![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rodoTitle: Woman in an Anthracite Dress, Holding a Bishop
Fandom: Bridgerton
Author:rodo
Length: 6,398 words
Rating: 12+
Pairing/Characters: Sophie/Benedict, Queen Charlotte
Disclaimer: everything belongs to Netflix, of course
A/N: written for isevsianne for the last round of![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom5k
Summary: Life at My Cottage is cozy and comfortable – but it is not something that Sophie Bridgerton can stomach for months on end with no reprieve. Not when she has nothing to do. So Benedict takes her back to London, and Sophie gains something she hadn't counted on: new friends.
Woman in an Anthracite Dress, Holding a Bishop
There was no torture quite as gnawing and stale as sitting still. At least as far as Sophie Bridgerton was concerned. There must have been a time in her life when she’d been able to sit still and do nothing; she was sure of it. Little children did nothing all day long, if little Edmund was anything to go by, and once upon a time, she must have been the same. But that was so long ago, she didn’t remember a second of it. All that Sophie remembered was being busy – whether as a carefree child roaming Penwood House as if it was hers or whether as a servant who was painfully aware of the fact that it was not. There was always something to do, even if it was something small such as mending a sock or something self-indulgent like reading a romance novel. Unless, of course, one was a lady. Sophie had read every book in the library of My Cottage, she’d walked the gardens so often she’d worn grooves into the paths. She had no interest in redecorating the mansion-called-cottage, and Mrs Crabtree steadfastly refused to let her do anything that remotely resembled housework. What was it noble ladies usually did to while away the hours? She’d have to ask Posy, or one of her new sisters-in-law when she had the chance. Which might be weeks in the future, considering the new season wouldn’t start for a couple of months yet… Sophie sat in her seat by the window and sighed. She would have to figure it out on her own, she supposed.
“What is it?” Benedict asked. Unlike her, her husband didn’t seem to mind leisure in the least – even if he wasn’t idle right then and there. Instead, he was bowed over a piece of paper, sketching away in charcoal. Sophie could just about make out the rough outline of a woman’s face in profile. Her face. There was a small mountain of unfinished sketches on his desk already, and he hadn’t finished a painting since the Lady in Silver, yet he never seemed to tire of them. Truth be told, neither did Sophie.
“Nothing,” she told him. He was so adorable when absorbed in his work, and her worries were trifles, really.
“It’s not nothing,” he insisted, putting down the charcoal and leaning back. “I know that sigh – it means something is bothering you. You’ve been antsy all week, tapping your foot and making a face when you think nobody’s looking. It’s kind of endearing, if I’m being honest, but I’m your husband now. Don’t you think you should talk to me about something that’s bothering you?”
He smiled at her, and Sophie could feel her heart melt. He had the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. It was no wonder she’d fallen for him at first sight, as if their lives were a fairy tale. “It is nothing,” she repeated. “I’m simply a little bored, that’s all.”
“Oh?” His smile turned impish. “I think there’s something we can do about that.”
Sophie blushed, eyes flitting towards the door. The Crabtrees were away at the market, a fact that Sophie had envied an hour ago. Now, she was not so sure. In fact, all thoughts of boredom were forgotten the moment Benedict swept her into his arms and carried her to their bed. They only returned later, when they both lay curled up next to each other as God had created them. He was drawing circles on her back with one hand while Sophie used his strong shoulder as a pillow.
“We do need to do something about your boredom, though,” he told her. “I don’t have the stamina to distract you like this every time.”
“Don’t you?” she teased him, and he punished her with a kiss.
“No, really. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie admitted. If she did, she would have solved her problem already. “I’m just not used to life as a lady, I think. I’ll get used to it eventually.”
Benedict hummed and went back to drawing imaginary figures on her skin as if she was one of his canvases. Sophie loved the shivers that went through her body at each and every touch of his. If only they could spend their lives like this – the lack of purpose didn’t matter at all when she was in his arms, and all her hardships were worth it if only he looked at her as if she was his entire world.
“Why don’t we go back to London?” he suggested. “I love having you all to myself, but I think it’s time we face the world again.”
Sophie didn’t say so, but she was glad. Maybe London would have the cure to her ills, even if half the ton was at their estates and society would be in a lull until the season started…
*
Sophie couldn’t help but smile when she peeked out of the window as the carriage rolled up to Bridgerton House. This time, there were no beautiful lilac wisteria flowers framing the portico, no inviting torches leading the way, and no guests in masks and beautiful gowns chattering excitedly. Still, Sophie was reminded of that first time she’d come here. In a borrowed carriage, making use of the masquerade to hide her true self behind a silver mask…
“You look happy,” Benedict remarked. He wasn’t looking out the window when Sophie turned to him. He was looking at her.
“I am,” she confessed. Not that she’d been unhappy before. But when she spotted Lady Violet waiting for them in the entrance hall, her heart almost overflowed with love.
“Come here,” Lady Violet told her. The warm hug that followed reminded Sophie of long-lost memories of a soft bosom and dark hair that smelled of soap. She didn’t really remember her mother, but now that she had gained another, it didn’t hurt as much as it used to in Araminta Gun’s cold shadow.
“Not that I am unhappy to see you both,” Violet began. “You know I am always happy to see any of my children. But shouldn’t you two be off enjoying yourselves in the countryside? Or has My Cottage already lost its shine? I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Sophie assured her when she noticed the slightly worried tinge to Violet’s eyes. Behind her, Mrs Wilson hovered. Sophie tried to reassure her with a smile as well.
“My darling wife was simply bored out of her mind,” Benedict announced.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Sophie insisted.
“It was. And I thought a little company might do her some good.”
Lady Violet was positively beaming. She had eight children, and most of them had flown the coop. Four were happily married – the others having retired to their country estates with their happy spouses. Even Eloise had gone to keep poor Francesca company. And Gregory, the Eton man, was far too caught up in being a young gentleman to spend time with his mother. Only Hyacinth remained, skipping down the stairs to greet them – in the hopes Benedict and Sophie would save her from the boredom of the off-season, no doubt. It was strange, having a family. Strange in a good way.
Over the next few days, Sophie found herself busy entertaining her youngest sister-in-law. They took walks in parks that felt strangely empty without the gentlemen of the ton prancing about like peacocks and the ladies preening like peahens. At least according to her husband.
“There isn’t really much going on in London at this time of year, it seems,” he said. “And unfortunately, all the remaining entertainments that I could think of are somewhat… unsuitable for ladies. And married men who adore their wives.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow, and Benedict grinned like a naughty schoolboy. Then she shuddered, despite her coat. London in February was a rather dreary place, but she agreed that whatever den of inequity had provided a distraction for him in past winters wouldn’t please her.
“On the bright side, I haven’t read all the books in the library here yet,” she replied.
Benedict’s indulgent smile made her heart flutter. He enjoyed watching her read while he sketched her, or even just parts of her, a foot, the way her wrist curled to accommodate a heavy tome, the embroidery along her shoulder… It was intimate and comfortable in a way Sophie hadn’t known since before her father had married.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Violet said when she found them in the library that afternoon, just like that – Sophie reading a book on the natural sciences, Benedict bowed over a piece of paper. “I have an invitation for tomorrow afternoon, and I thought you might like to accompany me, Sophie.”
Sophie frowned. An invitation. How ominous. At heart, she was still a maid, or worse: a bastard. She had no business visiting noble houses by way of the front door. If anyone found out the secret, they would all be in trouble, even if the Queen had ignored their obvious lies, even if Araminta covered for her to protect her own pride and place.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sophie replied.
“Nonsense,” Lady Violet said. “Mrs Mondrich will be happy to see you again. And you need to acclimate yourself to life as a lady. It will be good practice, before the season starts. Not that you need much of it. I have never met a more perfect lady than you, my dear.”
