was back to Sophie's voice, though this time it demanded the opposite of sinister. She was being lovely. She was always lovely.
With a resigning sigh he accepted Sophie’s wish. They walked inside the Featherington estate. Sophie made quick steps in the direction of his mother and oldest younger sister, the Duchess.
They seemed to be in conversation, Daphne almost choking on her drink to something she heard their mother was saying. ‘Oh, this scene is about to be something’, thought Benedict.
Besides Sophie almost tripping on her hems twice (and Benedict steadying her with a warm hand on her back), they got inside with no trouble. Benedict’s eyes searched the room for water. He didn’t want to bother a servant for such a minimal task, but he also didn’t wish to leave Sophie unsupervised.
Unbeknownst to his internal conundrum, Sophie all but jumped to his mother’s side.
“Mrs. Bridgerton! – Mama, I am so sorry for interrupting your conversation with your daughter! Also, for not providing good enough conversation of my own before—” Sophie rambled on to his mother who seemed to not care about the supposed offense Sophie appeared to be very troubled by.
“Let me stop you right there Sophie, it is okay. No worries. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Violet gave Sophie an assuring smile.
Benedict couldn’t help but felt intrigued by this forementioned conversation. He almost wanted to ask about it, totally forgetting that they were supposed to head home so Sophie could rest.
“I think Lord Anderson should get over himself, Mother. You haven’t done anything wrong!” Sophie exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts.
‘Oh.’ Benedict thought. That was the conversation. He barely held his laughter in. He had a slight idea about what Sophie’s answer might mean.
His sister was not as lucky; she let out one of her unattractive laughs. It sounded more like a hiccup. His mother, on the other hand, reddened like a tomato.
Not wanting Sophie to feel ashamed of herself, Benedict exhausted every bit of restraint he could master to not laugh and kissed his family members goodbye. Sophie, wide eyed, pink cheeked, sweet Sophie, had held onto his mother’s hand for a second and waved the Duchess goodbye before they made their way out.
“Gosh, have I yelled that so loudly?” Sophie chided herself once they made it to their carriage.
“Well, a bit.” Benedict answered honestly, but added a smile to soften the blow.
“I am never ever drinking again, I humiliated myself.”
“Hey, hey, no. Humiliation is too big of a word for what happened there. You raised your voice an octave after getting drunk for the first time in your life. Many in that room have done worse under the influence.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You dared poor John to throw rocks at Francesca’s window and knocked over a glass during dinner with Sharmas.” A small smile was back at the corner of Sophie’s lips. A win. So, Benedict continued.
“Believe me I have done worse. I’ve once caught my parents kissing in a room where Anthony and I were very much present, not to mention our grandparents.”
“Really?” Sophie’s eye bulged out of their sockets. She, who held Violet Bridgerton to the highest regard, would of course be shocked by that story.
“She isn’t as by the book as she seems, surely you can imagine, her supporting us and all.”
“I always knew she was kind and open-minded, but…”
“But you didn’t imagine her to perform the open-mindedness within regards to herself?” Benedict asked cheekily, making a slight turn to his lodgings they were residing during their stay.
Sophie swatted his shoulder. “No, I mean—”
“I believe you were talking about her out of wedlock tryst.” He reminded her. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he would rather have her annoyed with him than being mad at herself.
“Benedict!”
“What? Am I wrong? Believe me, I do not wish to hear it nor do I care for it. I wish her all the freedom she desires.”
“Sure.” Sophie titled her head.
“I do! I told her so after we were engaged.”
Sophie smiled at that confession. Something warm passing over eyes.
A comfortable silence settled between them. Sophie leaning against his side as they continued their journey back home. Benedict could feel her soft breaths on his shoulder jacket. They got slower and more static as the road dragged on. He smiled to himself and ran one of his hands through her locks while holding onto the reins with the other. He found himself excited to face Sophie the morning after.