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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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The Palace

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content Word count: 3.6k

Summary: Benedict makes Sophie’s first royal event one to remember.

Author’s Note: Happy Queen Charlotte release day! Here’s some smut to celebrate 😜 No spoilers for the show in this fic, just some royal-adjacent horny nonsense. This is also my belated birthday gift to @queen-of-the-misfit-toys Enjoy our boy and his talented hands, my dear 💙

Sophie needed a moment to breathe. Between the glare of the sun, the tightness of her stays and the dizzying array of new faces, her head was beginning to spin. Happily, the reception party was spread across both the gardens and two floors of St. James’s Palace, offering plenty of quiet corners where she could rest. Leaving Benedict in conversation with Anthony, she picked her way up to a room on the second floor. Despite its towering ceilings and the endless stretches of halls that winged away from its massive doors, the tapestries within made it feel marginally warmer than the throne and ballrooms below. A bouquet of purple blooms perched on a low table in front of the windows and she stood by it, trying to steady herself as she watched the members of court mingle in the gardens.

It was Hyacinth’s presentation day, but Benedict had wasted no opportunity to remind Sophie that it served as her presentation too. The first year of their marriage had been spent blissfully in the countryside but now she and the whole of the Bridgerton clan had agreed that it was time for her to appear in the London season. Everyone was well rehearsed in Sophie’s backstory if need be. The explanation that she was a distant cousin of the late Earl of Penwood had been carefully worded by Anthony and Violet. All members of the family were instructed to alert them if anyone probed too insistently. They all hoped it wouldn’t cause too much speculation for the second-born Bridgerton son to reemerge from a long absence with a wife in tow, but the ton were fickle and always desperate for gossip.

The morning ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Hyacinth had walked serenely to the Queen, though her family could tell she was fighting to suppress giggles the entire time. Sophie had managed to blend into the sea of ladies in ivory dresses with no one taking notice of her until the reception party began in the garden. Anthony had circled her like a hawk, glowering more than usual at each person she and Benedict spoke to and he only moved away when the attendees queued to greet the Queen. Sophie was buzzing with anxiety, her mind roaring as Benedict guided her forward and introduced her. Somehow she had remembered to curtsy properly and to smile. She had said something that made the Queen laugh but couldn’t remember what, then she had turned away, dazed. Benedict brought her back to herself with a tight squeeze of her hand and an encouraging smile before they separated to mingle.

Now the enormity of the day was weighing on her and Sophie needed this reprieve. How she found herself here, barely a year after selling her hair to a wigmaker and cleaning out chamberpots, was still a turn of events she couldn’t fully believe. As she leaned against the table and enjoyed the fragrance of the flowers, Benedict entered the room behind her. She knew it was him even before the press of warm lips against her neck. She could always sense when he was nearby, attuned to him like the change in pressure before a storm. Her skin would prickle and her mind would calm, steadied by the proximity of her anchor in this new life.

His hands banded around her waist as he pressed himself to her back, murmuring into the slope of her shoulder. “What do you think, my love? Your first royal event.”

Sophie smiled, grateful for the familiar comfort of his arms. “It is breathtaking. I could never have dreamed I would find myself here. Introduced to the Queen of England. Do you think she believed our story? Do you think she knows I don’t really belong?”

Benedict gently turned her chin back to face him with a gloved hand. His brow was creased. “You do belong here. As much as anyone. You are my wife and the daughter of an Earl. I never want you doubting yourself.” His insistent tone reverberated into her back, leaving no space for her heart or mind to argue. “I think she believed us but even if she didn’t, she clearly doesn’t care. You fit in here. Somehow, you manage to fit perfectly everywhere.” The fingers on her chin moved to stroke her cheek. “In our little country cottage, or in these grand halls, looking like a veritable princess.”

He pressed another kiss to her lips and she sank against him, fighting the tears that his words stirred within her.

“I love you so much, Benedict,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how much.”

He tightened his hold, hands splaying across her ribs. “And I love you, darling. You are my entire heart. My whole world.” He paused and let his eyes stray across her decolletage, highly pronounced thanks to the incomparable structure of her court dress. “This may be the most striking dress I’ve ever seen you in. I can’t deny that it has sent my mind in all kinds of…enticing directions.”

The crooked grin that followed was a warning shot.

Sophie sighed, turning back to the windows. “Ben, we really can’t.”

“We won’t.” His mock indignation was completely undermined by the low pitch his voice sank into. His hands traced down to grasp her hips and he pressed himself firmly into her backside, pinning her between him and the table. His words ghosted warm next to her ear, a devastating purr. “We aren’t doing anything. We are just standing, a husband and wife, quietly taking in the view.”

That’s when he pushed her hips forward ever so slightly, nearly imperceptible, but enough for her to realize that the table was at precisely the right height to strike her where sensation would bloom. She let out a small gasp.

Undeterred, Benedict continued. “We are surveying the grounds…” He nudged her against the table edge again. “The people.” Again.

Sophie took a shuddering breath, already knowing she would be helpless against the tingling wave he was building within her. Sometimes she wondered if she had married the devil himself. How dare he act so brazenly in public and in a royal palace no less? But she knew, of course, that it was precisely within Benedict Bridgerton’s nature to do such a thing. And God help her, it was one of the reasons she was so hopelessly in love with him.

Perhaps they could do this undetected. The doors behind them were too heavy to close and they could be seen by anyone passing in the hall, but this corner of the upper floor seemed deserted. And if they were, as Benedict said, just a husband and wife standing by the window, rocking with such small movements, perhaps no one would know what was happening even if they were discovered. Benedict understood her body so well and was rubbing her into the table at such a precise angle, she knew she could finish quickly. A small burst of pleasure would no doubt help ease her nerves, which she surmised was part of his motivation.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her composure. “They are stunning.”

“Yes, they are.” He rumbled low in her ear, his hands tight on her hips, guiding her back and forth, grinding her into the sloped angle of the wood. “The peacocks in particular are an excellent touch, are they not?” With that, he surged his hips into her and Sophie groaned quietly at the stiff length she felt pressing into the cleft of her bottom.

“Yes…” She gasped, eyes fluttering closed as all her focus narrowed to the heat between her thighs and the crush of him behind her.

“Keep your eyes on everyone out there.” Benedict tutted and she obeyed, bracing herself with palms pressed into the tabletop and gaze locked on the oblivious crowds below.

He had found a steady rhythm, pushing her forward with his body and hands, thrusting her against the table with small movements that sent spikes of desire shooting through her blood. Over and over with mechanical precision he maneuvered her in chasing pleasure, the slight quiver of the flowers beside them the only indicator to any passersby that something untoward was happening.

Benedict’s tone was quiet but with an undeniably gruff edge. “I want you to remember this moment. That you are in a palace, looking down on all the ton. You are regal Sophie. You were so marvelous speaking to Her Majesty. I was so proud to show her that I had married the most gorgeous woman in England. A woman that far outshines any of her Diamonds. With more strength and fortitude than they could ever muster. She may be the Queen, but I am certainly the richer of us both.”

Sophie gripped the table and stared, entranced as Benedict set her body and mind alight. His potent blend of arousal and affirmation drilled home the truth of his words. She did belong. She was special. Powerful even. A Bridgerton with a handsome husband on her arm and a formidable family to support her. She wore the same fine fabrics as the ladies in the sunlit hedgerows below and had received the same invitation to be feted by the Queen herself. Sophie Beckett the maid was no longer. Sophia Bridgerton had taken her place and was being ravished in a palace above the heads of the ton by a man they all respected and desired.

When his mouth opened hot on her neck to graze it with his teeth Sophie moaned aloud, unable to restrain herself. He had worked her into a state, humming with arousal, her womanhood engorged and soaking. She was burning and lightheaded and knew that she had more than the strictures of her dress to blame. While his movements made the wave of lust swell within her body, his words made her longing for him swell within her heart. She needed his mouth on hers, his skin on hers. It was the only way she would crest the wave and in that moment, everything else could be damned.

“Ben,” She spun around to face him and crashed her mouth to his, drinking in the taste of him as she tugged off his gloves. He let her do as she wished, sliding his tongue to map the circumference of her lips as she pulled his hand up and under her skirt. Caged though her breasts and consequently her lungs may be, her lower undergarments were still easy to bypass and Sophie was aching for her husband’s fingers.

Benedict paused, face lighting with mischief as he gave her a lopsided smile. “Anyone could see us.”

As if confirming her commitment to impropriety, Sophie smirked and hopped backward to sit on the table, wrapping her arms across his broad shoulders. “Good. Let them watch.”

With something like a snarl, his eyes darkened and he dipped his head to suck at the delicate skin beneath her ear. The hand under her skirt began to quest through the layers of fabric. “You hoping to make them jealous?”

“Yes,” She breathed, leaning her head back and reveling in the pattern he traced with his tongue.

“You want them all to see you getting finger fucked at their stuffy soiree?” His voice rumbled low in his chest as his fingers found her wet heat and brushed gently over her opening.

“Desperately,” She shuddered, breathing heavier as she shot another glance out the window. “I want them to know that I’m yours.”

With no preamble Benedict covered her throbbing center with the whole of his hand, cupping her possessively. He pulled back to meet her eyes. Gone was the sweet, gentle artist, replaced by an imposing seducer who looked about ready to devour her.

“This is mine is it then, darling?” He smiled wolfishly.

“Yes,” Sophie gaped, heart pounding. Only once she confirmed it did his hand start moving, fingers sliding through the slickness he had caused as his palm ground against her pubic bone, giving her the pressure she loved.

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand gently around her neck. Not hard enough to restrict her breath, just enough to hold her in place. His thumb traced languidly over the ridges of her throat above the tiers of pearls that he had gifted her for the occasion.

“And those lips…” He bent and sucked on the lower one, nibbling it before pulling away. “They are mine?”

“Yes,” Sophie’s eyes closed, hands moving to wrap around his wrist. She was growing dizzy with the intensity of the moment. His dominating play made her giddy enough but to unleash it when they were in public and at risk of being caught…it made her lose her senses.

His hand beneath her skirts shifted, aligning the pad of his thumb on her swollen clit precisely where she had shown him she liked to be touched. Then he began rubbing in skillful circles. Two more fingers pressed inside her and slid firmly in and out, probing with clear intention. Sophie hissed, her stomach clenching like a fist, nails digging into his wrist. Her nerves began to sing, the wave rising under his ministrations. This was precisely what she needed.

Benedict trailed open-mouthed kisses over her exposed skin, licking along the neckline of her dress.

“The whole of this incredible woman. She is mine. And how she dazzles. In silks. In satins. In nothing at all. Am I not the luckiest man alive to be tasked with serving her? Pleasuring her.”

His voice was dusky against her flesh and punctuated by her moan when he bit lightly into the swell of her breast. His long fingers continued to tease and swirl, pumping into her and coaxing her to release. Sophie felt her nipples harden as her body relented, lost to any way he wanted to command it, trusting him to bring her to heights she could never accomplish herself. She hooked her ankles around the back of his calves, pulling him closer between her thighs, needing the heat of him to mingle with the one he stoked in her. Clutching one another, they were nearly inert save for the talented movements of Benedict’s hand beneath her skirts. The only sounds in the room were the light rustle of fabric and Sophie’s small, pleasured breaths.

Sophie clung to his wrist, the pounding blood in her ears drowning out every sense but touch. The expert flick of his thumb against her nerves that caused her stomach to knot delightfully. The glide of his reach inside her, petting the spots that made her clench and evoking memories of his cock and its steady pace that ratcheted her to delirium. All of it heightened by his hold on her neck, the ownership he claimed over the fluttering breaths he was forcing out of her. In these moments her body was his, because she knew that his heart would always be hers.

Benedict marveled at the beauty of his wife lost in the throes of pleasure, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes hazy, fingers flexing each time he pressed against her sweetest spot, right under her clitoral hood. He reveled in her flushed skin and needy noises, the bobbing of her throat beneath his fingers. He would never tire of making her feel this way. In fact, he longed to draw it out, leave her breathless and screaming for release, soaking his hand as he made her come over and over until her knees faltered. But they didn’t have the luxury of time. So he focused his movements, small but incendiary, on the most sensitive parts of her. He grinned, noting how her hips had started to rock, pushing herself down onto his fingers as much as he was pushing up into her. He leaned to her ear and whispered.

“That’s it. You’re beautiful, so beautiful my love.” His lips returned to her neck, nibbling around the elaborate necklace, his breath gusting hot across her skin. “I love to see you choked with my pearls.”