“Not even Daphne?” Benedict asked.
Lady Violet blushed. “Except Daphne,” her mother-in-law allowed. “And you can tutor your sister while we’re gone. She needs to practice her French some more, and we can’t make Sophie do all the work now, can we?”
Benedict groaned dramatically but relented.
Sophie still felt a little apprehensive, even if there was no reason to. Mrs Mondrich had helped them, knew everything, and was maybe the only woman in the ton who could understand how disorienting this change in circumstances was for her. Maybe it was because it was a first step – towards what she didn’t know.
*
The next day, Mrs Mondrich welcomed them to Kent House with metaphorical open arms and a wide smile. Violet and Sophie smiled back politely and followed her to the drawing room, where dainty cakes and tea awaited them. Since both of them were in possession of a sense of decorum, neither of them mentioned the bags under Mrs Mondrich’s eyes, or the way her step seemed a little less energetic than it should. But they couldn’t help but exchange a worried glance while Alice Mondrich’s back was turned. Something was not right in Kent House.
“It was so kind of you to invite us,” Violet began when they were all sat on the settees and furnished with teacups and nibbles of cake. The macarons were as delicious as they were pretty when Sophie dared to take a bite. It was a shame they looked so pretty, even. One almost didn’t dare to destroy all the work the cooks had put into creating these delicate beauties.
“Oh, I did it more for myself than for your benefit, I assure you. Life has been… trying, ever since the season ended. And I’m desperate for a distraction. Now tell me, Mrs Bridgerton: how is married life treating you?”
Sophie almost choked on her macaron. Somehow, she’d imagined she’d barely have to speak, since it was Lady Violet who knew Mrs Mondrich, not her.
“It’s wonderful,” Sophie told her truthfully. “It is merely… an adjustment.” She didn’t elaborate further.
“Oh, I can just imagine…” Mrs Mondrich said, exchanging a saucy glance with Lady Violet. “But I can also imagine it’s a bit hard to get used to all this, isn’t it? I mean, I know you were a ladies’ maid before and that you’re all too familiar with living in a noble house, but still. It must take some getting used to, don’t you agree? I know I was completely out of my element when Nicky inherited all this – still am, to be honest with you.”
Alice Mondrich smiled at her, and Sophie couldn’t help but be drawn into it. Above everything, Alice Mondrich was real. Where other ladies of the ton dedicated themselves to gossip or intrigue, she seemed like someone who had found herself. Sophie wanted to be like that as well.
“I would be lying if I said it was easy,” Sophie admitted, “but I am happy. It is just that I am used to being so very busy. Ever since my father died, I’ve had to work from dawn to dusk. I have to confess I don’t quite know what to do with myself without that.”
Alice Mondrich smiled, which only served to emphasise her tiredness. “You’ll fare better than me, I’d wager. I ran my own household, doing all the work for three children, and then suddenly, all this” – she gestured at the fine walls surrounding them – “Too many rooms, servants, rules… I didn’t even know what dress to wear, but I got there eventually, and now look at me. A lady-in-waiting to the Queen.”
Sophie’s eyes darted over to Violet’s, and they met in the middle. The discordant note on the word “Queen” had been unmistakable. Whatever kept Alice Mondrich up at night, there was little doubt in Sophie’s mind that it was related to their indomitable Queen.
Lady Violet put down her cup decisively. The gentle clink was enough to draw all the attention in the room to her, and so Sophie watched as she squared her jaw. “What is the matter, Alice? You have done our family such a favour, never doubt that we would do anything in our power to return it – especially since Lady Danbury can no longer intercede on either of our behalves.”
Alice Mondrich deflated. Her shoulders shrunk in on themselves, her back sank into the settee, and she sighed. A deep, weary sigh that stretched out in front of them like the polished table. Lady Violet’s words had disarmed her, and all pretence had fled the room.
“It’s Lady Danbury, of course. Or rather, her absence.”
Lady Violet nodded knowingly. “The Queen is taking it hard, then?”
Alice Mondrich raised an eyebrow. “You know how she is. I think Lady Danbury might be the only woman who ever managed to get past her armour. I thought I was getting somewhere, but apparently not. She’s been in a mood since before Christmas, and nothing seems to help. I’ve tried everything, and I’m all out of ideas. I can’t help redecorate the pink room again. I’ll go mad.”
Sophie turned her eyes from one woman to the other. The Queen, she gathered, was a difficult character. Sophie remembered her as eccentric, from what little she’d seen of her, but Alice’s words painted a picture that reminded her more of Araminta, if less mean.
“I’m afraid there’s little we can do, then,” Lady Violet replied. “None of us can replace Lady Danbury, that much I know. There are two things the Queen loves besides her family: her best friend and novelty. And sadly enough, we are neither.”
“What kind of novelty?” Sophie asked.
Two sets of eyes turned to her. Lady Violet blinked. Mrs Mondrich, on the other hand, smiled.
“I think I’ve got an idea,” Alice Mondrich said.
Sophie got the distinct impression that soon enough, boredom would be the least of her problems.
*
“I really don’t think this is a good idea…” Sophie said. The palace looked foreboding and formidable, and it wasn’t just the angry clouds amassing behind and above it, promising an uncomfortable afternoon. There were also the stiff guards, frozen in position at the gate, and all that empty space. In the off-season, it was the Prince Regent’s residence that received most of the visitors, with the Queen being relegated into a societal exile of sorts – still quite busy, but with no balls, engagements or weddings to distract her. There would not even be a brisk walk in the gardens to delight in the peacocks – the plan for that day, according to Alice Mondrich. At least before the clouds had put a stop to it.
“Oh, I doubt it is, but it’s the only one I got,” Alice – she’d asked Sophie to call her that, as an ally and partner-in-crime – told her. She then hooked her arm around Sophie’s and dragged her past the guards before the deluge could start.
“But—”
“Oh, she’ll love you,” Alice told her. “She’s prickly and angry like an arthritic cat, but the Queen has a sharp mind, and she appreciates the same quality in others. She liked you at the ball. You’re a novelty, and you’ll do just fine. I might not know her moods like Lady Danbury, but I’m a fast learner, and the past few months have provided quite the education. Now stop worrying and stand up straight.”
Sophie took a deep breath as they walked up to a large door manned by two bewigged servants. Then she squared her shoulders and tried to stand as straight as she could without snapping her spine in two – just in time for the servants to move as one as they opened the door.
Behind the doors, the Queen sat on a dais at the back of the room, in a splendid chair that was just barely modest enough not to be called a throne. Behind her, there were two women in white dresses identical to the one that Alice was wearing. A pudgy servant with a nervous face stood beside her while another wheeled in a tray with refreshments.
“Your Majesty,” Alice said with a curtsy that Sophie imitated on instinct. She was trying not to look at all the gold leaf, covering everything from vases to door frames.
“Mrs Mondrich,” the Queen replied with a pout. “You are late. And you’ve brought company. I didn’t ask for company.”
“We were delayed by a broken-down carriage blocking the road on the way,” Alice explained. “And I think it might be a stroke of luck that I brought company today. I don’t expect a walk in the gardens would be very pleasant in this weather.”
The Queen frowned. “The weather is perfectly fine,” she replied. Just a breath later, the clouds relieved themselves of their cargo in what seemed like one fell swoop, only it wouldn’t stop. “I concede your point,” the Queen allowed. “But that doesn’t mean I want company. I have you for that, don’t I? What is the point of ladies-in-waiting if they refuse to do their lady-in-waiting?”
Sophie saw the two ladies behind her exchange a worried glance. It seemed this was a bad day – maybe Alice had been wrong, and she shouldn’t have come.
