To Paint With Shadows | Benedict Bridgerton

To Love Despite Everything

'Need you all be so loud.' Benedict groaned as he made his way into the Drawing Room; the delighted screams of his mother and Hyacinth ceased upon the sight of him: his disheveled  appearance not to disimilar to how he had looked a few months prior.
'The Queen has invited us to her ball!' Hyacinth exclaimed, stepping forward to show of the invitation.
'Hooray.' Benedict muttered sarcastically, as he picked up a pastry from the display, and stuffed in his mouth.
Violet offered him a warning glare, despite everybody in the room knowing why he was acting this way: today was Sophie's last day in London.
Hyacinth, who had clearly not understood the reason for the tension that filled the air, continued: 'Better yet, it is a masquerade ball. Oh, how I have always wished to attend one.' She squealed, twirling in excitement.
Benedict's frantic eating stopped, as his thoughts returned to the last memory he had of one: was there not a thing that did not remind him of her?
He thought deeply for a moment; could he truly allow her to leave London without even saying goodbye?
'She is upstairs?' Benedict asked softly, a melancholy to his gaze.
Violet nodded gently, offering him a tight-lipped smile.
He smiled, placing his plate on the table adjacent to him, leaving the room, and making his way up the stairs.

Sophie's brain was still reeling with questions from yesterday: why did the Queen come to visit her? She had never heard of her doing such a thing before. Why had she also personally invited her to her ball?
None of it seemed to make sense.
Yet, her thoughts were soon interrupted by a knock at the door: for a moment she did not answer, it was not Violet, it was much too unsure. In fact it was much too hesitant to be any of her previous visitors (one comes to know the knocks of those who attend to them, after having spent a considerable amount of time bed bound). Then came the realisation that this knock could only belong to one person: the one person she did not want to see, yet needed to see so desperately, also.

'Come in.' She mumbled, trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice.
Slowly, the door opened with a creak, and inside stepped the unkempt figure of Benedict Bridgerton. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, his gate stifled; Sophie did not think she had ever seen him look so low. Yet, as he saw her lying in the bed, the glow of complexion missing: he thought the very same.
He inhaled sharply, allowing his eyes to slowly shift to look into hers.
'I am sorry.' They both spoke at the same time. Involuntary grins growing on both their faces.
'What on earth do you have to be sorry for?' Benedict questioned, his tone indicating he found the idea incredulous.
Sophie watched him, as he stepped away from the door, daring to stand nearer the bed.
'I did not mean to cause you and your family such a fright.' She spoke affectionately.
Benedict smirked to himself: 'Well I suppose you cannot be entirely perfect.' He jested: it was incredible how easily they seemed to fall into their usual rhythm.
Sophie rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of his statement.
'I am sorry for what happened. I spoke entirely out of turn.' Benedict apologised, his face bore the exhaustion of someone who guilt had not let rest.
Sophie smiled softly. 'We both spoke in a most regrettable manner.' She took a shaky breath, 'Yet, it would be wrong to argue that some of what you said was untrue.'
Benedict stared at her, slightly wide-eyed, wondering what things she meant specifically.
'Mr Crozier has not visited?' Benedict queried apprehensively: he know it was a difficult subject, but he had to know, not even for his own sake: the way he had watched him speak to Sophie at the dreadful Danbury ball, had vexed him, a rage he had not felt before.
'No.' Sophie whispered, stealing her gaze from him, 'It was an impossible match.' Benedict's gaze softened as he watched her fight back tears. 'I believe he loved the idea of me, more than the reality.' She concluded.
Benedict said nothing, breathing heavily; if only she could understand that he loved every version of her.
'When are you to leave?' He asked, despite the lump in his throat.
Sophie sighed: the topic was not a pleasant one for her either.
'Tonight, after the ball. Frances wants to be in the country by late afternoon.' She informed him.
Benedict stumbled over his next sentence, having trouble deciding what to say: 'My family will miss you terribly.'
What he wanted to say was how much he would miss her, but then he remembered the consequences of his last confession.
Sophie's cheeks's rose with her lips. 'As I will them.' She simply said.
Benedict smiled, running a hand through his hair. Without warning, he made his way to her bedside, holding her hand as he placed a gentle kiss to her palm. 'Goodbye Sophie.' He spoke with such yearning.
Sophie felt her breath catch in her throat. 'Goodbye Benedict.' She whispered with such sadness; she knew this was to be their final and only goodbye.
They lingered in each other's touch for a moment, before Benedict pulled his hand away; quickly fleeing the room. As the door shut, Sophie felt her emotions taking over.
Benedict feeling very much the same, marched down the stairs, collecting his jacket on the way. Violet greeted him silently in the hallway: her eyes asking the questions her mouth could not.
'Throw myself to the wolves, right?' Benedict clarified urgently, as he came face to face with her. Yet, he gave her no time to respond before he was quickly out of the door.