Her whole body stiffened, his words driving her higher. “I prefer your hands.” She rasped, managing to arch a coquettish brow.

The responding gleam in his steely eyes was precisely what she had been hoping for. Spurred on, Benedict tightened his grip, starting to slightly constrict her windpipe as his fingers increased their speed and pressure, pounding into her and teasing her nub viciously.

“I’m glad to hear that, darling.” He growled. “You are radiant with all manner of things around your neck.” He sucked at her collarbone before moving back to her lips, kissing her between each honeyed word of praise. “Priceless. My wife. My queen.”

Sophie could hear how wet she was as he worked her sex relentlessly. The cadence of his fingers was making her delirious. The warm, delicious tingle radiating from his touch was flooding over her. She knew she was approaching the end.

“Don’t…be treasonous…”

He chuckled darkly. “I can revere whomever I want to behind closed doors. Would you want that? For me to kneel before you tonight?”

Sophie’s eyes blazed, enticed by his offer. They had played that way before, Benedict submitting to her wishes, and it always set a fire in her belly. She envisioned him naked, kneeling before her on the floor of their bedroom, skin glowing in firelight that etched the outlines of his muscles and betrayed the leaking of his eager cock. She could hook her leg over his shoulder and command him to feast upon her until neither of them could breathe. She could sink her hands into the waves of his dark hair and press him into her body, riding him mercilessly to her bliss.

It was this imagery that caused her to break, thighs quaking as she bucked against him. Benedict could feel her quiver inside. Throwing her head back, she started to moan his name but he cut her off quickly with a gentle squeeze of her throat.

“Shhh. Don’t scream my name or you’ll give us away.” His eyes were hungry as he continued rubbing her furiously, rocking his hand in and out of her. “Just come for me.”

He felt her hold her breath, then the rippling spasms started to dance down the length of his fingers. She froze, rigid, gripping onto his wrist for dear life.

“That’s it. Come all over my hand.” He goaded through gritted teeth. “Then we’re going to walk out of here as if you aren’t drenched.”

He coaxed more out of her, slowing and curling his strokes as the pulsing continued, fanning out through her body, causing her to jerk. Sophie’s mind floated as the wave washed over her, its epicenter under his fingertips.

Benedict released her throat and held her close in the breathless moments as she shuddered with aftershocks. He withdrew his other hand and Sophie opened her eyes to find him sucking decadently at his fingers, relishing her taste. Lightheaded, she gently palmed the prominent tent in his breeches.

“What about you?”

Benedict smirked. “If etiquette didn’t require me to be in breeches and hose, maybe. But I’ll show you when we get home what an ordeal they are to remove. Let’s just wait a moment, my love. I will be fine.”

She laughed, the room beginning to orient itself around her again, gravity falling back into place.

“Perhaps the dress code was established for precisely that reason.”

—

An hour later at the close of the reception, Benedict and Sophie were turning to walk out through the gardens when they halted at the sight of the Queen approaching, closely followed by her man Brimsley. Sophie’s mind began to whir. She had been so blissful in the wake of their rendezvous that guilt had not settled on her thoughts as it perhaps should have. But now, reminded of precisely whose home she had defiled, she was filled with shame and could only pray that Her Majesty didn’t know the scandalous truth.

Queen Charlotte strode to them directly and they stepped apart, inclining their heads as they bowed and curtsied deeply.

The Queen fixed her eyes on Benedict. “Mr. Bridgerton. So glad you could join us when I have seen you at so few of my events.” She pursed her lips. “Though, I’m sure you are busy with your work. My nephew Friedrich has commissioned you for his official portrait, has he not?”

A bit stunned, Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has, your Majesty. An honor that I gladly accepted.”

“Very good. I’ll wait for his assessment and then see if we cannot use another portraitist for my family.” Her eyes scanned him up and down, scrutinizing though he was not sure for what. With the quirk of a smile, she continued. “We are always looking for those with creativity and…discretion.”

Gobsmacked, Benedict’s face lit up as he bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

Before she departed, the Queen pivoted to Sophie with the same small, enigmatic smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

Sophie nearly stumbled in her rush to curtsy again, overwhelmed by the entire exchange. Rising, she saw the Queen was gone but Brimsley had lingered and was staring at her pointedly. With a quick gesture he motioned toward her neckline. To her horror, she looked down to see bruising teeth marks on her breast peeking just above her bodice. She scrambled to conceal it and looked back at the Queen’s Man, blushing crimson. She did not know whether to feel relief or mortification as he shot her a wry smile, winked, then turned and caught up to the Queen, five paces behind as always.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

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holybatgirlz · 6 months

Text

You're eyes whispered "Have we met?"

Read it on Ao3

Summary:

…and finally, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton, is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and ward to the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June…

Waking up to the news you're engaged is certainly a surprise. Especially when you have no recollection of a proposal ever happening.

Word count: 9.9k+

Notes: This was going to be my final entry to Benophie week back in June, but I didn’t finish it in time. But here it is finally. And yes, I know, I already have a fake dating fic (that I need to finish) but I read the summary for “Not the Kind of Earl You Would Marry” and started thinking about it relating to Benophie. Which is never a good sign.

Sophie had never particularly enjoyed the marriage announcements part of the morning paper.

It wasn't that she hated them, they were the announcements of other people's happiness. Those whose lives were far more privileged and more straightforward than her own. Uncomplicated by poverty and abuse like hers. She knew she shouldn't be bitter and jealous, but she couldn't help it. They left her wondering what their lives were like. Fantasizing about how they had met and fallen in love, hoping they were all love matches.

All it did was make the reality of her situation even worse.

Usually, she ignored them. It wasn't as if she actually had the time to sit down and read them over, to begin with, but today was different.

When she came downstairs and found Mrs. Gibbons and the cook with expressions of dread and worry on their faces, she grew concerned. A pit formed in her stomach as she watched the housekeeper approach her. Mrs. Gibbons didn't say anything as she handed her the paper and pointed to a paragraph hidden amongst the announcements column. It is right at the bottom and barely noticeable at first. Until she saw the names.

Recognized the names.

…and finally, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and ward of the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June…

Nothing but pure panic laced through her, freezing her to her core as she read it. As if her blood was being replaced with ice. Sophie was at a loss for words. Her body turned to marble, as if her brain had just stopped working. She no longer knew how to speak, think, or breathe.

But she knew exactly what would happen if Araminta saw it.

And unfortunately, as Sophie stood, trembling in the kitchen, trying to think up a way to hide this news from her stepmother, the butler had already unknowingly delivered the other copy to her upstairs as she readied herself for the day. The loud, shrill scream of Sophie's name reverberating throughout Penwood House confirmed that.

How on earth it was that she had ended up engaged to the man of her dreams was beyond Sophie's knowledge. She never left Penwood House (save for that one night two months ago), and she certainly did not interact with those of the other sex (save for that one night two months ago).

And that wasn't even the worst part.

It was that she was engaged to the man of her dreams.

~~~

Benedict woke up to the sight of his elder brother towering over him.

It took him a minute to recognize it was Anthony standing next to his bed. There was a dull throb in his skull he hadn't yet slept off, the result of his drinking choices the night prior after he had, once again, failed to find the Lady in Silver.

Blinking away the sleep from his eyes and realizing it was his brother, Benedict frowned. How the hell had Anthony gotten into his lodgings? Benedict was going to have to speak to his valet, Graves, about this.

"Good morning, brother," he said slowly. Benedict was concerned about how his brother had gotten in and why he was bothering him so early in the morning.

Glancing down, Benedict quickly remembered he was currently naked underneath the bed sheet that was covering his lower body. Grabbing it, he slowly pulled it upwards over his chest, making sure he was fully covered before he looked back to his brother and added. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What on earth were you thinking?" Anthony asked, no, demanded from him, glaring down at him with his furious I'm-the-viscount-and-you'll-do-as-I-say look that had never swayed or affected Benedict.

"That another drink wasn't a terrible idea," he groaned back, rubbing his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself up. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"Oh no. You do not get to play games with me right now, Benedict. Do you have any idea what your actions have caused? What they've done to mother? She's been in a state all morning since she found out," Anthony informed him furiously.

Benedict's confused frown only deepened as he stared up at his brother. While he was a drinker, he'd certainly never been the type to be the fool while intoxicated (minus the one occasion with drug-infused tea courtesy of his brother). Usually, he was just overly cheerful or depressed, but that was when he was alone. He doubted he'd done anything to bring shame on his family name. Let alone frazzle his mother.

"I'm confused. What exactly is it that you think I've done?" he asked back.

"Your engagement," Anthony snapped. "You've broken our mother's heart by not telling her any of this."

Benedict stared at his brother in silence before the confused frown on his face shifted to a smile. He couldn't help it. He started laughing.

Which only infuriated his already furious brother.

"Why are you laughing?" Anthony once again demanded as Benedict continued chuckling.

"Because I'm not engaged," he retorted between breaths.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes. You. Are."

"I think I would know if I was, brother."

"There is an announcement. Benedict."

"What announcement?"

The vein bulging in Anthony's forehead looked about to burst. Clearing his throat, his brother lifted the paper he'd been holding this entire time and read it out to him.

"Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the late Viscount Edmund Bridgerton, is happy to announce his engagement to the young Miss Sophia Beckett, daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett of Wiltshire and the ward of the late earl of Penwood. They plan to hold their wedding in late June," he said with a dramatic flourish that barely concealed his annoyance.

The laughing ceased immediately. The humor of this situation disappeared in a puff of smoke as Benedict stared at his brother in disbelief.

"What do you mean there is an announcement in the paper?" Benedict sat up and snatched the paper from him, believing this to be nothing more than a lie. A bold-faced prank his brother was pulling on him.

He scoured the page until he found the announcement in the bottom right corner. The last one. Almost hidden away, he found his name staring back at him mockingly, next to the name of a woman he did not know.

Staring at the little paragraph in shock, he'd hoped he could just blink, and it would magically fade away, or that his brother would tell him this was all just some sick joke.

And besides that, who the hell was Sophia Beckett?

"You seriously don't know?" Anthony asked, now the one who was confused. And concerned.

"Anthony, I swear, I'm not engaged, and I certainly did not announce one to the public," Benedict replied, his voice almost shaking from the shock of what he'd just read. Praying that his brother would believe him.

But he did. It was Anthony, for crying out loud. His brother knew immediately that he was being truthful with him. The rigid, tense posture relaxed as he shifted from furious Viscount to supportive older brother, recognizing they had been had. The implications of a false engagement on Benedict and their family led Anthony's anger to slowly shift and be directed toward whoever was at fault for this.

"We'll figure this out," he told him gently. "Get dressed. We'll head to the printer's shop and find out what happened."

Benedict groaned as he realized another problem. "I need to explain this to mother."

"We'll tell her on the way," Anthony patted him supportively on the shoulder. "Get dressed. Come on."

After hastily dressing, Benedict departed from his lodgings with his brother, not even bothering to shave as they were in too much of a rush. He hopped into the carriage behind his brother, spending the entire trip feeling as if he'd throw up his heart, given it felt as if it was sitting in his throat now, beating wildly. He wouldn't even look out the window, couldn't actually. He feared someone would recognize him from behind the glass.

His anxieties got the better of him as they traveled the short distance to Number 5. His mind was overwhelmed by guilt and worry. How on earth was he supposed to explain this to his mother? God, she must have been furious with him.

They entered the home quickly once they'd arrived, and Benedict found his mother pacing the front foyer, rambling to herself. Kate was there as well, and it was apparent she'd spent the past God knows how many minutes trying to calm her down as his youngest siblings were perched on the stairs, watching the scene unfold.

"Benedict!" his mother cried out as she spotted him, rushing towards him.

"Here we go," Benedict muttered.

"Good luck," Anthony whispered, patting him on the back as their mother stopped in front of them.

"How could you not tell me?" was the first question out of his mother's mouth, voice laced with pain and a distraught look on her face that tugged at Benedict's heart. He hated upsetting her.

"Mother, I-" Benedict started.

"Did you truly believe I would be against this?"

"No, I just-"

"Have I offended you somehow? Made you believe I would not support you?"

"Of course not. Mother, this is just some-"

"What did I do to make you believe you had to go behind my back?"

"Mother, I swear I-"

"I never wanted any of you to believe you had to keep your love for another to yourself. If you had just come to me, Benedict, I would have been more than welcome to give you my blessing. I could care less if Miss Beckett is a ward. If you are in love with her, then you have my full support," his mother rambled on.

"Mother. Mother!" Benedict placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "I'm not getting married. I do not even know the woman."

"Oh!" his mother looked momentarily surprised at the news, bright blue eyes wide, before she blinked at him, then frowned. "But there is an announcement."

"Which I assure you, I did not make," Benedict explained.

"Well, then, who on earth did?" she loudly asked, aghast now.

"That is something we would all like to know," Anthony replied. He'd gone to stand by his wife now, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

"I have no idea," Benedict said, answering his mother's question. "Anthony and I are going to the printer's shop today to figure out how this happened. We'll get them to retract it. I promise."

"Well, it's a little late for that now," his mother told him with a little huff. "And even if we can get a statement out to reverse this, we'll have to figure out a way to explain what's happened."

"Thankfully, Whistledown arrived before the newspaper did," Hyacinth said.

"Even she did not know," Gregory added.

"Well, Whistledown won't be able to know anything since there is no truth to any of this," Benedict replied quickly, his aggravation over the entire situation leaking out through his tone. He turned towards his mother. "Sophia Beckett. Have you ever heard of Penwood having a ward?"

"There were whispers a few years back. That a child was living at Penwood Park. The earl's mother allegedly said he'd taken in a distant cousin's daughter before she died, but it was never confirmed. No one ever saw or met this ward of his. And Lord Gunningworth was never an approachable man, so I do not believe anyone ever asked him to confirm it," his mother told him. "The only children I know of are the late earl's stepchildren."

"The Reiling girls, yes, I remember them," Benedict supplied, recalling his visit to Penwood House in search of his mysterious dancing partner. He tried not to shudder, recalling his interactions with the eldest Reiling and her mother. The entire interaction had been a waste of time, and he had left with no interest in spending time with them again.

His mother frowned. "If anyone would falsify an engagement announcement for their own benefit, it would be Lady Penwood. There were rumors she did that to Lord Gunningworth to guarantee his proposal, but I'm surprised she did not use one of her daughters. If it was her, that is."

"I never met or saw this Miss Beckett when I visited. I don't even recall her being mentioned," Benedict told her.

He'd only met the two Reiling girls, quickly dismissing them both once he realized neither was the woman he was searching for. And when he thought about it, Lady Penwood had told him herself that no other ladies were living in Penwood House besides the staff.

"She may have remained in the county after her guardian's death," Anthony suggested. "If she even exists."

"Maybe we get lucky, and she doesn't," Hyacinth supplied.

"If someone went to the trouble of falsifying an engagement announcement, I doubt they'd give the name of someone who never existed," Kate replied. "Even if that would make all of this much simpler."

His mother hummed. She had her scheming face now. That was never a good sign.

"It may be beneficial, as much as I hate to say this, to invite Lady Penwood and Miss Beckett here," his mother replied. "We will be able to confirm Miss Beckett's existence. And while I would rather not have that woman in this home, we may be able to learn more about how this all happened. If we feign ignorance."

"If you are willing to extend the invitation while Benedict and I will head to the printer's shop now, then it's settled," Anthony said.

Benedict took a deep breath. Today was undoubtedly going to be an adventure. And he still had yet to fully recover from his hangover.

He could only assume that this Miss Beckett, wherever she was, was having a more enjoyable morning than he was.