“Be that as it may,” an undaunted Alice countered. “We can hardly send Mrs Bridgerton back in this weather, can we? We might as well make the best of it.”
The Queen’s frown remained fixed to her face. A puffy little Pomeranian entered from a side door, running past everyone present to Alice, who dutifully picked the animal up and scratched it behind the ears. Outside, the steady drum of rain continued to drown the world.
“Mrs Bridgerton? Mrs Benedict Bridgerton, I assume. Shouldn’t you be off enjoying your honeymoon with your husband? I would certainly hope so – you won me a bet, after all.”
Now it was Sophie’s turn to frown in confusion. A bet? She quickly discarded the riddle she could not solve and answered instead. “I was, until recently. But Benedict was worried that being all alone in the countryside didn’t suit me, so we came to visit his mother until the season starts.”
“She was bored,” Alice supplied bluntly, earning herself a slightly scandalised glare from Sophie, who was so used to couching every word to a superior in the most diplomatic words possible that it hadn’t even occurred to her to be direct. Especially in front of the Queen.
Finally, the Queen smiled. “Now that, I can understand. Frankly, I do not understand why the season doesn’t last all year. So many balls we’re all missing out on. So much gossip.”
The servant standing next to her coughed awkwardly, giving Sophie the impression that he thought that not everyone wanted to be on display their entire life without a chance at reprieve.
The Queen didn’t acknowledge it at all. “Now tell me, Mrs Bridgerton. Do you play chess?”
*
That night, Sophie sighed when she sat down on her and Benedict’s bed at Bridgerton House as she unpinned her hair. It had been a taxing day, and she was beginning to understand why Alice had looked like she had barely slept in weeks when they’d been over for tea. Entertaining the Queen was a delicate dance that didn’t allow for a moment of inattention, lest one misstep.
“Was it that bad?” Benedict asked. He was curled up on his side already, a book in his lap. “You were gone for quite a while.”
Well, half of that had been due to the weather. The Queen had not wanted to let any of them go until the rains subsided. Although privately, Sophie got the impression that that was merely an excuse to keep her and Alice trapped.
“It wasn’t bad,” Sophie argued. Behind her, she heard him put the book aside and sit up. A moment later, she felt his hands on her shoulders, and he began to massage them gently. A kiss was pressed to the crown of her head while she began to work a brush through her hair.
“I take it you’re no longer bored, then?”
Sophie snorted. “I don’t think boredom is in the cards for anyone who has an audience with Her Majesty. Especially if they’re forced to play chess with her.”
“Who won?” Benedict asked, pressing a kiss to her neck that sent shivers down to her fingertips.
Sophie sighed again. That had been the torture of it all. Sophie was quite the accomplished chess player, if she said so herself. Her father used to tutor her when Posy and Rosamund had their dance lessons. If she had played against anyone else, she wouldn’t have been shy about trouncing them, but this was the Queen. Did one dare to win against Her Majesty? Would she find it humiliating if her opponent acted as if they couldn’t tell a rook from a knight? In the end, Sophie had felt as if she was walking a tightrope for the entire afternoon.
“The Queen,” Sophie replied, but she had made her work for it. When the delighted grin had spread on the woman’s face, she had breathed an imagined sigh of relief. Hearing “Checkmate!” had never felt so good.
“I sense there’s a story there, but I think that can wait until later.” Large, muscular arms wrapped around her body and dragged her back. “Your shoulders feel as if you need all the rest you can get. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”
Sophie sighed again. “I wish I could, but I’m expected back at the Palace.”
“Seriously?” Benedict tightened his embrace.
Sophie nodded. “If only I knew what to do to keep her entertained…”
“You’ll figure something out,” he promised her. Benedict had more faith in her than even Alfie.
If only Sophie were as optimistic…
*
The next day was the polar opposite of the one that had come before. It was a crisp, sunny day, and the puddles left in the wake of the winter storm had glazed over with a delicate sheen of ice that broke under the carriage wheels as Sophie and Alice again approached the Palace – tranquillity, destroyed.
“Relax,” Alice told her when they walked up the steps. “You did well yesterday. You’ve no reason to be nervous.”
“Has that ever worked for you?” Sophie asked her.
Alice said nothing, which was answer enough for Sophie.
“Mrs Mondrich and Mrs Bridgerton,” the herald announced, and once again, both women were faced with their resplendent, temperamental Queen. They curtsied as one, but the Queen barely acknowledged Alice’s presence as she stepped into her place next to the other ladies-in-waiting. She was focused on Sophie, who felt like a mouse eyed by a hungry cat.
“What shall we do today, Mrs Bridgerton?” the Queen asked.
“Whatever would please Your Majesty,” Sophie replied.
In hindsight, that had been the start of it. Where the Queen had been thoroughly entertained by her win on their first day together, nothing seemed to go right that day. First of all, the Queen decided it was time for a walk in the palace gardens with all of her dogs in tow, and nothing seemed to dissuade her.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Alice had asked.
“It’s still a bit wet from yesterday,” Sophie added carefully. “A bit wet” being something of an understatement. With the sun out, the last bits of ice quickly vanished, leaving behind mud and soggy lawns.
“Nonsense,” the Queen replied, walking forward, followed by a bevvy of attendants and a horde of fluffy, perfectly coiffed dogs. Sophie could see what lay ahead before it became reality, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. A quick look at Alice’s worried face told her that her new friend was just as unhappy, and just as helpless.
The palace gardens at least provided a breath of fresh air that had been missing the day before, in the stuffy drawing room. The air was crisp and clean, and if it wasn’t for everything else, Sophie would have loved the walk. She could even see how gorgeous the gardens would be during the season, with rose bushes in various colours, fountains and gazebos. She could see all the colours and smell the lilac in her mind. Now, in February, there were only shades of green and mud, and a pervasive cold that crept under her skin. Only the fountains reflected the brilliant blue sky to perfection, just as they would on a warm summer day.
“Leto! No!”
They couldn’t have been in the garden for more than a quarter of an hour – including the way across the gravel paths, which were at least not muddy – when the first of the Pomeranians managed to escape her minder, a harried servant in ornate livery. The little cloud set off across the lawn among a chorus of approving yaps, dragging the leash behind her.
“What are you waiting for?” the frowning Queen told the servant. “Do something.”
The servant did. He ran after the animal to a copse of trees. Sophie could hear a squelching sound when he neared the trees, and she didn’t envy the poor wretch who would have to mend the waterlogged shoes later on.
The Queen, however, remained undaunted. She marched on, and on the way, they lost more dogs, more servants and one lady-in-waiting, whose brilliant white dress would look dreadful after chasing through the gardens. Sophie did her best to keep up, discreetly lifting up the hem of her dress while she admired the herd of zebras in their pen with the appropriate gravitas. If she was lucky, it wouldn’t be too bad when she arrived back home.
By the time they were back in the warm, cosy palace – it had seemed so forbidding to Sophie before, but after a cold day outside, she could appreciate the fire in the hearths and thick glass windows – the Queen’s entourage looked like quite a fright. It didn’t even raise an eyebrow for the servants left behind, though. It seemed they were used to these shenanigans – and the dirt.
The Queen, on the other hand, did raise her eyebrows when she turned and saw the sorry sight. There were dirty hems, ladies who were out of breath, and dogs who were in dire need of a bath – and very happy.
“Well, this was not fun,” she summarised. “Do better next time.”
And with that, she vanished into the bowels of the palace. The ladies-in-waiting and Sophie were dismissed. There were sighs and even a tired whimper. The dogs were taken away, and the ladies dispersed, each to nurse their own wounds. Back in the carriage home, Alice took off one of her shoes and held it out the window to empty it of some excess water. Then she began to wordlessly massage her feet.
