Sweet Honour- Benedict Bridgerton

30. Summer Is Coming To An End

Benedict woke up with a pounding head and around a pound of nerves in his stomach. But still, he pushed through and made his way downstairs for breakfast as he rubbed his head groggily. 

"Morning, Brother." Anthony looked up from his newspaper with one eyebrow raised. "Why are you so... scruffy this morning?" He pressed. 

"Tiredness overcomes me." Benedict admitted.

"Ah yes," Anthony flopped his paper down on the table, no one else had yet risen for food so the rest of the table was eerily empty. "Is that due to your night out?" Anthony's smirk was devilish. 

"And what do you know of my night out?"

"You forget that I own the estate now. And Harcourt is very much still in my pocket."

"But you said he was mine!" Benedict became agitated by their carriage drivers blabbing mouth. "I paid him a fair amount of money to keep his mouth shut."

"And still I am the one who pays his wages." Anthony retorted, picking up his paper again. "Where did you take her?"

"You act as if I kidnapped the poor girl." Benedict retorted, he hated how Anthony always knew so much.

"You very well could have. Now speak."

"Fine." Benedict finally started to butter his toast after just staring at the various foods covering the table, building the courage to eat besides his nerves and hangover. "I took her to Douglas' and we had a marvellous time, if you must know." 

"You really better get a move on." Anthony put his paper down again. 

"Sorry?"

"Seriously, if I was not your brother and did not know you I would think that you are thicker than a maypole. Propose to her for christs sake." 

At the very moment Anthony finished speaking, Maude came meandering into the room. How her existence slipped Benedict's mind, he did not know. 

"Well, I have much business to do and many accounts to take care of so..." Anthony downed the rest of his breakfast tea and exited promptly leaving Benedict and Maude sitting in silence. 

If he wanted to have Victoria, he had to be bold and push his nerves aside. Maude stared at him expectantly. God, she thinks I'm going to propose to her. He thought. 

"Is it not time for you to return to France?" He said, taking a bite of his toast.

"Must I return with such haste? Especially if things are going so... well here." She rested her elbow on the table and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Throughout their whole friendship Benedict got the sense that she was keen on him but the notion was never returned. He regretted inviting her as soon as the letter was sent but it all happened in a moment of despair. He was lonely after Victoria's initial rejection of him in the garden and arranged Maude's summer stay at the bridgerton house in the hopes of making Victoria jealous, and instantly he realised his attempts were pathetic and truly, truly sad. Sure, Maude was pretty but she was not Victoria. She was not his sun, but merely a star passing by in the night. 

"Hm." Benedict filled the silence as he thought of what to say to let her down gently. "The summer is coming to an end, I do think it is best for you to return home." He said while the sun shone strongly though the dining room window. Summer was not coming to an end at all. 

Her flirtatious face contorted into one of sheer fury, "Hmph" she said, and stomped away from the table. Benedict breathed a sigh of relief and, even though he might not have been quite as gentle as he hoped to be, as least he knew that within the day she would be out of the house and on a boat to France. 

A moment of quiet hung in the air as he finished his toast, his headache became slightly lighter and he closed his eyes. All of his visions were filled with Victoria and his infatuation was becoming insufferable in the amount of time he was made to wait to be with her, following social procedure took painfully long. 

A chair was being pulled beside him and he peeled one eye open to see his mother. 

"Good morning." He said as he poured a cup of tea for her. 

"Why, good morning Benedict." She said, eyeing him curiously. "I have just passed by the guest room to see Miss Whitlock packing her suitcase rather aggressively."

Benedict nodded. 

"What did you say to upset her?"

"Mother, to be quite frank, I did not mean to upset her. I merely told her the truth."

"My boy, sometimes the truth hurts fragile girls like her. By the by," she said, spooning strawberry jam into a scone, "What shall you do today?"

"I am going to ask Lord Knight for his permission to marry Victoria." He stated easily, smoothly, softly as if the words were honey trickling from a spoon. As if he was meant to say them for years. 

Violet almost chocked on her scone in shock and with a few chews so as to not speak with her mouth full, "Finally!" she said. 

Benedict let out a harsh laugh that came from deep down in his stomach, true happiness rose within him to blush his cheeks. 

"My boy... my beautiful Benedict is getting married!" Tears glossed her eyes as she contemplated another of her children with a love match. "I knew. I just knew for so long that it would be her. She is a wonderful girl, is she not? How beautiful and talented and intelligent. You must treat her well and keep her safe. Oh my boy," she cupped his face with her hands "I am so proud of you for finally seeing what the rest of us do." 

"What the rest of you do?" He asked, still in disbelief from his mothers ample amound of praise. 

"You have both been so blind but love has opened your eyes, dear. I have watched you two forge a friendship that has since blossomed into more and it is so beautiful. It is as though since you were children you have had a string tying you together, bringing you back to one another." She wiped a tear from her cheek. 

Benedict checked his pocket watch and, realising the time, brought his mother into a loving hug which calmed every nerve in his body. 

"Thank you," he said, "Now I must make the long and strenuous journey along our street to their door." He kissed her cheek before picking up his over coat and striding out of the house with the same amount of fervour as the fiddlers from Douglas' drawing room.