~~~

Sophie had been stuck in the downstairs closest for roughly two hours now.

She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been in the closet. She'd gotten tired of trying to keep track of the time as she sat cross-legged on the floor in the dark, waiting for Araminta to decide she could be let out again. It always got incredibly dull when she was locked in one of the closets as punishment, her thoughts her only company.

Suffice to say, her stepmother had not taken the news well. Storming down the stairs like a bat out of hell, screaming like a banshee at her. Accusing her of being ungrateful, of ruining her daughters, and being a whore like her dead mother (for which Sophie got slapped across the face after trying to defend her). After she was done screaming, Araminta had trapped her in the closet while she tried to figure out what to do with her. She'd screamed about throwing her out of the home and onto the streets, but Sophie had heard that threat too many times before for it to have an effect on her. There was no one else in London Araminta could get to work as a maid, gardener, tailor, and whatever else she needed Sophie to be for the simple fee of nothing at all.

Not that Sophie was prepared to leave. She always had been, but when you worked for nothing, she was left with nothing. No way of supporting her escape.

Yet somehow, through all of this, Araminta still hadn't figured out Sophie had snuck out two months ago to attend a ball. The scuffed silver shoes she'd borrowed were still hidden in the back of her stepmother's closet. She had that, at least.

So, as she sat on the floor of the closet, fiddling with a loose string on her old dress, Sophie waited for someone to come unlock the door. Going through her unattainable escape plan once again. Nothing but a fantasy, just like Benedict Bridgerton was.

Benedict Bridgerton. The man she spent such a wondrous evening with. Who made her heart flutter whenever she thought about him and of whom she'd spent many evenings dreaming about.

And now her name was in the paper next to his. Announcing an impending marriage.

Which was impossible. She hadn't seen him since that night. Not once. They'd become nothing more than two ships passing in the night. A man who did not even know her name. A man she'd already come to terms with, never seeing him again.

She sighed. This was a nightmare. Her dreams and fantasies had somehow become her personal nightmare.

The lock shifted suddenly, moving from its place in the door frame and snapping her from her anxious thoughts. Sophie stumbled to her feet, realizing the door was finally unlocked and opened. Light pooled into the room once again.

And revealing a still furious-looking Araminta on the other side of the door. Who sneered at Sophie when she saw her before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"We have been invited to the Bridgertons for tea."

Her eyes opened again as she said the last sentence and snapped to Sophie. She glared at her with such anger and disgust that Sophie flinched back from it, wishing to be anywhere but here.

"I'm sorry?" Sophie bleated out, confused.

"Rosamund will give you one of her dresses since I doubt you will fit into any of Posy's, and then we will depart. Now go! Get dressed," she ordered curtly, stepping back so Sophie could exit the closet. "You will come with me, and you will say nothing. Nothing. Do you hear me? You have done enough damage, and I will not risk you ruining any chances of Rosamund finding a match. I will handle this. See how I can convince the Bridgertons to break this insulting pairing." She scoffed, shaking her head in disgust as Sophie stepped past her and into the hallway. "To think you thought you had a chance with one of them. How pathetic."

Clenching her jaw and her fists, her nails digging crescent-shaped moons into her palms, the only thing she had to ground her, Sophie took a deep breath through gritted teeth. She focused on trying to ignore how her stomach tightened at the jab. She wouldn't let it linger. She wouldn't. No matter how deep the knife felt.

She was well aware that she had nothing to bring to this match. Her stepmother did not need to remind her.

Straightening her back out, and ignoring the insult, as she had done for years now, she turned to face her.

"Anything else you would like me to do, Lady Penwood?" she asked politely, forcing a smile.

Araminta only sneered, her lip curling upwards. "Make yourself look presentable. That is the least you can do for me. We leave for the Bridgertons in an hour."

~~~

The printer's shop had been a dead end. The owner had refused their demands for answers, for explanations as to how Benedict's name had ended up in his paper next to a woman he did not know. Even Anthony's threats of libel and ruin did nothing to curb the owner's resolve.

"It ain't false unless they don't get married," he told them gruffly. Adding to the insult, he'd then informed them a retraction would cost them quite some coin.

A lot.

Anthony made clear there would be consequences, regardless, before they took their leave. Finding no other reason to stick around and argue any further. Benedict had briefly contemplated waiting, noticing how skittish the printer's assistant looked as he worked in the background. He watched them with a guilty look as they spoke with his employer, and Benedict wondered if the man had more information. Information he was willing to provide.

But they'd decided to try again later, knowing they had to be home in case there was a visit from the members of Penwood House. They could find out if their mother had learned anything new in their absence.

And their mother informed them that, yes, Miss Beckett did, in fact, exist and would be arriving upon the hour with Lady Penwood.

Which was enough time for Benedict to down two glasses of whiskey just to keep his strength up.

Christ, he had no idea what to do.

And he was angry. The shock of waking up to find himself engaged had slowly turned into annoyance and then rage as the day continued. He was furious that someone would force him into a marriage. It made him think about Nigel Berbrooke and what he'd tried with Daphne, which only made him even angrier when he remembered that slight. Against his sister, no less. And that had been years ago now.

Not to mention, he'd already found the love of his life, the mysterious Lady in Silver. The woman who had captured his heart in one evening and then ran off with it when the clock struck twelve, disappearing into the night. He was still searching for her, and now he may never even be able to be with her even if he did find her.

So, he was angry. With Miss Beckett. With the printer's shop. With whoever the hell it had been to put that announcement in the paper in the first place.

His mother had tried to keep him calm, pulling him into a comforting, maternal hug when she saw him step out of his brother's office. He went willingly, a small part of him needing the validation, support, and comfort his mother offered.

"We'll figure this out," she whispered. "If I didn't let your sister marry that god-awful Berbrooke, I won't let you marry someone you do not wish to either."

"I know," he replied.

Then she pulled away, moving to cup his cheeks in her hands as she rubbed circles over them with her thumbs.

"I'm sorry," he tells her again, his shoulders sagging.

"Oh hush, you have nothing to apologize for," she tells him, letting the words linger for a few seconds before she drops her hands from his face. "Lady Penwood should be here soon. Am I correct in my assumption you will be on your best behavior?" she gave him a knowing look as she said that part, one dark brow raised.

Benedict huffed a laugh, trying not to roll his eyes. "Of course, mother."

His mother only smiled again, reaching out to rub his cheek once more.

"Behave," she warned, and he nodded.

He was somehow able to keep his anger in check as he waited for the arrival of his apparent fiancee, Miss Sophia Beckett.

The entire time they were waiting, he could only think the worst of her. The most likely ulterior motives she must have had. A country-raised woman, an orphan, a ward who probably had only a meager dowry. Most likely seeking out his family's wealth and status to uplift her own. He didn't know if she was younger or older than him. No idea what her likes were or her personality. If she was anything like the elder Reiling sister, Benedict doubted they'd get along.

And then, she arrived.

And he realized he may have rushed to conclusions.

Because, frankly, she didn't look to him to have been the one to cause this. Didn't look a thing like the image he'd created in his mind.

She was young, petite, probably a foot shorter than him, wearing pale green and white, although the gown appeared to run rather big on her. The bottom of the gown's skirt dragged across the floor as if it hadn't been altered correctly, the sleeves barely hanging onto her thin arms or covering her shoulders.

Her features were fairy-like, sharp but soft. Enough that drew him towards her like a moth to a flame. A look of innocence. Ringlet curls pinned back into a bun, the curls falling around the bottom like a fringe of a curtain, with the shorter ones framing her face. And her eyes were the color of emeralds. Round and weary of the surroundings around her.

Benedict had to admit. She was quite beautiful.

And almost familiar. A feeling of deja vu swept over him as he studied her. They couldn't possibly have met before.

She was nervous, fiddling with the tips of her gloves as she lingered behind Lady Penwood during the introductions, as if trying to hide, keeping herself out of sight.

"Lord Bridgerton and Lady Violet!" Lady Penwood exclaimed cheerfully as she entered; however, Benedict had seen enough forced smiles in his lifetime to know the woman was not happy to be here.

"Lady Araminta. How are you?" his mother replied, with an equal matching forced politeness to that of the countess, sounding as if she was being reunited with an old friend when he knew her feelings to be the complete opposite.

"My sincerest apologies for all of this," the countess replied with a wave of the hand. "You must understand, we have no idea how any of this has happened."

"Oh, I would never dare to assume. I'm certain this is nothing more than some cruel prank," Violet returned with a sharp smile. Her pale eyes drifted over Araminta's shoulder to the young Miss Beckett standing quietly behind her. "And you must be Miss Beckett."

The young lady curtsied. "Your ladyship."

"This must have been such a surprise for you," Violet told her. "Getting dragged into all of this. I doubt it was what you expected when you woke up this morning."

Miss Beckett opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Araminta, who went as far to step in front of her, blocking their view as she began to talk instead.

"You must understand, Sophia has never been the smartest young woman. I've personally never understood why my late husband took her in, but I know she'd never ever be stupid enough to force a gentleman's hand. You see, she only just arrived in town," the countess said.

Benedict frowned. The tone had been polite, but there was a pointed jab directed at Sophie when Araminta spoke, anger hidden between the words. And Sophie only flinched as she spoke, shrinking back and away from them. A look on her face that said she wished to just disappear.

Araminta's icy eyes finally fell on him.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she smiled, her wolfish smile. Teeth and all. "I feel I must personally apologize for you being dragged into all of this."

He nodded his bow. "There is no need to apologize, Lady Penwood. I'm certain we can resolve this amongst ourselves. And quickly."

"Why don't we discuss this all in the parlor?" Violet suggested.

Araminta quickly agreed and followed his mother into the parlor, his brother close behind them, but Benedict found his feet suddenly rooted to the ground. Unable to move. Frankly, he didn't want to. Going into the parlor meant handling this god-awful affair, and he was just too tired to deal with it right now.

And it appeared Miss Sophie felt the same. She hadn't moved from the front hall either, still standing a short distance away. Leaving them both standing there, awkwardly and alone.

"I do not believe we were properly introduced," he told her, giving a short bow. "Benedict Bridgerton."

"Sophie. Sophie Beckett," she replied with another quick curtsy. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Bridgerton. I swear, I had nothing to do with this."

He believed her. He hardly knew her, yet something told him he could trust her. There was a strange familiarity about her like he'd met her before, but he couldn't place were. And the sincerity in her voice, the worry in her round doe eyes, she was not lying to him.

"I believe you," he told her.

She blinked. "You do?"

"If anything, I should apologize to you," he told her. "I doubt this has been an enjoyable experience for you. And after you just arrived."

"Yes, I suppose it hasn't," she replied rather weakly.

He knew her. He had to. She seemed so familiar, and yet he couldn't place were. Her curls and eyes, her voice, those soft, plump lips, he could have sworn he'd met her once.

"Shall we?" he motioned towards the parlor, and she nodded.

He'd figure it out.