“Why do I feel guilty that we had a wretched afternoon, even though we just did what the Queen asked?” Sophie wondered.
“Because she is the Queen,” Alice replied.
*
“Jesus, you look a fright!” Violet cried the moment she set eyes on a bedraggled, shivering Sophie. She hadn’t really thought it was that bad – her dress was still salvageable, after all. But once they had stopped moving, back in the carriage, the cold had started to take hold of her, and no matter what she and Violet did, Sophie couldn’t get rid of it. There was always a shiver hiding just beneath her skin that neither fire, hot tea, nor furs could chase away.
Benedict’s warm embrace didn’t help either. He hugged her from behind when they lay in bed that evening, spooning her from head to toe. She could feel his warmth – almost as blazing as the fire burning in the hearth of their room – but still, she wouldn’t warm up.
“I think you should stay home tomorrow,” Benedict told her. She could hear a frown in his voice. “Plead illness. Pretend you’ve caught a bad cough.”
Sophie sighed and nuzzled his biceps. She wished she could take things further, but the Queen had exhausted her. Soon enough, she would look as haggard as Alice. If she wasn’t already on the way to a bout of pleurisy, that was.
“I mean it,” Benedict told her. “You are more important to me than the Queen’s moods – than the entire kingdom, frankly. You can recuperate in bed for a week. I’ll be your devoted servant. And then we can visit with Francesca – so that the air in the highlands can help your lungs recover. We needn’t even return for the season, unless you want to. There’s plenty to paint in Scotland, and Eloise would love the company.”
Sophie was thankful. She really was. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that future. Lazy mornings. Watching Benedict as he captured the rugged charm of the highlands for eternity, while Sophie helped Francesca run her household during the day and talked about books with Eloise in the evening. A pretty, persuasive picture.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sophie told him. “But I’m not ready to give up.” Yet.
Benedict hugged her tighter, and Sophie wondered how that was even possible. But it was working. She could finally feel a sliver of warmth tingle in her feet as her body started to feel heavy. Sleep, merciful sleep, was but moments away.
“I mean it,” Benedict whispered as she drifted away. “I’m not going to let anybody rob me of my wife, not even the Queen.”
*
Luckily enough, Sophie was fine the next day. Tired, but the previous day had not harmed her otherwise. She got up, got dressed, broke her fast and weathered the worried glances her family sent her way. Benedict didn’t try to convince her to stay; instead, he opted for a heated kiss to keep her warm. Lady Violet lent her her warmest coat, just in case.
It was only Sophie’s third time visiting the Queen, but even she could tell that something was off when she and Alice arrived that day. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells, and servants, ladies and dogs alike were waiting outside the Queen’s drawing room – at least those who hadn’t fallen sick from the cold.
“What’s the matter?” Alice asked the Queen’s favourite attendant, the man who always stood by her side whenever Sophie saw her.
He sighed. “A letter arrived. From Lady Danbury,” he whispered.
“Ah,” Alice said.
Sophie looked around furtively – apparently she was the only one who didn’t know what had occurred between the two women to upset the Queen so. “Shouldn’t we do something?” she asked the oppressive silence in front of the drawing room.
Before anybody could answer, a voice called from the room. “Who’s there?” the Queen asked.
The attendant shot her a worried glare. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he replied. Then everyone waited with bated breath.
“Send her in.”
Sophie did not like the future the worried glances were promising her, but there was only one thing she could do: square her shoulders and walk into the lion’s den with her head held high as the doors opened. When they closed, and Sophie had curtsied, she took in the scene before her. The Queen sat in a chair at the small table that had held their chess set only two days before. Her eyes were fixed on a square of paper in the middle of the table as if it was poisoned.
“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” Sophie asked.
“Tell me, Mrs Bridgerton, what would you do in my place?”
“I’m not quite sure I know what place that would be, I’m afraid.”
The Queen huffed. It seemed this was a dragon’s den, not a lion’s. Her eyes hadn’t moved from the letter once. Her fingers began to drum on the chair’s armrests. “What would you do if your friend had left you all alone, to follow their dreams, while you are caught in a prison without escape? What would you do if that friend sent you a letter?”
Sophie thought about it for a moment. Of course, she was a woman who was very unlike the Queen. What would make one happy might make the other miserable. What if she were trapped in that cell by Araminta’s lies? What if Alfie took a post in America when she needed him the most? The mere thought hurt, but she would let him go. It was his life, and he deserved to live it to the fullest. She had no right to drag him down and keep him from his dreams. But she would still feel abandoned and lonely – feelings were strange that way.
“I would read the letter,” Sophie told her. “Because I know I would regret not doing so eventually, even if the words hurt in the moment. And once we’d meet again, if we meet again, I could have healed.”
“Is that so?” The Queen frowned at the letter still, but it was more of a pensive frown. “Oh, sod it,” she said, and grabbed the letter. She tore it open with her fingernails and fished out the sheaves of paper with black lines scribbled all over them. Lady Danbury had not been stingy with her words.
Sophie watched as the Queen read the letter. Carefully. There were smiles, bitter and happy, and tears. Eventually, she put the letter on the table and blinked until her eyes were dry. Then she finally turned her eyes to Sophie.
“Shall we play another game? I find myself in the mood for backgammon today.”
“Gladly,” Sophie replied. It seemed this day’s storm had blown over, and the sun had returned to the palace.
*
“I’m happy to see you smile,” Benedict told her some days later as they relaxed in the library after dinner. He was staring at a white piece of paper, charcoal in hand should inspiration strike. “I have to confess, I was worried there for a moment.”
“So was I,” Sophie told him, but that day had been nice, actually. Playing backgammon against the Queen had been unexpectedly pleasurable, and Sophie had even won once. The Queen had sulked like a girl of ten, but it had only lasted a couple of moments before they’d started another one. The following days had been more relaxed as well. It seemed Sophie was finally building a rapport with the Queen, and it felt unbelievably satisfying, just like that moment when you’ve polished all the silver in the cabinet and it’s gleaming with pride.
“Although I do confess: I miss my wife.” He smiled at her as he said it, not a hint of discord on his face or in his voice. “All those mornings we could have lazed about in bed…”
“Well, the Queen has retired to the countryside, so I am going to be yours for the fortnight.”
Benedict put the unused charcoal away and theatrically clutched his hands to his chest. “And I am forever grateful to you for rescuing me from my boredom.”
“Oh?” Sophie joked. Then she bent forward and picked up a chess piece from the table next to her. It had been abandoned by Gregory and Colin months ago, so it wasn’t as if anybody would mind. “Shall we play then? It worked wonders for the Queen.”
Benedict froze, a look of pure awe spreading on his face. “Don’t move a single muscle,” he hissed, and grabbed his charcoal. Sophie knew him well enough by then to do just that.
*
Months later
“I have to say, Mrs Bridgerton, your husband is quite talented. The composition reminds me of the Dutch masters, but the style is rougher, less refined, yet somehow more honest. It is whimsical and mysterious, just the kind of painting I like!” the Queen told her.
It was the first of Benedict’s paintings to hang in a gallery for the world to admire, and Sophie had to agree that it was his best piece yet, even if she didn’t know how she felt about seeing her face displayed so publicly. The painting showed a woman (her) in a dark grey dress sitting next to a window. Warm light illuminated her face as she leaned forward, a lone black bishop in her hand while she smiled at someone or something off to the viewer’s right. The rest of the chess set on the table almost vanished in the shadow, with most of the white figures highlighted against the darkness. There was colour too, of course. A burgundy carpet and velvety drapes, brown wood panelling and a bit of the chair’s green upholstery shining in the sunlight.
“I’m sure Benedict will be glad to hear it,” she replied.
And he would, although not as glad as he would be to celebrate his success with his wife later that night…
Fin
Fandom: Bridgerton
Author:
rodoLength: 6,398 words
Rating: 12+
Pairing/Characters: Sophie/Benedict, Queen Charlotte
Disclaimer: everything belongs to Netflix, of course
A/N: written for isevsianne for the last round of
fandom5kSummary: Life at My Cottage is cozy and comfortable – but it is not something that Sophie Bridgerton can stomach for months on end with no reprieve. Not when she has nothing to do. So Benedict takes her back to London, and Sophie gains something she hadn't counted on: new friends.
There was no torture quite as gnawing and stale as sitting still. At least as far as Sophie Bridgerton was concerned. There must have been a time in her life when she’d been able to sit still and do nothing; she was sure of it. Little children did nothing all day long, if little Edmund was anything to go by, and once upon a time, she must have been the same. But that was so long ago, she didn’t remember a second of it. All that Sophie remembered was being busy – whether as a carefree child roaming Penwood House as if it was hers or whether as a servant who was painfully aware of the fact that it was not. There was always something to do, even if it was something small such as mending a sock or something self-indulgent like reading a romance novel. Unless, of course, one was a lady. Sophie had read every book in the library of My Cottage, she’d walked the gardens so often she’d worn grooves into the paths. She had no interest in redecorating the mansion-called-cottage, and Mrs Crabtree steadfastly refused to let her do anything that remotely resembled housework. What was it noble ladies usually did to while away the hours? She’d have to ask Posy, or one of her new sisters-in-law when she had the chance. Which might be weeks in the future, considering the new season wouldn’t start for a couple of months yet… Sophie sat in her seat by the window and sighed. She would have to figure it out on her own, she supposed.
“What is it?” Benedict asked. Unlike her, her husband didn’t seem to mind leisure in the least – even if he wasn’t idle right then and there. Instead, he was bowed over a piece of paper, sketching away in charcoal. Sophie could just about make out the rough outline of a woman’s face in profile. Her face. There was a small mountain of unfinished sketches on his desk already, and he hadn’t finished a painting since the Lady in Silver, yet he never seemed to tire of them. Truth be told, neither did Sophie.
“Nothing,” she told him. He was so adorable when absorbed in his work, and her worries were trifles, really.
“It’s not nothing,” he insisted, putting down the charcoal and leaning back. “I know that sigh – it means something is bothering you. You’ve been antsy all week, tapping your foot and making a face when you think nobody’s looking. It’s kind of endearing, if I’m being honest, but I’m your husband now. Don’t you think you should talk to me about something that’s bothering you?”
He smiled at her, and Sophie could feel her heart melt. He had the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. It was no wonder she’d fallen for him at first sight, as if their lives were a fairy tale. “It is nothing,” she repeated. “I’m simply a little bored, that’s all.”
“Oh?” His smile turned impish. “I think there’s something we can do about that.”
Sophie blushed, eyes flitting towards the door. The Crabtrees were away at the market, a fact that Sophie had envied an hour ago. Now, she was not so sure. In fact, all thoughts of boredom were forgotten the moment Benedict swept her into his arms and carried her to their bed. They only returned later, when they both lay curled up next to each other as God had created them. He was drawing circles on her back with one hand while Sophie used his strong shoulder as a pillow.
“We do need to do something about your boredom, though,” he told her. “I don’t have the stamina to distract you like this every time.”
“Don’t you?” she teased him, and he punished her with a kiss.
“No, really. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie admitted. If she did, she would have solved her problem already. “I’m just not used to life as a lady, I think. I’ll get used to it eventually.”
Benedict hummed and went back to drawing imaginary figures on her skin as if she was one of his canvases. Sophie loved the shivers that went through her body at each and every touch of his. If only they could spend their lives like this – the lack of purpose didn’t matter at all when she was in his arms, and all her hardships were worth it if only he looked at her as if she was his entire world.
“Why don’t we go back to London?” he suggested. “I love having you all to myself, but I think it’s time we face the world again.”
Sophie didn’t say so, but she was glad. Maybe London would have the cure to her ills, even if half the ton was at their estates and society would be in a lull until the season started…
Sophie couldn’t help but smile when she peeked out of the window as the carriage rolled up to Bridgerton House. This time, there were no beautiful lilac wisteria flowers framing the portico, no inviting torches leading the way, and no guests in masks and beautiful gowns chattering excitedly. Still, Sophie was reminded of that first time she’d come here. In a borrowed carriage, making use of the masquerade to hide her true self behind a silver mask…
“You look happy,” Benedict remarked. He wasn’t looking out the window when Sophie turned to him. He was looking at her.
“I am,” she confessed. Not that she’d been unhappy before. But when she spotted Lady Violet waiting for them in the entrance hall, her heart almost overflowed with love.
“Come here,” Lady Violet told her. The warm hug that followed reminded Sophie of long-lost memories of a soft bosom and dark hair that smelled of soap. She didn’t really remember her mother, but now that she had gained another, it didn’t hurt as much as it used to in Araminta Gun’s cold shadow.
“Not that I am unhappy to see you both,” Violet began. “You know I am always happy to see any of my children. But shouldn’t you two be off enjoying yourselves in the countryside? Or has My Cottage already lost its shine? I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Sophie assured her when she noticed the slightly worried tinge to Violet’s eyes. Behind her, Mrs Wilson hovered. Sophie tried to reassure her with a smile as well.
“My darling wife was simply bored out of her mind,” Benedict announced.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Sophie insisted.
“It was. And I thought a little company might do her some good.”
Lady Violet was positively beaming. She had eight children, and most of them had flown the coop. Four were happily married – the others having retired to their country estates with their happy spouses. Even Eloise had gone to keep poor Francesca company. And Gregory, the Eton man, was far too caught up in being a young gentleman to spend time with his mother. Only Hyacinth remained, skipping down the stairs to greet them – in the hopes Benedict and Sophie would save her from the boredom of the off-season, no doubt. It was strange, having a family. Strange in a good way.
Over the next few days, Sophie found herself busy entertaining her youngest sister-in-law. They took walks in parks that felt strangely empty without the gentlemen of the ton prancing about like peacocks and the ladies preening like peahens. At least according to her husband.
“There isn’t really much going on in London at this time of year, it seems,” he said. “And unfortunately, all the remaining entertainments that I could think of are somewhat… unsuitable for ladies. And married men who adore their wives.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow, and Benedict grinned like a naughty schoolboy. Then she shuddered, despite her coat. London in February was a rather dreary place, but she agreed that whatever den of inequity had provided a distraction for him in past winters wouldn’t please her.
“On the bright side, I haven’t read all the books in the library here yet,” she replied.
Benedict’s indulgent smile made her heart flutter. He enjoyed watching her read while he sketched her, or even just parts of her, a foot, the way her wrist curled to accommodate a heavy tome, the embroidery along her shoulder… It was intimate and comfortable in a way Sophie hadn’t known since before her father had married.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Violet said when she found them in the library that afternoon, just like that – Sophie reading a book on the natural sciences, Benedict bowed over a piece of paper. “I have an invitation for tomorrow afternoon, and I thought you might like to accompany me, Sophie.”
Sophie frowned. An invitation. How ominous. At heart, she was still a maid, or worse: a bastard. She had no business visiting noble houses by way of the front door. If anyone found out the secret, they would all be in trouble, even if the Queen had ignored their obvious lies, even if Araminta covered for her to protect her own pride and place.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sophie replied.
“Nonsense,” Lady Violet said. “Mrs Mondrich will be happy to see you again. And you need to acclimate yourself to life as a lady. It will be good practice, before the season starts. Not that you need much of it. I have never met a more perfect lady than you, my dear.”