~~~

You could hear a pin drop. That was how silent it had become.

And the silence was going to kill Sophie. As she sat next to Araminta on the robin eggs blue and gold settee, across from Benedict, his mother, and brother, who all sat on the matching pair, all it did was aggravate her already high level of anxiety.

No one was speaking. A standoff over who would speak first had been going on since they first entered the room and took their seats.

It was apparent the Bridgertons were suspicious of them and that they did not particularly like them either. Not that they didn't have a reason not to be. Lord Anthony Bridgerton stoically sat next to his mother, watching them both intently with a severe expression. His mother, Violet, had kept a more polite and cheerful facade.

And Benedict.

Benedict looked increasingly uncomfortable like he'd eaten something that hadn't sat well with him.

She'd barely exchanged another word with him since their brief introduction.

Not that she'd been able to. Araminta kept answering for her whenever one of the Bridgertons asked her a question.

"I did not know the earl had a ward," Violet said suddenly with a forced cheery voice. Trying to start a conversation.

"I spent most of my life in the country," Sophie quickly lied, smiling politely back.

"His lordship did not see it fit for Sophie to mingle with the ton. What with her background being as low as it is," Araminta added.

Her smile faltered for a second, but Sophie was able to keep it up, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could leave.

But she had not gone unnoticed by Lady Violet. The older woman frowned with concern as she watched Sophie slowly shrink in on herself, trying to look smaller.

"Still, I doubt that should have been a barrier," she remarked, her pale eyes snapping back towards Araminta.

"Is there anyone you can think of who might have done this?" Anthony interjected, getting back to the point at hand.

"Of course not, Lord Bridgerton," Araminta replied. "My best guess is someone wished to bring scandal to both our names. For all I know, it could have been Whistledown, trying to create her own drama to write about."

"Unlikely, given her pamphlet today made no mention of my family and any recent engagements," Anthony replied.

"She most likely will tomorrow, though," Araminta said back.

"Yes, now that she knows, along with the rest of the city," Anthony responded tightly with an unimpressed look. It was apparent he was not happy with the responses Araminta was giving.

"It may be best for us all to figure out how we will be handling this moving forward. We can focus on who is behind all of this later," Violet said this time.

"Well, it seems rather simple to me," Araminta retorted. "We just informed the printer to report the engagement is now off."

There was a loose string on the wrist of the lace glove Sophie borrowed from Rosamund. An old pair she hadn't worn in years, and Sophie couldn't help but fiddle with the thin string hanging off from the fabric, rolling it between her thumb and index finger as she only half listened to the conversation.

"There will be talk, of course," Violet told them. "But we should be able to make this work out in our favor. Make this look amicable on both parts."

"A few public appearances here and there, and if we all stay to the same story when someone asks, I'm sure we can keep the rest of the ton off our backs," Anthony added.

"My daughters will be more than welcome to help," Araminta told them with a genuine, excited smile. "Sophie will unfortunately be returning to the country at the end of this week, but I'm sure we can make it work without her."

More like the broom closet of Penwood House.

But Sophie didn't like the look that crossed her stepmother's face. Her stepmother had just been told the Bridgertons would willingly interact with her and in public, no less. Sophie suspected she was already scheming to figure out a way to make this benefit her and Rosamund.

"Well," Sophie turned back towards Violet, who was speaking, and gave her a sympathetic smile. "It will certainly be much quieter in the country."

"Yes, yes, she's incredibly lucky," Araminta added, with an edge in her voice only Sophie could recognize.

Maybe it wasn't the broom closet she was being sent to.

~~~

After conceiving the story they would be using, the Bridgertons having decided they would be the ones to go to the printer's shop to have the announcement made, Sophie was preparing to leave with Araminta. Lady Violet, the only one who had followed them to the carriage to see them off, while her sons remained standing on the front steps, watching them.

Sophie curtsied quickly to the dowager viscountess. "Thank you for hosting us, Lady Violet."

"Oh, it was no worry. It was lovely to meet you. Safe travels back," Lady Violet replied, speaking to her and only her as Araminta seemed to wish to be anywhere else, speaking with the carriage driver.

"Miss Beckett?" a voice called out behind her. A voice Sophie recognized.

Sophie turned and blinked in surprise as she found a familiar face coming towards her.

"John?" she tilted her head towards the side.

Dressed in similar lilac-colored uniforms as the other Bridgerton footmen, wig and all, was John Baker, the son of her father's butler. His family had worked for his father until he'd passed; his mother was one of the maids, and John had been assigned to the stables when he'd gotten old enough to be able to do manual labor. After Sophie's father died, the Bakers had taken their final payment and a letter of recommendation before leaving for London, having no interest in working for Araminta now that the earl was gone.

"You two know each other?" Lady Violet asked, glancing between the pair.

"Um, we were friends when we were children," Sophie told her quickly.

John nodded. "My family worked for the Earl of Penwood, your ladyship."

John had been a few years older than her but was one of the only children close enough in age for her to play with, given she wasn't allowed to interact with the children from the village. They'd chased each other around the grounds of Penwood Park when they were very little. John was one of the few to keep her company, given her father, stepmother, and stepsisters had never given her any.

Sophie had run into John the month prior at the markets one morning, recognizing her old friend when he'd been on his off day and not wearing his uniform she saw him in now. He'd been equally surprised to see her in London and to see her dressed as a maid, no less. At first, she'd done her best to hide what had happened since he'd left with his family, but John had caught on quickly to what Araminta had done to her.

They'd chatted while she went through the market, purchasing the items Miss Gibbons had sent her out to fetch, and during it, she may have finally admitted to her old friend everything that had happened. Everything Araminta had done since her father died, up to the night she'd slipped out without anyone noticing, to attend a ball.

"I did not realize you worked for the Gunningworths," Violet replied to John, looking surprised.

"My parents took a position in the city after his death. To be closer to my mother's family," John told her. "Miss Beckett and I have not seen each other for quite some time now."

"You look well, John," Sophie remarked, giving him a smile.

"As do you," John replied. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Oh, just fixing some small miscommunication. I believe it's all been settled," Sophie shrugged off nervously, not sure whether she should disclose what had happened to him in front of his current employer.

"Yes, it's all been settled now," Lady Violet smiled. "It was wonderful to meet you, Sophie, even under rather stressful circumstances."

"Come, Sophie," Araminta ordered curtly from where she stood by the carriage. "Let's go."

"You're leaving already?" John asked, seeming confused before glancing back to where the elder Bridgerton sons were standing.

"Well, we did settle everything we needed to," Sophie told him politely.

"Sophia!" Araminta snapped from the carriage. "Now!"

Sophie cringed, while Lady Violet only raised a brow at Araminta's curt orders but said nothing. She stepped aside so that Sophie could leave.

Reaching out to grab the carriage door, knowing Araminta wouldn't hold it for her and the driver had already climbed up onto his seat, an arm reached out past her and grabbed it before she could even place her hand on it.

"No, here," John stepped forward. "Let me get that for you."

~~~

They had yet to leave.

After all the polite chatting and planning, Benedict was exhausted. The whole situation was exhausting, and now he was stuck playing niceties with the Reiling girls for the next few weeks.

He just wanted them gone. The Countess and Sophie.

And they looked about to see if his mother would finish her conversation with Sophie. Even the Countess appeared to have the same feeling about him, looking rather bored and impatient as his mother saw them off.

He impatiently tapped his foot against the ground enough that his brother quietly admonished him to stop. He couldn't help it. He just wanted the day to be over. And they were so close. The seconds felt like agonizing hours as Benedict waited.

And then Footman John appeared. Benedict frowned, watching the man greet Sophie like she was an old friend, and by the looks of it, they seemed to know each other. Strange. How on earth did they know one another?

The pair chatted happily together, briefly, as his mother seemed to ask a few questions before the countess ordered Sophie into the carriage. That they were leaving.

Finally.

But then, Footman John stepped forward and moved his arm up to hold the carriage door open for Sophie, covering the top part of her face. Given her height, only her nose and jaw could be seen as she turned to thank him.

It felt like the floor gave out under him.

Benedict froze. His heart stuttered as it almost stopped completely in his chest. It couldn't be.

He knew that jaw. Those lips. He'd drawn it a thousand times. Seen in his dreams, found himself haunted by it and been practically tormented by it as the image followed his thoughts while he drifted through the days listlessly in search of her. As it became more and more apparent, he would never find her.

Until now.

It couldn't be her. It wasn't possible.

The Lady in Silver.

She was here. She had been here the entire afternoon. Standing right in front of him, he hadn't realized.

No wonder he thought he knew her from somewhere. His heart had been yelling at him the entire time she'd stood before him, and his mind had never caught on to it. Never put two and two together. But the pieces had finally fallen into place.

And she was leaving. If he didn't stop her, he was going to lose her again.

"Wait!" he yelled, rushing down the stairs.

"Benedict?" he heard his mother say, alarmed, as he raced towards the carriage, hastily moving past her.

"Wait!" he yelled again, grabbing at the carriage door to prevent them from leaving. John, thankfully, stepped aside in surprise, giving him the space he needed.

"Mr. Bridgerton, what on earth–?" Lady Penwood started from inside the carriage, but he wasn't focused on her. He was too focused on the woman standing outside it, staring up at him with wide, petrified eyes, to care about the countess.

"It's you," he breathed out.

"I'm sorry?" Sophie blinked at him, confused.

"That night. Two months ago. The Lady in Silver. That's you," he said, watching as her wide eyes somehow widened further.

"I-I have n-no idea what you are talking about," she nervously stuttered.

"I've spent the past two months searching day and night for you, and here you are," he huffed a laugh, still in disbelief. "All this time, and I never realized."

"What do you mean you've met before?" Araminta snapped from inside the carriage. "Sophie. What is the meaning of this?"

The fearful look that flashed over Sophie's face as she glanced back toward the countess had tugged something within Benedict, making him ready to put himself directly in between them if necessary.

"I-I… It's nothing, your ladyship. He's just confused," Sophie quickly told her.

And then he realized. Two months. It had been two months since he'd seen her. But the countess had said she'd just arrived in the city that week. That she'd been in the county since the season began.

The countess, who was the same woman that had told him, to his face, that no other woman lived at Penwood House. No one but the staff.

"You've been here all this time?" he said, and Sophie looked back at him. "How?"

"Because she's a maid," Footman John said quietly next to him and he looked at the man with alarm. "Lady Penwood forced her to be her servant after the late earl passed."

The staff. She'd said no other woman lived in the house except staff.

"She what?" his mother asked, aghast, having approached from behind him.

"I did nothing of the sort," Araminta shot at them defensively. "She's been living at Penwood Park. The new lord cares for her out of the kindness of his own heart after my late husband left her nothing."

"He left her an inheritance. A dowry," John corrected, eyes dark as he glared at the countess. "To be managed until she turned twenty, after which the solicitor would help her manage it until she married, and it was handed off to her husband. My father saw his will. Multiple times. She'd get four thousand pounds a year after his death, and Sophie hasn't seen a single coin from it in all these years."

"What? I have a what?" Sophie asked quietly, stunned by the news she was only just learning.