“Not even Daphne?” Benedict asked.
Lady Violet blushed. “Except Daphne,” her mother-in-law allowed. “And you can tutor your sister while we’re gone. She needs to practice her French some more, and we can’t make Sophie do all the work now, can we?”
Benedict groaned dramatically but relented.
Sophie still felt a little apprehensive, even if there was no reason to. Mrs Mondrich had helped them, knew everything, and was maybe the only woman in the ton who could understand how disorienting this change in circumstances was for her. Maybe it was because it was a first step – towards what she didn’t know.
The next day, Mrs Mondrich welcomed them to Kent House with metaphorical open arms and a wide smile. Violet and Sophie smiled back politely and followed her to the drawing room, where dainty cakes and tea awaited them. Since both of them were in possession of a sense of decorum, neither of them mentioned the bags under Mrs Mondrich’s eyes, or the way her step seemed a little less energetic than it should. But they couldn’t help but exchange a worried glance while Alice Mondrich’s back was turned. Something was not right in Kent House.
“It was so kind of you to invite us,” Violet began when they were all sat on the settees and furnished with teacups and nibbles of cake. The macarons were as delicious as they were pretty when Sophie dared to take a bite. It was a shame they looked so pretty, even. One almost didn’t dare to destroy all the work the cooks had put into creating these delicate beauties.
“Oh, I did it more for myself than for your benefit, I assure you. Life has been… trying, ever since the season ended. And I’m desperate for a distraction. Now tell me, Mrs Bridgerton: how is married life treating you?”
Sophie almost choked on her macaron. Somehow, she’d imagined she’d barely have to speak, since it was Lady Violet who knew Mrs Mondrich, not her.
“It’s wonderful,” Sophie told her truthfully. “It is merely… an adjustment.” She didn’t elaborate further.
“Oh, I can just imagine…” Mrs Mondrich said, exchanging a saucy glance with Lady Violet. “But I can also imagine it’s a bit hard to get used to all this, isn’t it? I mean, I know you were a ladies’ maid before and that you’re all too familiar with living in a noble house, but still. It must take some getting used to, don’t you agree? I know I was completely out of my element when Nicky inherited all this – still am, to be honest with you.”
Alice Mondrich smiled at her, and Sophie couldn’t help but be drawn into it. Above everything, Alice Mondrich was real. Where other ladies of the ton dedicated themselves to gossip or intrigue, she seemed like someone who had found herself. Sophie wanted to be like that as well.
“I would be lying if I said it was easy,” Sophie admitted, “but I am happy. It is just that I am used to being so very busy. Ever since my father died, I’ve had to work from dawn to dusk. I have to confess I don’t quite know what to do with myself without that.”
Alice Mondrich smiled, which only served to emphasise her tiredness. “You’ll fare better than me, I’d wager. I ran my own household, doing all the work for three children, and then suddenly, all this” – she gestured at the fine walls surrounding them – “Too many rooms, servants, rules… I didn’t even know what dress to wear, but I got there eventually, and now look at me. A lady-in-waiting to the Queen.”
Sophie’s eyes darted over to Violet’s, and they met in the middle. The discordant note on the word “Queen” had been unmistakable. Whatever kept Alice Mondrich up at night, there was little doubt in Sophie’s mind that it was related to their indomitable Queen.
Lady Violet put down her cup decisively. The gentle clink was enough to draw all the attention in the room to her, and so Sophie watched as she squared her jaw. “What is the matter, Alice? You have done our family such a favour, never doubt that we would do anything in our power to return it – especially since Lady Danbury can no longer intercede on either of our behalves.”
Alice Mondrich deflated. Her shoulders shrunk in on themselves, her back sank into the settee, and she sighed. A deep, weary sigh that stretched out in front of them like the polished table. Lady Violet’s words had disarmed her, and all pretence had fled the room.
“It’s Lady Danbury, of course. Or rather, her absence.”
Lady Violet nodded knowingly. “The Queen is taking it hard, then?”
Alice Mondrich raised an eyebrow. “You know how she is. I think Lady Danbury might be the only woman who ever managed to get past her armour. I thought I was getting somewhere, but apparently not. She’s been in a mood since before Christmas, and nothing seems to help. I’ve tried everything, and I’m all out of ideas. I can’t help redecorate the pink room again. I’ll go mad.”
Sophie turned her eyes from one woman to the other. The Queen, she gathered, was a difficult character. Sophie remembered her as eccentric, from what little she’d seen of her, but Alice’s words painted a picture that reminded her more of Araminta, if less mean.
“I’m afraid there’s little we can do, then,” Lady Violet replied. “None of us can replace Lady Danbury, that much I know. There are two things the Queen loves besides her family: her best friend and novelty. And sadly enough, we are neither.”
“What kind of novelty?” Sophie asked.
Two sets of eyes turned to her. Lady Violet blinked. Mrs Mondrich, on the other hand, smiled.
“I think I’ve got an idea,” Alice Mondrich said.
Sophie got the distinct impression that soon enough, boredom would be the least of her problems.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea…” Sophie said. The palace looked foreboding and formidable, and it wasn’t just the angry clouds amassing behind and above it, promising an uncomfortable afternoon. There were also the stiff guards, frozen in position at the gate, and all that empty space. In the off-season, it was the Prince Regent’s residence that received most of the visitors, with the Queen being relegated into a societal exile of sorts – still quite busy, but with no balls, engagements or weddings to distract her. There would not even be a brisk walk in the gardens to delight in the peacocks – the plan for that day, according to Alice Mondrich. At least before the clouds had put a stop to it.
“Oh, I doubt it is, but it’s the only one I got,” Alice – she’d asked Sophie to call her that, as an ally and partner-in-crime – told her. She then hooked her arm around Sophie’s and dragged her past the guards before the deluge could start.
“But—”
“Oh, she’ll love you,” Alice told her. “She’s prickly and angry like an arthritic cat, but the Queen has a sharp mind, and she appreciates the same quality in others. She liked you at the ball. You’re a novelty, and you’ll do just fine. I might not know her moods like Lady Danbury, but I’m a fast learner, and the past few months have provided quite the education. Now stop worrying and stand up straight.”
Sophie took a deep breath as they walked up to a large door manned by two bewigged servants. Then she squared her shoulders and tried to stand as straight as she could without snapping her spine in two – just in time for the servants to move as one as they opened the door.
Behind the doors, the Queen sat on a dais at the back of the room, in a splendid chair that was just barely modest enough not to be called a throne. Behind her, there were two women in white dresses identical to the one that Alice was wearing. A pudgy servant with a nervous face stood beside her while another wheeled in a tray with refreshments.
“Your Majesty,” Alice said with a curtsy that Sophie imitated on instinct. She was trying not to look at all the gold leaf, covering everything from vases to door frames.
“Mrs Mondrich,” the Queen replied with a pout. “You are late. And you’ve brought company. I didn’t ask for company.”
“We were delayed by a broken-down carriage blocking the road on the way,” Alice explained. “And I think it might be a stroke of luck that I brought company today. I don’t expect a walk in the gardens would be very pleasant in this weather.”
The Queen frowned. “The weather is perfectly fine,” she replied. Just a breath later, the clouds relieved themselves of their cargo in what seemed like one fell swoop, only it wouldn’t stop. “I concede your point,” the Queen allowed. “But that doesn’t mean I want company. I have you for that, don’t I? What is the point of ladies-in-waiting if they refuse to do their lady-in-waiting?”
Sophie saw the two ladies behind her exchange a worried glance. It seemed this was a bad day – maybe Alice had been wrong, and she shouldn’t have come.
“Be that as it may,” an undaunted Alice countered. “We can hardly send Mrs Bridgerton back in this weather, can we? We might as well make the best of it.”
The Queen’s frown remained fixed to her face. A puffy little Pomeranian entered from a side door, running past everyone present to Alice, who dutifully picked the animal up and scratched it behind the ears. Outside, the steady drum of rain continued to drown the world.
“Mrs Bridgerton? Mrs Benedict Bridgerton, I assume. Shouldn’t you be off enjoying your honeymoon with your husband? I would certainly hope so – you won me a bet, after all.”
Now it was Sophie’s turn to frown in confusion. A bet? She quickly discarded the riddle she could not solve and answered instead. “I was, until recently. But Benedict was worried that being all alone in the countryside didn’t suit me, so we came to visit his mother until the season starts.”
“She was bored,” Alice supplied bluntly, earning herself a slightly scandalised glare from Sophie, who was so used to couching every word to a superior in the most diplomatic words possible that it hadn’t even occurred to her to be direct. Especially in front of the Queen.
Finally, the Queen smiled. “Now that, I can understand. Frankly, I do not understand why the season doesn’t last all year. So many balls we’re all missing out on. So much gossip.”
The servant standing next to her coughed awkwardly, giving Sophie the impression that he thought that not everyone wanted to be on display their entire life without a chance at reprieve.
The Queen didn’t acknowledge it at all. “Now tell me, Mrs Bridgerton. Do you play chess?”
That night, Sophie sighed when she sat down on her and Benedict’s bed at Bridgerton House as she unpinned her hair. It had been a taxing day, and she was beginning to understand why Alice had looked like she had barely slept in weeks when they’d been over for tea. Entertaining the Queen was a delicate dance that didn’t allow for a moment of inattention, lest one misstep.
“Was it that bad?” Benedict asked. He was curled up on his side already, a book in his lap. “You were gone for quite a while.”
Well, half of that had been due to the weather. The Queen had not wanted to let any of them go until the rains subsided. Although privately, Sophie got the impression that that was merely an excuse to keep her and Alice trapped.
“It wasn’t bad,” Sophie argued. Behind her, she heard him put the book aside and sit up. A moment later, she felt his hands on her shoulders, and he began to massage them gently. A kiss was pressed to the crown of her head while she began to work a brush through her hair.
“I take it you’re no longer bored, then?”
Sophie snorted. “I don’t think boredom is in the cards for anyone who has an audience with Her Majesty. Especially if they’re forced to play chess with her.”
“Who won?” Benedict asked, pressing a kiss to her neck that sent shivers down to her fingertips.
Sophie sighed again. That had been the torture of it all. Sophie was quite the accomplished chess player, if she said so herself. Her father used to tutor her when Posy and Rosamund had their dance lessons. If she had played against anyone else, she wouldn’t have been shy about trouncing them, but this was the Queen. Did one dare to win against Her Majesty? Would she find it humiliating if her opponent acted as if they couldn’t tell a rook from a knight? In the end, Sophie had felt as if she was walking a tightrope for the entire afternoon.
“The Queen,” Sophie replied, but she had made her work for it. When the delighted grin had spread on the woman’s face, she had breathed an imagined sigh of relief. Hearing “Checkmate!” had never felt so good.
“I sense there’s a story there, but I think that can wait until later.” Large, muscular arms wrapped around her body and dragged her back. “Your shoulders feel as if you need all the rest you can get. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”
Sophie sighed again. “I wish I could, but I’m expected back at the Palace.”
“Seriously?” Benedict tightened his embrace.
Sophie nodded. “If only I knew what to do to keep her entertained…”
“You’ll figure something out,” he promised her. Benedict had more faith in her than even Alfie.
If only Sophie were as optimistic…
The next day was the polar opposite of the one that had come before. It was a crisp, sunny day, and the puddles left in the wake of the winter storm had glazed over with a delicate sheen of ice that broke under the carriage wheels as Sophie and Alice again approached the Palace – tranquillity, destroyed.
“Relax,” Alice told her when they walked up the steps. “You did well yesterday. You’ve no reason to be nervous.”
“Has that ever worked for you?” Sophie asked her.
Alice said nothing, which was answer enough for Sophie.
“Mrs Mondrich and Mrs Bridgerton,” the herald announced, and once again, both women were faced with their resplendent, temperamental Queen. They curtsied as one, but the Queen barely acknowledged Alice’s presence as she stepped into her place next to the other ladies-in-waiting. She was focused on Sophie, who felt like a mouse eyed by a hungry cat.
“What shall we do today, Mrs Bridgerton?” the Queen asked.
“Whatever would please Your Majesty,” Sophie replied.
In hindsight, that had been the start of it. Where the Queen had been thoroughly entertained by her win on their first day together, nothing seemed to go right that day. First of all, the Queen decided it was time for a walk in the palace gardens with all of her dogs in tow, and nothing seemed to dissuade her.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Alice had asked.
“It’s still a bit wet from yesterday,” Sophie added carefully. “A bit wet” being something of an understatement. With the sun out, the last bits of ice quickly vanished, leaving behind mud and soggy lawns.
“Nonsense,” the Queen replied, walking forward, followed by a bevvy of attendants and a horde of fluffy, perfectly coiffed dogs. Sophie could see what lay ahead before it became reality, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. A quick look at Alice’s worried face told her that her new friend was just as unhappy, and just as helpless.
The palace gardens at least provided a breath of fresh air that had been missing the day before, in the stuffy drawing room. The air was crisp and clean, and if it wasn’t for everything else, Sophie would have loved the walk. She could even see how gorgeous the gardens would be during the season, with rose bushes in various colours, fountains and gazebos. She could see all the colours and smell the lilac in her mind. Now, in February, there were only shades of green and mud, and a pervasive cold that crept under her skin. Only the fountains reflected the brilliant blue sky to perfection, just as they would on a warm summer day.
“Leto! No!”
They couldn’t have been in the garden for more than a quarter of an hour – including the way across the gravel paths, which were at least not muddy – when the first of the Pomeranians managed to escape her minder, a harried servant in ornate livery. The little cloud set off across the lawn among a chorus of approving yaps, dragging the leash behind her.
“What are you waiting for?” the frowning Queen told the servant. “Do something.”
The servant did. He ran after the animal to a copse of trees. Sophie could hear a squelching sound when he neared the trees, and she didn’t envy the poor wretch who would have to mend the waterlogged shoes later on.
The Queen, however, remained undaunted. She marched on, and on the way, they lost more dogs, more servants and one lady-in-waiting, whose brilliant white dress would look dreadful after chasing through the gardens. Sophie did her best to keep up, discreetly lifting up the hem of her dress while she admired the herd of zebras in their pen with the appropriate gravitas. If she was lucky, it wouldn’t be too bad when she arrived back home.
By the time they were back in the warm, cosy palace – it had seemed so forbidding to Sophie before, but after a cold day outside, she could appreciate the fire in the hearths and thick glass windows – the Queen’s entourage looked like quite a fright. It didn’t even raise an eyebrow for the servants left behind, though. It seemed they were used to these shenanigans – and the dirt.
The Queen, on the other hand, did raise her eyebrows when she turned and saw the sorry sight. There were dirty hems, ladies who were out of breath, and dogs who were in dire need of a bath – and very happy.
“Well, this was not fun,” she summarised. “Do better next time.”
And with that, she vanished into the bowels of the palace. The ladies-in-waiting and Sophie were dismissed. There were sighs and even a tired whimper. The dogs were taken away, and the ladies dispersed, each to nurse their own wounds. Back in the carriage home, Alice took off one of her shoes and held it out the window to empty it of some excess water. Then she began to wordlessly massage her feet.