"Two thousand pounds a year increased to six if you continued caring for her until she was of age," John grounded out at Araminta. "He didn't trust the new earl to be able to, what with his drinking habits, so he put the clause in to guarantee you would. He thought you'd get her married off quickly, and instead, you forced her into servitude."

"You have no proof," Araminta hissed.

"Is there a copy of this will anywhere?" Violet asked gently.

John shrugged. "The solicitor may have one, but it's been years since I last saw him."

"He left me a dowry?" Sophie said. Benedict finally noticed how pale she'd gone; the color all but vanished from her face. She was shaking.

"Why on earth would you do that to the poor girl?" Violet demanded.

Araminta had decided to finally drop the pleasantries altogether, her worry turning to fierce fury, her lip curling into an ugly sneer.

"Because the girl is nothing more than a bastard," she hissed.

“What?”

“She’s my late husband’s bastard,” Araminta repeated. “The daughter of some whore.”

“Good lord,” Violet gasped quietly at the news, taken a back as well.

Benedict wouldn't deny the surprise he felt at this, followed ever so briefly by concern. Sophie was a bastard? There was nothing to suggest it except, but if the rest of the ton where to discover—

Concern over whether not he could or should be with Sophie, a flash of worry about how his family would handle this, briefly shot through him. He would hate himself later for it, but Benedict hesitated. He hesitated on the idea of being with Sophie.

But when he glanced towards her, seeing she was now shaking, her eyes wide and filled with fear, he knew the only thing he wanted to do was keep her safe. To be by her side. The last thing he cared about was what the rest of society thought about him. All he wanted was to be with her.

"I don't care," he told Araminta, a protective fury building in him now.

The countess was momentarily taken aback by this, faltering briefly before the furious rage returned to her icy eyes.

"You want to marry a bastard, then, by all means, do so. I'm certain the ton will be interested to hear exactly who Sophie Beckett truly is," she hissed.

But Benedict glared furiously back at her, his hand clenched into a tight fist at his side. At that moment in time, he was completely prepared to throw a fist at the countess, but his mother suddenly stepped in front of him.

"You will do no such thing," she snapped.

"You think I'll allow some lowly bastard like her to marry into this society?" Araminta shot back.

"Oh, I think you will. In fact, I think it would be best if you give nothing but your best wishes to pair whenever you are asked," Violet coldly told her. "If this dowry has been mismanaged and withheld from Miss Beckett all these years, then I believe it would be best to investigate where exactly it has gone. Our solicitor will be more than welcome to seek out the truth on this matter."

"You have no proof," Araminta repeated.

"Then I will send word immediately to your late husband's solicitor and the new earl. And I will not stop until I find it," Violet informed her. "I doubt you'll be able to afford that. What with the recent financial difficulties I've heard you've been having. Unpaid debts at the modiste."

Araminta stiffened, revealing his mother's assumptions to be true.

"Your financial difficulties have certainly been the talk of the town lately. I'm surprised Whistledown hasn't pointed out how you have remained in London after the social season was over while the rest of us returned to the country these past few years. Trouble with the new lord?" Violet inquired, knowingly, moving closer to the carriage. "And it is not as if you haven't been without your own accusations. Your last marriage was rather rushed. Wasn't it? I doubt the late earl was happy it left him without a male heir. That was the reason he returned to London that season. And let's not forget your second marriage was done rather hastily, too. If I recall, your eldest was born soon after that? Seven months after your marriage to Lord Reiling. And perfectly healthy, too. Must have been a blessing for you that she took more after you in appearance than her father."

Araminta blanched; mouth open in shock at what Violet had alluded to before white-hot fury flashing in her eyes. "How dare you–"

"How dare I what?" Violet snapped, head held high as she stepped towards the other woman again, and somehow, even as she stood below her due to the carriage, Violet was still able to look down at her. "Remind everyone of old rumors you did nothing to prevent or deny. Three scandalous marriages, Araminta, and not a single whisper. I am more than welcome to point out to the others that you are in no position to cast a stone at my family if you dare to speak out. Your past will certainly help deflect any gossip you direct towards us."

Violet stopped briefly, allowing her threats to linger, watching the shocked and grave expression grow on Araminta's face before continuing. "But I suppose I would be willing to hold my tongue as long as you hold yours."

"B-But, sh-she's…she is a–" Araminta stuttered.

"Daughter of the late Charles and Maria Beckett last I heard," Violet informed her curtly, the threatening tone having yet to disappear. "And I think, for the benefit of your dwindling reputation, Araminta, that you would be best to remember that."

Araminta was silent, stuck glaring at Violet, who only raised a dark brow back at her as the seconds ticked by.

"Right?" she added, slowly.

After a few additional seconds of silence, Araminta nodded. "Fine," she muttered at her, before glaring at Sophie. "Don't even think about returning to Penwood House. You are no longer welcome there."

"I wasn't welcomed there, to begin with," Sophie quietly retorted back.

"And she certainly has no need to go there, ever again," Violet said to Araminta. "I'd say it was good seeing you, but we both know that would be a lie. Good day, Lady Penwood."

And with that, his mother slammed the carriage door in the countess's stunned, furious face, before turning back towards the pair and smiling. "Well, I believe that settles it. I suppose your brother and I will have to get a special license. Won't we?"

"Have I told you how wonderful of a mother you are?" Benedict smiled.

"Not today, you haven't," his mother replied with a smile of her own.

Benedict leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

"It was no issue, sweetheart," Violet replied. "Now, I need to get in contact with the archbishop. If you would both excuse me."

She quickly departed back into Number 5, with John following close behind, returning to his place by the front door, leaving the pair to watch the Penwood carriage pass by, the cracking of reins and whining of horses before it raced away. Araminta was glowering as she sat within, not daring to glance out the window towards them as the carriage set off. Once it had disappeared around the corner, Benedict glanced back towards Sophie, finding her watching the road with a sullen, anxious look gracing her perfect features.

"What's wrong?" he asked her gently, concerned.

"You really want this?" she asked him, hesitantly. "To marry me."

"Of course, I do," he told her.

"You're better off without me," Sophie told him with a sigh.

Benedict slipped his hand in with hers, stepping closer to her. "I'll be the judge of that."

She gave him a look, her head tilting to the side as her eyes grew sad. "You barely know me."

He brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. "I learned enough about you that night to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he told her, his breath tickling over the skin of her fingers. He smiled. "And if you're that worried, we'll at least have three days to get to know each other better. My mother is an expert at getting special licenses."

“Three days?” Sophie eyes’ almost bugged out of her skull.

He only chuckled. “Well, the announcement was already made. And the less time I have to wait, the better. I don’t believe we need to wait for the banns to be read. Do you?”

Sophie smiled back at him, shaking her head. Slowly, but the corners of her lips pulled upwards eventually. A soft pink hue developed over her cheeks and nose as she blushed. God, she was beautiful.

He pulled her close, linking his arm with hers. "Come. Let's introduce you to everyone else," Benedict told her. "I can finally rub it in their faces that you are in fact very much real, and that I didn't imagine you. It will be quite the surprise for them."

After a moment of lingering hesitance, Sophie linked her arm with him, allowing him to escort her up the front steps and to a far better future than what had once been. Neither one noticing the smile Footman John had as he watched them head inside.

While this writer was certainly surprised to hear about the sudden marriage announcement between Mr. Benedict Bridgerton and a young Miss Sophia Beckett, it appears the couple are so helplessly in love they just could not wait to marry.

This author had heard whispers from Kent of a young ward catching the eye of the eligible second Bridgerton son, but it was a genuine mistake of mine to not investigate it further. You all must forgive me for not reporting it to you sooner, I've just never been interested in gossip from the county. It's always so dreadfully boring the news that comes from there.

Let me at least give my many blessings to the happy couple, and best of luck with the nuptials. Many, including yours truly, are ever so interested in knowing how they met.

But alas, we'll all just have to wait until they return from the honeymoon to learn that story.

– Lady Whistledown Reports

| The Day Before the Announcement |

John knew it was a mistake. Coming here.

He really needed to stop involving himself in the lives of his employers. It was getting out of hand.

But Eloise had begged him to deliver one last letter for her. A final apology was written in the envelope he held clasped in his hand, so she finally ceased caring for Theo, the printer's assistant. He had no idea if it was a good idea if it would help, but he liked Eloise. As brash as she could get with him, she did bring amusement, and he'd felt sorry for how Whistledown had treated her recently.

He'd helped her before. That's why she asked him.

As he entered the printer's shop, John was forced to wait in line behind another scrawny-looking man, who was currently speaking with the shop owner.

"My employer wishes for it to go out tomorrow," the man told him.

"It will cost extra," the shop owner grunted as he skimmed over the small piece of paper. He then scoffed. "What's this? The third marriage announcement from the Bridgertons in the past year? I thought that Viscount was already married?"

John froze, immediately on alert at the mention of his employer's name, and then frowned as he thought over the information he'd heard. A marriage announcement? Not one of the unmarried Bridgertons were engaged. And Lord Bridgerton had only just returned from his honeymoon a few months ago. The man in front of him was certainly not employed in the house either, John would have recognized him.

"Lady Penwood is willing to pay as much as you need," the man retorted, dropping a bag of coin on the counter. "Just get it out tonight, or she'll have my head and yours."

John's frown deepened. Lady Penwood was a name he hadn't heard in years but one he knew always came with trouble. His recent interaction with her stepdaughter, Sophie, had confirmed the suspicions he'd held towards her since the moment his father's old employer had returned to Penwood Park with her.

The shop owner pulled open the small pouch in front of him, giving a quick count of what he could see, and nodded. "Alright. I can get it printed out tonight and sent out in the morning run." He then looked over his shoulder and shouted. "Theo! Get over here!"

The other man nodded his thanks before turning to hastily depart the shop. John confirmed he was undoubtedly not another footman or employee in the Bridgerton house as the man passed him by. Meaning he had to work for Lady Penwood.

And he'd been discussing a marriage announcement. To whom, John had no idea, but he knew it was probably with Lady Penwood's eldest and more favored daughter, Rosamund. A woman John wouldn't wish on any man.

"Get this note sent up for print, and fast, boy," the shop owner told Theo. "I'll be in the back if you need me. You can help the next customer before you get to work."

Theo glanced towards John, eyes widening as he recognized him, while his employer disappeared further back into the shop.

"John, isn't it?" Theo asked once they were alone.

"What was that about the Bridgertons and a marriage announcement?" John demanded quickly, approaching the counter. "None of them are being courted right now, let alone engaged."

His questioning led the young printer's assistant to read over the paper he'd been handed, eyes widening as he recognized the names himself.

"It says Benedict Bridgerton is marrying Rosamund Reilling," he told him, glancing back up. "Benedict is Eloise's older right?"

"Benedict isn't engaged," John informed him harshly, ignoring his question. He knew for a fact he wasn't about to marry. Unless he'd finally found the Lady in Silver, or Sophie Beckett as John had learned, but he would have known by now if he had.

"I believe you," Theo replied softly. "But why would someone do this?"

"To force a marriage to prevent a scandal. It's one of the oldest tricks in the book," John replied, recalling how it had almost happened to the eldest Bridgerton daughter. "The man who was just here was employed by Lady Penwood, Miss Reiling's mother. She most likely wants to force an engagement for her own personal gain. You cannot allow that to be published."

"John, I have a job to do," Theo retorted with a sigh. "If I don't put this in, I'll be let go."

"But it's not true! Your boss is likelier to get stuck with a slander accusation if he publishes it. He'll be ruined," John argued. "You'll cause more harm than good by putting that in."

"I won't lose my job," Theo shot back. "I'm sorry. I really am. I don't want to do this to Eloise's family either, but I've got people counting on me. My hands are tied. Unless you have a better idea, I'm putting this note in tonight."

He opened his mouth to argue further, but John could not think of anything else. Of anything that would convince Theo to throw away the note. He'd been through enough himself, and losing his job, his only source of income would only add to that.

Seeing he had nothing else to say, Theo sighed, telling him to have a good day before heading back towards the large printer to get it set up.

"Wait!"

Theo turned to look at him.

"What if you change the name?" John asked.

Theo thought about it for a second before nodding. "If you have a name I can use instead, I'll probably be able to get away with that."

He did. He knew exactly which name to give.

Oh, but she was going to kill him when she found out. And so were the Bridgertons.

But after the last conversation he'd had with her when he'd seen what had happened to her, John couldn't allow her to stay in that house any longer. And if he was right about what he'd learned from her and what he'd seen from Benedict, this may work out for the best.

And, besides, it was better than being married to Rosamund Reiling.

"Sophia. Put down Sophia Beckett. Here. Give it to me. I'll write it down for you."

#my fics.#did I take the p&p (2005) hand scene for this fic's image #absolutely I did #and am I back again with another fic #lets not talk about that my brain just finally put it together for this one as well #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton #Bridgerton fics

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sxphiebeckettt · 11 months

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The Lady Sophia Maria Beckett, daughter of the Earl of Penwood.

POV: if Sophie was legitimate

#sophie beckett #an offer from a gentleman #bridgerton #poc Sophie Beckett #Beckett>gunningworth #aesthetics #moodboard #sophie beckett edit #Netflix #legitimate Sophie Beckett #bridgerton edit #black Sophie Beckett #fancast #fan cast #benophie week #benophieweek2023 #benophie week 2023 #fancast: isabella peschardt

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silverhallow · 1 year

Note

Maybe you've been asked this before but just how big do you think book/show My Cottage is/will be? Obviously it's not 'small' like Sophie pictures when Ben mentions a cottage but I'm curious how big do we think it actually is.

I mean Benedict does say “you should have seen his other residence” suggests that My Cottage is more “ironic” than factual.

To me My Cottage is a Country Estate, not as grand as Aubrey Hall

I imagine something like this:

(This is Champions Farm in West Sussex if anyone is interested)

Or like this

(This is in Glanvilles Wootton, Dorset)

Hence why Sophie’s like 👀👀

I also have a little head canon, that this used to belong to the Earl of Penwood but he ought it off the NEW Earl because he had no need for it…

But it’s big enough for all the Bridgerton’s to come but not once everyone has kids…

It’s got enough bedrooms for the siblings and their four kids plus a nursery and a library and his studio…

#my cottage #bridgerton #ask ash #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton #benophie #benedict x sophie #an offer from a gentleman

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hopepaigeturner · 3 days

Text

The Woes of Little Sophie Beckett

CONTEXT:

Here comes the big boy...

Episode 4 contains most of the flashbacks occur. This particular set of scenes are like Simon’s flashback in S1E2.

Episode 4 is the episode where Sophie starts working for the Bridgertons. It is where we get to know Sophie better, and where Sophie is trying to settle into London life.

A key cinematic theme in this chunk is the image of people stepping away from Sophie.

IMPORTANT: We do not see Araminta/Rosamund/Posy clearly. We, as the audience, should not know about the Penwood connection...yet. (It’s not much of a ‘plot twist’ for book readers, but I think the revelation of Araminta as Lady Penwood could be played a little for drama).

The flashbacks start from the end of E3.

✨Flashback:✨

Part 1

The episode opens with a continuation from E3 flashback. Of little Sophie in front of an imposing man—who steps away from her with a frown.

“What must be done, must be done. Give her a room in the nursery.”

Then we see short flashes of Sophie growing up. Sophie sneaking into the study and showing a picture she has drawn; Sophie standing next to her governess and handing him a neatly handwritten sheet of paper—all met with a stony silence. Sophie exploring the grounds on her own, making friends with pinecones. Sophie running along high-ceilinged rooms—her small frame dwarfed by the imperious golden frames on the walls. Sophie ensconced in servants life: cooking in the kitchen and playing in the stable yard. But still no smile from her father.

Part 2:

Then we get the scene from the book where Sophie is waiting for Araminta. The camera is still from Sophie’s POV, so we see things on her level— to match her stature. So, we do not see the faces of others.

Ten-year-old Sophie is standing off to the side in the shadows as the Earl and Araminta greet all the servants, their words muted. At her skirts are Rosamund and Posy. The camera focuses on Sophie who fiddles with her fingers.

“And here is Minny, the kitchen maid—the last of the staff.”

The young girl bobs a curtsey.

“Your ladyship.”

“Good to meet you.”

The Earl turns to his new wife.

“Now, I am sure Mrs Gibbons will show you the rest of the house.”

“That would be delightful my Lord,” the new Lady Penwood says.

Sophie fiddles more, biting her lip.

There is a cough, which catches the Earl’s attention. Mrs Gibbons notions with her head towards Sophie. The Earl turns and does a double-take.

“Oh Sophia, ofcourse. Come here.”

Sophie gives a nervous smile—ofcourse he hadn’t forgotten her. She walks up to her new mother, fiddling with her fingers but with hope in her eyes.

“My dear, allow me to introduce my ward, Miss Sophie Beckett. Her father was a great friend of mine.”

“Your ladyship.”

Sophie curtsies as her governess taught her, even though her governess is nowhere in sight. Sophie rises and gives her new mother her best smile—one full of teeth. The camera remains focused on Sophie.

“I see.”

Lady Penwood steps away. Sophie’s smile falters.

A swish of skirts.

“Mrs Gibbons, we should commence the tour.”

“Ofcourse your Ladyship, this way.”

All we see is Sophie’s falling face as the woman strides away, her two daughters following behind.

“You are all dismissed!” the Earl calls then strides off.

The hall empties, Sophie looks around but only finds herself alone...

Part 3:

Next scene, a snapshot of Sophie sat on her bed in the nursery hearing some clattering of Posy and Rosamund.

“Sophia! Supper!”

Sophie runs, eyes alight at another chance. Her face falls once again to see the empty table.

“Your stepsisters are merely tired,” her governess says. Sophie nods.

The next morning Sophie stands by her desk, fiddling with her fingers without a smile as Lady Penwood introduces her children. We are still at Sophie’s perspective, so all we see is from the bodice/waist down from adults.

“This is my eldest Rosamund, she is eleven, a very gifted girl. And here is my daughter Posy who is ten.”

“Ah, like Miss Sophia.”

“Indeed. I suppose you have been teaching Miss Beckett?”

“Yes, she is very proficient in mathematics and Latin, and speaks French beautifully.”

“I see.”

A stony silence. Sophie might not understand—but the audience does.

“I think my children would like to see the gardens, Miss Timmons.”

“Ofcourse you Ladyship. Sophia, put down your arithmetic—”

“Not Miss Beckett. I wish to have a word with her. Alone.”

Sophie’s head shoots up.

Miss Timmons looks a little wary but curtsies.

“Ofcourse, your Ladyship. Rosamund, Posy, come with me.”

The door clicks shut.

The sound of Araminta’s shoes click across the floor.

Click

Clack

Sophie fiddles with her hands, eyes transfixed.

Click.

Clack.

Lady Penwood crouches down.

And finally we are revealed who Lady Penwood is. (Either ‘Lady Cowper’ or the new actor whose been introduced). Regardless, she is a beautiful woman with a saccharine smile.

“I know who you are.”

Sophie blinks at Araminta’s smile.

“You are nothing but the bastard child of a whore.”

Sophie flinches as if slapped. Araminta continues with a little snarl,

“Now, the Earl seems intent on keeping a runt like you, but I oversee this household now, so let us make one thing clear. You might live at Penwood Park, you might be paraded around in pretty dresses and given education as if you were a real daughter, but you are nothing.” Araminta pinches Sophie’s chin which causes her to whimper. “From now on you will be silent. You will not address me unless I address you. You will not consort with my children and must do whatever they command. For my daughters are now the daughters of the house and thus are above a mongrel like you. You must never forget who you are—a bastard who is not fit to breathe the same air as the likes of myself and my daughters. Do you understand me?”

Sophie whimpers, Araminta pinches harder.

“Do you understand me?”

Sophie nods.

“Good.”

Araminta lets go of Sophie’s chin. The saccharine smile returns. She picks up the book that Sophie had been reading—a book of fairytales.

“I suppose you might have thought I would be a fairytale stepmother, like in the stories?”

Sophie merely trembles.

Araminta throws the book on the ground.

“Remember this carefully, Sophie. In this world, bastards of noblemen and servants do not get dreams or a happily ever after. They get what they deserve—nothing.”

Then, with a swoosh of skirts Araminta walks away.

The final shot is a teary-eyed Sophie.

The shot transitions into the present. A grown Sophie fiddles with her fingers in the same manner as she waits to meet Violet Bridgerton…

*~*~*~*~*~*

A key part of this set of flashbacks is to inform the audience of Sophie's motivation.

It shall also serve to inform numerous trauma responses/messages that have been embedded in her mind...

Masterlist

PREV | NEXT

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests!

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

#an offer from an avid reader #yes it's the angst train #get ready for the tears #sophie beckett #an offer from a gentleman #benophie #bridgerton #sophie's flashbacks

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thekatebridgerton · 8 months

Note

I don't remember much of Hyacinth's book, but I think I would remember if she insulted Sophie. Is it because she called her the daughter of an actress? I don't think that was an insult. Did I miss something?

you really had to make me dig for my copy of Its in his kiss to remind me how much I dislike adult Hyacinth do you?.

So here's the line about Sophie that I take issue with. I know everyone else doesn't and if its a me problem, its a me problem. Because I dont like Hyacinth. And I adore Sophie quite a lot

“Your family might object.”

“Pffft. We’re not so high in the instep as that. My brother’s wife is the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Penwood and an actress of God knows what provenance, and any one of us would lay down our lives for her.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But you are not illegitimate.”

He shook his head. “To my father’s everlasting despair.”

“Well, then,” she said, “I don’t see a problem. My brother and Sophie like to live quietly in the country, in part because of her past, but we shan’t be forced to do the same. Unless of course, you wish to.”

- IIHK chapter 18

Like seriously!! this part of the conversation makes me so angry, because I'm very pro Sophie, and here is Gareth telling her all this time he's been rightfully concerned for something that's affected his entire life since he was born, and will now affect her life as his wife, because his father has some sort of grudge over it. And Hyacinth not only acts like lol what a funny thing to say Gareth. But it also sounds like she thinks Sophie is some kind of undesirable relation in the same breath she says she loves her. LOL Hyacinth what a lighthearted way to take the issue. And dont get me started on the grudge she holds towards Lucy even after she's married to Gregory

Ugh, reading it's in his kiss always makes me think that Gareth is too good for her and he deserved better.

Also to the anon who asked me what scene I wanted to see from her book. I take back what I said about Hyacinth reading to lady D, because the most hilarious scene in that book is Gareth asking for Hyacinth's hand and Anthony just being ready to sing Halleluyah because he's done marrying off his 4 sisters.

Like I said, maybe my dislike for adult Hyacinth is a me problem. But you can tell how much I dislike the crap she pulls in her book by my opinions on show Eloise, who takes a lot after her. The sheer immaturity and entitlement is so real.

And that's the tea.

#its in his kiss #I dont like adult hyacinth #the same way I dont like show Eloise

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sophiamariabeckett · 1 year

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The Arrival

—— belle’s 500 follower celebration ——

Dearest gentle reader, it has come to my attention that the reclusive Earl of Penwood along with his wife, have left their home of Penwood Park to finally present their enigmatic daughter to the marriage mart. She is one that will surely cause a talk amongst the Ton with her beauty, very big dowry...and something else (but that's confidential information). This season will have many gentleman vying for the heart and purse of Lady Sophia Gunningworth, but who will catch her gaze is the real question.

The legitimate Sophie au no one asked for

read on ao3

#500 omg!#thank you thank you!#belle writes stuff #LSMG #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie

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apinchofm · 1 year

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Sophie's Family

Lord Richard Gunningworth, Earl of Penwood - her father

Lady Viola Luckhurst (née Gunningworth), Countess of Hereford

Mademoiselle Adelle Faucher (.deceased)

Her trusty Lady's maid, Claire Smith

Sophie!

#fic: giving a glowing review #sophie beckett fancast #sophie beckett #casting #benophie fic #i'm a visual writer lol i always need fcs

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mabelmidnight-takeover · 1 year

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i kept thinking about the reason why sophie would be queen charlottes favorite and the best possibility that came to mind was the fact she could have been her legitimate granddaughter. it would be perfectly fine for princess sophia to marry the earl of penwood, but she made a mistake and had an affair right after coming of age. her recklessness kept the queen from freely becoming a grandmother and kept sophie from her. the 'what if' of sophie being legitimate forever haunts QC

#bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #princess sophie beckett au

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sea-owl · 5 months

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What about an au that in it Anthony, Benedict, and Colin recruit their future sister in-laws.

Like the guys are trying to court the loves of their lives but Kate, Sophie, and Penelope are all oblvious and or in denial. So an inside man or rather woman is needed.

Enter Edwina, Posy, and Felicity, their loves' beloved younger sisters.

Anthony got lucky with asking for Edwina's help. One of the few things Edwina wanted the most was to see her sister happily married as well. Kate acted more like a chaperone than a woman looking for marriage herself, which was a shame in Edwina's eyes since she knew Kate was a secret romantic. So when Viscount Bridgerton came to her not as a suitor but as a potential brother-in-law, Edwina was delighted to jump on the chance.