“Why do I feel guilty that we had a wretched afternoon, even though we just did what the Queen asked?” Sophie wondered.
“Because she is the Queen,” Alice replied.
“Jesus, you look a fright!” Violet cried the moment she set eyes on a bedraggled, shivering Sophie. She hadn’t really thought it was that bad – her dress was still salvageable, after all. But once they had stopped moving, back in the carriage, the cold had started to take hold of her, and no matter what she and Violet did, Sophie couldn’t get rid of it. There was always a shiver hiding just beneath her skin that neither fire, hot tea, nor furs could chase away.
Benedict’s warm embrace didn’t help either. He hugged her from behind when they lay in bed that evening, spooning her from head to toe. She could feel his warmth – almost as blazing as the fire burning in the hearth of their room – but still, she wouldn’t warm up.
“I think you should stay home tomorrow,” Benedict told her. She could hear a frown in his voice. “Plead illness. Pretend you’ve caught a bad cough.”
Sophie sighed and nuzzled his biceps. She wished she could take things further, but the Queen had exhausted her. Soon enough, she would look as haggard as Alice. If she wasn’t already on the way to a bout of pleurisy, that was.
“I mean it,” Benedict told her. “You are more important to me than the Queen’s moods – than the entire kingdom, frankly. You can recuperate in bed for a week. I’ll be your devoted servant. And then we can visit with Francesca – so that the air in the highlands can help your lungs recover. We needn’t even return for the season, unless you want to. There’s plenty to paint in Scotland, and Eloise would love the company.”
Sophie was thankful. She really was. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that future. Lazy mornings. Watching Benedict as he captured the rugged charm of the highlands for eternity, while Sophie helped Francesca run her household during the day and talked about books with Eloise in the evening. A pretty, persuasive picture.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sophie told him. “But I’m not ready to give up.” Yet.
Benedict hugged her tighter, and Sophie wondered how that was even possible. But it was working. She could finally feel a sliver of warmth tingle in her feet as her body started to feel heavy. Sleep, merciful sleep, was but moments away.
“I mean it,” Benedict whispered as she drifted away. “I’m not going to let anybody rob me of my wife, not even the Queen.”
Luckily enough, Sophie was fine the next day. Tired, but the previous day had not harmed her otherwise. She got up, got dressed, broke her fast and weathered the worried glances her family sent her way. Benedict didn’t try to convince her to stay; instead, he opted for a heated kiss to keep her warm. Lady Violet lent her her warmest coat, just in case.
It was only Sophie’s third time visiting the Queen, but even she could tell that something was off when she and Alice arrived that day. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells, and servants, ladies and dogs alike were waiting outside the Queen’s drawing room – at least those who hadn’t fallen sick from the cold.
“What’s the matter?” Alice asked the Queen’s favourite attendant, the man who always stood by her side whenever Sophie saw her.
He sighed. “A letter arrived. From Lady Danbury,” he whispered.
“Ah,” Alice said.
Sophie looked around furtively – apparently she was the only one who didn’t know what had occurred between the two women to upset the Queen so. “Shouldn’t we do something?” she asked the oppressive silence in front of the drawing room.
Before anybody could answer, a voice called from the room. “Who’s there?” the Queen asked.
The attendant shot her a worried glare. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he replied. Then everyone waited with bated breath.
“Send her in.”
Sophie did not like the future the worried glances were promising her, but there was only one thing she could do: square her shoulders and walk into the lion’s den with her head held high as the doors opened. When they closed, and Sophie had curtsied, she took in the scene before her. The Queen sat in a chair at the small table that had held their chess set only two days before. Her eyes were fixed on a square of paper in the middle of the table as if it was poisoned.
“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” Sophie asked.
“Tell me, Mrs Bridgerton, what would you do in my place?”
“I’m not quite sure I know what place that would be, I’m afraid.”
The Queen huffed. It seemed this was a dragon’s den, not a lion’s. Her eyes hadn’t moved from the letter once. Her fingers began to drum on the chair’s armrests. “What would you do if your friend had left you all alone, to follow their dreams, while you are caught in a prison without escape? What would you do if that friend sent you a letter?”
Sophie thought about it for a moment. Of course, she was a woman who was very unlike the Queen. What would make one happy might make the other miserable. What if she were trapped in that cell by Araminta’s lies? What if Alfie took a post in America when she needed him the most? The mere thought hurt, but she would let him go. It was his life, and he deserved to live it to the fullest. She had no right to drag him down and keep him from his dreams. But she would still feel abandoned and lonely – feelings were strange that way.
“I would read the letter,” Sophie told her. “Because I know I would regret not doing so eventually, even if the words hurt in the moment. And once we’d meet again, if we meet again, I could have healed.”
“Is that so?” The Queen frowned at the letter still, but it was more of a pensive frown. “Oh, sod it,” she said, and grabbed the letter. She tore it open with her fingernails and fished out the sheaves of paper with black lines scribbled all over them. Lady Danbury had not been stingy with her words.
Sophie watched as the Queen read the letter. Carefully. There were smiles, bitter and happy, and tears. Eventually, she put the letter on the table and blinked until her eyes were dry. Then she finally turned her eyes to Sophie.
“Shall we play another game? I find myself in the mood for backgammon today.”
“Gladly,” Sophie replied. It seemed this day’s storm had blown over, and the sun had returned to the palace.
“I’m happy to see you smile,” Benedict told her some days later as they relaxed in the library after dinner. He was staring at a white piece of paper, charcoal in hand should inspiration strike. “I have to confess, I was worried there for a moment.”
“So was I,” Sophie told him, but that day had been nice, actually. Playing backgammon against the Queen had been unexpectedly pleasurable, and Sophie had even won once. The Queen had sulked like a girl of ten, but it had only lasted a couple of moments before they’d started another one. The following days had been more relaxed as well. It seemed Sophie was finally building a rapport with the Queen, and it felt unbelievably satisfying, just like that moment when you’ve polished all the silver in the cabinet and it’s gleaming with pride.
“Although I do confess: I miss my wife.” He smiled at her as he said it, not a hint of discord on his face or in his voice. “All those mornings we could have lazed about in bed…”
“Well, the Queen has retired to the countryside, so I am going to be yours for the fortnight.”
Benedict put the unused charcoal away and theatrically clutched his hands to his chest. “And I am forever grateful to you for rescuing me from my boredom.”
“Oh?” Sophie joked. Then she bent forward and picked up a chess piece from the table next to her. It had been abandoned by Gregory and Colin months ago, so it wasn’t as if anybody would mind. “Shall we play then? It worked wonders for the Queen.”
Benedict froze, a look of pure awe spreading on his face. “Don’t move a single muscle,” he hissed, and grabbed his charcoal. Sophie knew him well enough by then to do just that.
Months later
“I have to say, Mrs Bridgerton, your husband is quite talented. The composition reminds me of the Dutch masters, but the style is rougher, less refined, yet somehow more honest. It is whimsical and mysterious, just the kind of painting I like!” the Queen told her.
It was the first of Benedict’s paintings to hang in a gallery for the world to admire, and Sophie had to agree that it was his best piece yet, even if she didn’t know how she felt about seeing her face displayed so publicly. The painting showed a woman (her) in a dark grey dress sitting next to a window. Warm light illuminated her face as she leaned forward, a lone black bishop in her hand while she smiled at someone or something off to the viewer’s right. The rest of the chess set on the table almost vanished in the shadow, with most of the white figures highlighted against the darkness. There was colour too, of course. A burgundy carpet and velvety drapes, brown wood panelling and a bit of the chair’s green upholstery shining in the sunlight.
“I’m sure Benedict will be glad to hear it,” she replied.
And he would, although not as glad as he would be to celebrate his success with his wife later that night…