Benedict got Posy's help by complete accident. In this AU, Earl Penwood hadn't kicked the bucket but still only claimes Sophie as his ward. It's an open secret one look at Sophie, and they know she's his illegitimate daughter. But it's not acknowledged, so no one says anything. Sophie does not care for London and is happier when they are in the countryside. She does not want a husband who takes mistresses like her father did and potentially brings more children in the world like her. Nor does she plan to risk any illegitimate children herself. She's decided spinsterhood is best for her and is just waiting it out. Of course, Benedict fell in love with her at first sight. Unfortunately for him, due to her experiences, Sophie is weary of any promises or pretty words a man says. Posy just happened to see Benedict have a woe is me moment in the garden during a ball after Sophie had yet again managed to evade him. Her thought was that this man was pathetic, but then the inner romantic side of Posy thought it was kinda sweet this Bridgerton still held a soft spot for her favorite sister. Posy asked Benedict ofnhe owned any property in the country. Benedict tells her yes and a little bit about My Cottage. Posy then says she'll help Benedict wins her sister's hand so long as she gets to visit. Benedict agrees, enthusiastically shaking Posy's hand.

Now, to be fair to Colin, he was probably on the right track using bribes to get Felicity to help him. Felicity is Hyacinth's bestie, and everyone knows if you want Hyacinth to do something, you gotta bribe her. The downside is that Felicity is Hyacinth's bestie, so she knows how to negotiate a bribe, and the hand of Felicity's favorite sister, plus the add on feature of distracting Eloise to give Colin time with just Penelope, is a high price. Colin's pockets were lighter than when he entered that day, but now he has a partner in crime and a list of gifts he and Felicity compiled together to start his courtship with Penelope.

#i am back on my agenda of shenanigans between abc and their sister in-laws #bridgerton #polin #kathony #benophie #anthony bridgerton #edwina sharma #edwina sheffield #benedict bridgerton #posy reiling #colin bridgerton #felicity featherington

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littlehipsterhobbit · 1 year

Text

Benophie fans will crucify me for this, but I want Benedict to wait until season 5. And for good reason.

I want Ben to meet The Girl in Silver in season 3. To fall in love immediately. To be frustrated with Colin for squandering the kind of love he'd give anything to be able to still hold onto. I want him to enlist Super Sleuth Eloise to help him find her. I want, in the final episode of S3, for them to connect the crest on the glove to the late Earl of Penwood. I want him to go to their house and leave dejected when he doesn't find her there.

I want him to not return to Aubrey Hall with his family but to go his own way. Anthony is happy with Kate, Colin and Pen are in newlywed bliss, and Benedict can't bring himself to stick around to watch it all this time. He looks for her everywhere he goes, but to no avail. I want him to cling to her through his art and fail. The smile isn't quite right. He can't hold onto the shape or color of her eyes. He's losing faith in his art. Perhaps he's truly rubbish at it and should give it all up. She isn't anywhere. He parties for the debauchery of it all. Drinks himself stupid.

When Eloise disappears, he's angry. With Eloise for her thoughtlessness, with his family for not paying attention to her, with himself for not being there. Was she kidnapped or did she leave of her own volition? Is she okay? Yet another woman in his life who he cares about and he's not sure what happened, she's just gone. He's angry with Philip Crane. When they find her, he's damn well ready to strangle this man. El may not have come to marry him, but she's still a gently bred young lady. He allowed her into his home knowing her relation to Colin and allowed her to become a governess to his children? Didn't send her home? Or send an express to her family? Acquire a proper damn chaperone for her? It becomes clear that they have to marry. There is no other option. And it is killing Ben to stand aside and let this happen. Watch her be forced, by her own actions yes, but still forced to marry. He can't bear to see his sister unhappy. He still hasn't ruled out killing the bastard.

He's back in town, and his demeanor is worse. Is that why he hasn't seen her? Was she forced to marry? Was she off somewhere trapped like his sister? Was she hurt or scared? Or was she happy? She looked so happy in his arms that night. Was she still happy wherever she was? Without him? Or worse. Had he seen her again and not noticed. Missed her. All he can do is miss her. A girl he knew for barely an hour. And she's just inside him. Forever. He drinks more. Goes to another party. Granville finds him drunk. Maybe Benedict kisses him, maybe he doesn't. It doesn't matter because it wouldn't mean much either way. Because Benedict remembers Granville telling him about love. About being in the same room as the person you can't live without and still feeling oceans apart. Benedict would take that kind of pain over this. To have the luxury of just being able to be in the same room. Maybe he'd never hold her again, but he'd have something. He'd be able to see her. He'd at least know where she was. He has nothing. Even his art is rubbish. He can't hold onto the most basic of details of her. He doesn't even know her goddamned name.

Granville tells him he does have something. He pulls the flask from Ben's hand and places a piece of charcoal in it. That feeling inside. The love. The longing. The pain. Those are things to hold onto. Put them on the canvas. It doesn't have to look perfect. Just draw what you feel. And in doing so, Granville sets Benedict firmly down in the Romantic period the early 19th century was known for. Up to that point Benedict has been drawing from models. A bouquet sent to his mother or sister, a bowl of fruit Anthony kept stealing from, or the nude bodies of the Academy. The Romantic period was about feeling. Forget models, they're a crutch. Use your creative mind, Benedict. And he throws himself into it. A silhouette. The silver of her gown flowing behind her. The way the world darkened around him as she ran away. He goes home to Aubrey Hall reluctantly, but he doesn't sleep. The moment before he saw her. When he'd only felt her. He doesn't sleep, his eyes are crazed. His hands are covered. In ink. In charcoal. In paint. And when Eloise comes into his studio, a broken look in her eyes, he is barely able to register his fury at her husband before he passes out.

He hadn't been taking care of himself. A fever. A bad one. Eloise is crying, begging him not to leave her like this. She needs him to be okay. But he hasn't been okay for a while. And he doesn't know if he'll be okay again. And before long Philip is there. He's there comforting El. He's there forcing some foul tea down Benedict's throat. And then he sleeps. He dreams. And he's in her arms again. And he's feeling peace. When he wakes, he sees El and Philip outside his window. Talking. Holding onto each other. Leaning on each other. He sees Philip looking at his sister like that and realizes that she's got far more power here, over this man, than anyone might guess. He's got tears in his eyes and is holding onto her like he'd simply break if he let go. When they return, they're hand-in-hand. Eloise yells as soon as she sees Benedict. Urges him back to bed. Philip offers to get more tea and Benedict, newfound respect for his brother-in-law, accepts.

Philip leaves them to talk. And they do. Like they always have. Benedict is lost. Heartbroken. But he's starting to find himself again. Perhaps he needs to find himself before he can find her. Eloise might be in love with her husband. And his children. And she's probably with child. But Philip is distant from the twins and she can't do it all by herself. The independent girl needs her husband. She's found something in this world she doesn't want to do all by herself. But, Benedict assures her, she won't. That guy looks like he'd jump off a cliff for her if she asked. She's always been good at telling people what to do. Lean on him. Give him something to do. If Philip needs anything in his life, it's direction. Eloise has to take the reins. She's not going alone, she just gets to be the one driving sometimes.

She makes him promise to take care of himself. If she can learn to lean on Philip, he can lean on his family. The Bridgerton name doesn't always have to be a burden. Says the girl who doesn't have to carry it anymore. He teases. She smiles. Can take the girl away from the Bridgertons, but can't take the Bridgerton away from the girl. She looks happier when she leaves. Resolved. That makes one of them.

When he recovers, he doesn't go back to town. He needs to stop looking for her. He's not giving up, but he's ready to start looking inward instead. Anthony reminds him of one of the Bridgerton properties in the country. The country air might be better for his health. His family is there when he needs them, but it's also okay to need space. So Benedict heads for My Cottage.

Let Ben be our main B plot for S3 & S4 and gear him up for S5. Let Benedict's story be the dangling carrot for renewal. Because by that point fans be rabid for the payoff. Does it need to go exactly like this? No. But it would be fucking DELICIOUS. Give art boy the era appropriate art movement, because have you ever MET someone who fit the term Romantic better than Benedict Bridgerton? I think not. Give me the emotional torture. The drama. The longing. Luke Thompson has the chops to pull it off. I can be patient.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #my s4 wishlist from Benedict's pov #not quite a fanfic but kinda???#Let's not even go into the part where everyone sees Cinderella in the first bit of the book and misses the Little Mermaid of the rest of it #i wrote this in an hour hopefully it makes sense

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

Text

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 1: The Modiste

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer From a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3.5k

Masterpost Next chapter

Author's Notes: Welcome to my headcanon rewrite of AOFAG. Please refer to the masterpost for notes on story timeline and chapter structures. This first chapter is a fully original work by me, so no book quotes or notes included. Thank you to everyone who expressed interest in this project which motivated me to get the first chapter out! It may be a long wait for the next one as I wrap up other stories before writing the masquerade. 💙

Sophia Beckett had one friend in the entire world and her name was Genevieve Delacroix. She was the only person who spoke to her as if she were a woman deserving of respect. Not an underling, a disappointment, a secret who must be kept hidden. Every time Sophie visited the modiste’s shop, Gen greeted her with the same bright smile as she gave any of her high-born customers but with even more honesty in her eyes. Over the first several weeks of the London season they had caught one another rolling eyes at the frittering of the ton ladies enough times that a friendly trust had formed. Then, the first time Sophie had visited her shop on an errand alone rather than in tow with the Cowpers, Gen had locked up, invited her to the back room and lapsed into an altogether surprising Cockney accent as she revealed her true self and encouraged Sophie to do the same.

They were two of a kind, working women in hiding in their own ways. Gen posing as a French expert of fashion to dupe the empty headed mamas of the ton, when in reality she was an orphaned girl from Cheapside with fearless drive and a serious talent for couture. And Sophie, envious of Gen’s glamorous life, who was the worst of all things, a bastard, and was lucky that her benefactors had agreed to house her as their maid rather than turn her out into the street after her father died. He had been the Earl of Penwood and her mother was his maid. After her mother died in childbirth and she was left on the doorstep of Penwood Park he had kept her as his ward, protected but not worthy enough to bear his name. She was a Beckett, not a Gunningworth, a name that she never learned the origins of, though a servant boy had once told her it was the name of her father’s favorite horse.

She had enjoyed some degree of luxury as a ward in the heath-ringed halls of Penwood Park. Her father ignored her entirely but a governess was procured to educate her as a lady. To teach her to read and write, speak Latin and French, pour tea, play the piano, and even dabble in mathematics. It was a lonely existence, with the only affection she received being an errant pat on the head from the cook or a servant, but it was the only life she had ever known and so she didn’t want for much more.

Everything changed when her father died suddenly, cut down in his prime as he sat reading in the garden one day. Then at the age of sixteen, Sophie’s life took a turn for the worse. The inheritor of the earldom was her father’s distant male relation. So distant Sophie couldn’t make heads or tails of how they were actually related and she suspected Lord Cowper couldn’t either, given how surprised he appeared through the whole turn of events. A sallow, pinch-faced man with a sallow, pinch-faced wife and daughter, Lord Cowper had attended her father’s funeral and stared down his nose at her as she stood for inspection along with all the staff of Penwood Park. No doubt he had learned of her origins through her father’s solicitor and he seemed rather unsure of what to do with her. But his wife was ready to whisper in his ear. Eyes always cold and hair always pulled taut into a hideous basketweave arrangement, Lady Cowper proposed keeping Sophie on as a servant, just one more among many.

After the Cowpers swept back out to London the Penwood steward informed her that the family would provide her with room and board in exchange for her service as a housemaid. It was a step back from the lifestyle she had enjoyed in her childhood, but she knew it was the best she could hope for, given the shame of her birth. And what else was she supposed to do? Leave the only home she had ever known with no name, connections or employable skills and try to sustain herself? Insulting as it may have been, it was the only path that made sense. To follow in her mother’s footsteps and serve as a maid to the new Earl of Penwood.

It wasn’t too awful at first with the new owners staying in residence at Penwood Park so infrequently. Sophie found a degree of pride in learning to clean and mend and cook. Caring for her family home, especially when the Cowpers were away, felt like caring for herself. The aristocratic part of her that was undeniably there, just not allowed to shine to its full potential. She also felt as if she were honoring the memory of her mother. She liked to imagine that she was dusting the same tables and folding the same linens as her mother once had - points of connection with the woman she had never known, but who had moved through the same halls once upon a time. She began to envision an oddly satisfying life spent at Penwood, where perhaps she could marry a man from the nearby village and return to him at night after her chores were completed for the day. She saw him as a farrier, someone with dark hair and crafty hands who was strong and sweet simultaneously. There was some kind of life to be had, the best a bastard could hope for, and it was those dreams that fueled Sophie through each monotonous day.

Things carried on that way for years until Cressida Cowper, Lord Cowper’s daughter and only child, approached her third London season still unmarried and without a lady’s maid to serve her. Somehow Lady Cowper had managed to blame Cressida’s failures in the marriage mart upon the hair techniques and ironing skills of the half dozen lady’s maids Cressida had churned through, and now none would apply for the vacant position. That was the spring the Cowpers seemed to remember Sophie’s existence and plucked her out of Penwood Park to join them in London. It was a marvel how Lady Cowper, or Araminta as Sophie referred to her, always spoke to Sophie with such treacly sweetness in her voice and simultaneous burning contempt in her eyes. Between her training as a lady and her service as a maid, she could cobble together the skills needed to wait upon Cressida for the season, addressing her every passing need and outfitting her in ridiculous gowns and hairdos in the hopes to attract a wealthy suitor.

Sophie had tried to see it as an adventure. She had never been to London before and the whirl of the season was staggering, but with an undeniable beauty. Crowds all dressed in their finest, the drawing room of Cowper House laid out for elegant teas and the dining room set for elaborate dinner parties. Every week brought an assortment of invitations to balls and musicales and garden soirees, each necessitating its own elaborate and themed garment. That was how Sophie began visiting the modiste’s shop with such frequency, and it was where she met the first woman who ever looked at her and saw a whole person.

But the happiness that her modiste visits granted her could not overshadow the bitter realities that awaited her in Cowper House. Lord Cowper was so disinterested and Cressida so self-involved that Sophie was largely left at the mercy of Araminta. What started out as curt orders soon turned into cutting insults and then physical acts of retribution for perceived offenses and failures. She was slapped, pinched and tripped. Her hair was pulled, her meals denied and she was locked into closets whenever Araminta decided some small household mishap was her fault. And it was always her fault. The other staff never intervened, too scared to invite wrath upon themselves. She knew that she was the chosen scapegoat for all of Araminta’s frustrations and insecurities. Being the same age and of distantly shared blood, Sophie wondered if Araminta imagined her to be an alternate version of Cressida herself, one upon whom she could visit all of her seething punishments without guilt or scandal.

As the months wore on, Sophie considered running away several times. But she feared the only life that awaited her was one on the streets. She could only be hired as a maid by another noble house with a letter of reference and that was certainly not something she could obtain from the Cowpers. So she endured, reminding herself that the season would come to an end eventually and she could ask to be returned to her life of quiet servitude at Penwood Park. She took comfort in her visits with Genevieve and developed a new hobby, losing herself in the ton’s most infamous gossip sheet, Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

As she read about scandal after betrothal after scandal among the social tier of her employers, Sophie imagined that she was one of them with nothing better to do than be dressed, feted and courted by an array of handsome, titled men. This world was so close to hers. She moved within it, watched it spin around her, felt the pull of it in her half-noble blood. It was just out of reach on the other side of the windowpane. But Lady Whistledown gave her a clear glance through the glass. Toward the end of the season the repeat headline news was of the impending masquerade ball hosted by the esteemed Bridgerton family. Lady Whistledown dedicated an inordinate amount of column space to the Bridgertons but Sophie could understand why. With such a large brood of beautiful and eligible sons and daughters, incredible wealth and a reputation that never failed to rebound from scandal, they seemed to be a jewel among the families of the ton. She had passed by Bridgerton House on a number of occasions and never failed to marvel at its proud brick facade climbing with fragrant wisteria. She had only ever seen the Dowager Viscountess and her daughter-in-law the new Viscountess when out on errands with the Cowpers, and found them to be kind and beautiful women who seemed wise to Araminta’s true nature but never failed to be genteel.

The thought of a midnight masquerade, an evening of mystery and magic, was an intoxicating escape from her daily reality and Sophie found herself swanning through her chores more often than not, twirling around with linen baskets as she imagined herself in the arms of a masked gentleman. She had been doing just such a thing when Araminta had spotted her, boxed her ears as punishment and ordered her to take Cressida’s costume back to the modiste for more alterations. Cressida would be attending the masquerade as a mermaid and this was the third time she had decided that she wanted to change the length of the fins on her skirt. Keeping her face steely and ignoring the burning pain in her ears Sophie nodded, gathered the costume and made her way through the city, grateful for the temporary break.

Genevieve could see in her eyes how poorly things were going at the house and treated Sophie to a glass of sherry while she slowly picked at Cressida’s costume. No one else was in the shop so they allowed themselves to relax and speak freely. A copy of the latest Whistledown was on a table and Sophie sank into the upholstered chair beside it, idly leafing through as she sipped her drink and watched Gen sewing.

“This masquerade is the talk of all the ton,” she sighed wistfully.

Gen nodded. “It is. You should see some of the mad costumes the ladies are demanding. Lady Eton wants me to dress her as an Eton mess. Can you imagine?”

Sophie snickered. “Are you going to do it?”

“Of course,” Gen shrugged. “If they pay me enough I’ll do whatever they want. It’s an opportunity to showcase my talent.”

“Only you could make someone look beautiful as a ‘mess’.”

Gen smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“Lady Eton will be sweeter.”

The two of them could not contain their laughter. If there was ever a source of endless amusement, it was observing the peculiarities of society women, and both of their professions gave them front row seats. Quieting again, Sophie rubbed her ears and continued to pore over the gossip sheet.

Genevieve broke through her thoughts, asking quietly. “How have you been? How are things…at home?”

Sophie met her concerned gaze and returned a weak smile. “The same. I will try and convince Cressida that the fins are perfect this time. I’m sorry to keep coming back here for this.”

“I enjoy the excuse to see you.” Gen’s tone grew serious. “You know you can come to me any time. For anything.”

Something tugged in Sophie’s chest, so unused to having someone to turn to. She appreciated that her friend recognized her burdens, even if there was nothing she could do to alleviate them. “Thank you, Gen.” She sniffed to keep tears from forming, then reiterated her hopes aloud. “After this ball the season will wind down and then I hope to be free of them. For the cold months at least. If I’m truly lucky, perhaps Cressida will land herself a husband at the masquerade and then I’ll be sent back to Penwood forever. She can poach a new lady’s maid from her husband’s staff. She’d never want me around in her married life.”

Genevieve smiled. “Well for your sake, I hope it does work out that way.”

“Yes, only pity the gentleman.” Sophie smirked. “Maybe even one of these poor Bridgerton brothers.” She gestured to the paper she held. “That’s who she’ll be aiming for. She’s always talking about them.”

Gen’s ears perked but she turned back to her sewing. “The Bridgertons? I think her chances with them are unlikely.”

“Yes, they seem to have taste.”

They both chuckled again.

“They are kind hearted too. They’ll see right through her.” Gen explained, then murmured almost as if to herself. “Especially Benedict.”

“Benedict?” Sophie raised a brow at the familiar name. “He’s the one all eyes are on. Eldest bachelor now that the Viscount is married. The catch of the season according to Whistledown.” She skimmed her eyes over the sheet once again and sure enough, discussions of the upcoming masquerade were peppered with mentions of his name and repetitive reminders that he was the ‘number two in an illustrious family’.

Genevieve kept her head down, focusing intently on her sewing as she spoke softly. “He is a good man. He’ll make some lady very happy one day.”

Sophie knew her well enough to suspect something from her tone. “Do you know him?” When all she did was blush, she pressed her further. “Gen?”

Sophie was inexperienced with men but knew the basics of the marital act through servant gossip and a rather lascivious book she had discovered in the Penwood library. She also knew from her time with Genevieve that her friend was quite the opposite of inexperienced and enjoyed dalliances with men from every walk of life. She was a bohemian, a dabbler in the demimonde and Sophie sat in awe of her courage and freedom. To know that Gen spent her days earning her own money and spent her nights associating with the most eligible men in London was a lifestyle entirely beyond her comprehension.

Gen relented, looking up with a wry smile. “We were…acquainted for a time. He has a very good heart. Sensitive. Talented. He’s a catch indeed but I doubt he cares that he’s been named top prize by Whistledown. He’s probably miserable at the thought of attending this masquerade.”

Sophie frowned, imagining he must be a dour sort of fellow regardless of how good and sensitive he was. “I don’t know how anyone could be miserable about a masquerade. A beautiful ball but one where you don’t exchange names.” Her eyes grew misty imagining it. “A place where you can hide in plain sight and no one needs to know who you truly are. Just don a costume and you could be anybody.”

She stared at the swirls of the ceiling decorations while her mind wandered off into what she imagined the Bridgerton House ballroom looked like. Grandeur, candlelight, and everyone equalized by anonymity. Masked strangers dancing beautifully arm-in-arm. Whispered flirtation, no inhibitions. She didn’t realize she had slipped into a daydream until Gen suddenly called her name.

“Sophie,” she smiled, setting aside the mermaid costume. “I’m done here but there’s a dress in the back room I’ve been working to finish. Would you model it for me so I can make sure it’s just right?”

It was an odd request. Gen had never asked her to model anything before and she had an army of dress forms, but she wouldn’t refuse her friend. It was undeniably exciting. She followed her into the back where she revealed the most beautiful gown Sophie had ever seen. It was a costume or should have been, because it was in the style of dresses that had been popular two generations prior. With a tight bodice billowing into a hooped skirt, it was made entirely of a shimmering silver fabric that sparkled like the night sky when angled in the light. As Gen carefully fitted it onto her, Sophie’s fingers trailed over the intricate details. The silver gemstone trim along seams of the waist and the sleeves, silver lace overlays and the silver ribbons of the corseted back. Some embellishments were pinned and had yet to be sewn on but it was already stunning. Genevieve guided Sophie back to the main room and helped her up onto the dais before the mirrors. She held her breath, dazzled by what she saw before her. She looked as if she had been draped in stars.

“Gen,” she gasped. “It’s so beautiful. Whose is it?” She imagined that whichever lady wore the dress to the masquerade would be the envy of all the ton.

“Well, that’s the thing.” Genevieve orbited around her, pinning here and tucking there. “It’s one of my own designs and I haven’t shown it to anyone yet. Just you.” She stood behind and rested her hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “It’s yours Sophie. For a night at least.”

She balked, certain she had misheard. “What?”

Gen squeezed her shoulders. “You want to go to this masquerade. I can see it plain as day. And you deserve to go. You’ve earned one night of happiness.”

Sophie’s eyes began to dart, her mind reeling. Her friend was being too indulgent, too fantastical. How on earth would she attend the ball?

“Gen, no. I couldn’t possibly…”

“Just wait until the Cowpers leave, come here and I’ll dress you.” She explained, calm and matter of fact as if this wasn’t a ludicrous undertaking. “Bridgerton House is a short walk away. Guests won’t be showing invitations so that they can hide their identities. All the ladies have been talking about it. You could slip right in.”

As her friend smiled at her in the mirror, a spark flickered within. When she outlined it all, it did seem rather simple. The masquerade was not a place for bastard maids and her attendance would be nothing short of trespassing. But with everyone’s identity kept secret and in an opulent costume, would anyone be the wiser? Was she really daring enough to chase a dream for one night? If she could borrow Gen’s dress and a fraction of her courage, it was beginning to seem plausible. Except…

“But I…the Cowpers will be there.”

“Yes,” Gen nodded. “But Sophie won’t.” She stepped away to pluck a silver demi-mask from the variety she had on display. Jeweled and feathered, it matched the dress perfectly. She stood behind Sophie once again and lowered the mask over her eyes, holding it in place. “Look there.” She nodded at their reflection, whispering insistently in her ear. “Who do you see? Sophie the housemaid? Or a beautiful debutante?”

Sophie stared at the image before her, breathing shakily at the odd sensation of not recognizing herself. She had never been dressed in something so fine nor so flattering. With the mask obscuring half her face she could no longer see the tired, lonely eyes that stared back at her every morning in the mirror. She didn’t look like a maid and she didn’t feel like a maid. Genevieve had woven magic into the dress and it was proving powerful enough to transform her right before their eyes.

Gen grinned, knowing her persuasion had succeeded. “You said it yourself: you could be anybody.”

With a novel feeling of hope swelling in her chest, a slow smile spread across Sophie’s face. She had suffered as Sophie Beckett long enough. She was ready to be anybody.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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