Fear & Uncertainty
Kensington Palace, London
The Duke of Kent and Strathearn braced himself for his inaugural day at the Royal Academy of Arts, a swirl of emotions enveloping him. While he brimmed with excitement at the prospect of joining the esteemed institution, a pang of longing tugged at his heartstrings, knowing his newborn son was in the care of his wife, Charlotte, as they journeyed to Buckingham House. There, she would proudly present their newest addition to both the Queen and the Prince Regent, leaving the Duke torn between his familial duties and his aspirations at the academy.
"Brother," he turned around and saw his older brother walking towards him. "Going out so soon? How's my godson?"
"If you were coming to see him, I regret to inform you that you just missed him, and Char," Benedict explained. "It seems the Queen required an introduction to her only grandchild straight away."
"Understandable," the Viscount nodded. "But was not Charlotte supposed to be on bedrest?"
"Indeed," he scoffed. "Apparently, as long as she is sitting down, she can do anything she pleases. So, she is being moved by a chair."
"A chair?" Anthony frowned.
"Men are literally lifting her above their heads, while she is sitting on the chair, and they move her around," Benedict chuckled. "Oh, she is beyond furious, feeling as if she's being auctioned like a horse."
"And what did you tell her?" He wondered.
"I told her she looks like Cleopatra," he bit his lip. "Then she proceeded to explain how Egypt's political relationship with the United Kingdom was largely characterized by British economic and strategic interests in the region."
"She never changes, our Char," the Viscount chuckled too, then sighed. "Then I'll leave you to it."
"Wait," his brother frowned in confusion. "Why exactly did you come in the first place?"
"I– I had come to ask you for your permission to borrow your wife," the Viscount responded, earning a confused glare from his brother. "Believe it or not, it was...entirely necessary."
"I– I mean, I don't see why you can't do that," the Duke raised an eyebrow. "Yet I do wonder why you have asked for my permission."
"I need her by my side for...emotional support," he explained. "And I simply didn't want for my intentions of her company to be...misunderstood."
"She is my wife, Anthony, the mother of my child... She's mine in every way possible. Truth be told, I trust her to be alone with any man because I know her heart calls my name as mine screams hers," Benedict spoke with sincerity and confidence, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though, I do want to know the reason for so much need of her emotional support."
"I have a private audience with the Queen, Lady Danbury and the Sharmas," he explained, and a snort escaped his brother's lips. "That's not funny."
"Bloody hell. Under those circumstances you will certainly need my wife," Benedict chuckled. "Charlotte's presence radiates the emotional support you will need. And, she will most probably scold her mother on going easy on you."
"I only hope to get out of there alive," he muttered before sighing in relief. "Thank you for understanding, Brother."
"Of course I understand, the Queen is my mother-in-law," he smirked. "May God have mercy on your soul."
With a playful glint in his eyes, the Viscount shot a teasing glare at his brother, shaking his head in mock disapproval. With a grin, he turned and strode away, exiting the grand halls of the palace and making his way towards his waiting coach, destined for Buckingham House.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Buckingham House, London
Charlotte was elegantly settled next to her mother's chair in one of the opulent drawing rooms of the palace. Despite her efforts to conceal it, a hint of fear lingered within her as the men lifted her above their heads, a fleeting worry of potential harm. Yet, her concerns dissipated as she was safely lowered back to the ground without incident. With tender care, Lilia gently entrusted her newborn son into Charlotte's waiting arms. Drawing him close, Charlotte instinctively cradled him, murmuring soothing lullabies as she awaited the arrival of the Queen and the Prince Regent.
As she gazes upon her son, a wave of disbelief washes over her each time, marveling at the role she played in bringing such a beautiful little prince into the world. He is not only her son but a precious blend of her and her husband's essence.
Yet, amidst the joy and wonder, nagging thoughts invade her mind. Doubts surface, causing her to ponder: Will she measure up as a mother? Will she possess the strength and wisdom to guide her son through life's challenges? Can she strike the delicate balance required of her roles as both a princess and a duchess, a devoted wife, and a nurturing mother?
"Sister!" She flinched and looked up to see her brother, a wide grin on his face. "I– I can't believe it!"
"Do not yell, Your Royal Highness, please," Lilia quietly said. "It might scare your nephew."
"My nephew," George chuckled happily. "When Caroline told me what she read in Lady Whistledown's sheet I couldn't believe it... But he's here. He's finally here!"
"Would you like to hold him?" A small smile graced Charlotte's face.
With unwavering resolve, George lowered himself to his knees before his sister, positioning himself as close as possible to make it effortless for her to place his nephew in his awaiting arms. As she gently transferred the baby to him, George rose with meticulous care, his gaze filled with profound admiration as he beheld the tiny bundle in awe.
"How did everything go?" He sighed. "I regret I wasn't there for you, Sister. Could you not have waited to give birth until you've returned?"
"I am going to move on and pretend you did not just say that," Charlotte scoffed. "It's not like it was my intention to give birth at Aubrey Hall."
"What is his name, Sister?" He asked.
"I won't tell you just yet," she said, receiving a confused look. "Benedict and I want him to be just our son before the news of his arrival spread far and wide... We just wanted to hold onto something sacred for ourselves, for however long it lasts."
"What a ridiculous idea," Charlotte flinched again when she heard her mother's voice coming from behind her. "Are you alright, Daughter?"
"I'm fine, Mama. I'm just..." She sighed, and faked a smile. "I'm fine."
"And how is he?" The Queen asked. "Have you checked with our physicians? Is he healthy?"
"He is our next King," Charlotte tried her hardest not to cry in that moment as she looked at her mother in the eyes. "Could he be anything else...other than perfection?"
"You are right, Daughter... He is perfect," the Queen smiled proudly at her. "As you are."
Precisely one minute later, while the Queen admired the newborn prince cradled in the Prince Regent's arms, the room filled with the presence of Parliament members, Cabinet officials, and the Prime Minister. Among them strode Sir Thomas Ward, his countenance betraying annoyance as he entered the scene.
"I strictly told them to wait, Your Royal Highness, but they insisted," he told her, and she lightly shook her head.
"It's alright, Tommy," she sighed and looked at all the men in the room. "Prime Minister, my lords... Meet my son, your future King."
A hushed murmur swept through the gathering of men as they respectfully encircled the Prince Regent and the Queen, offering heartfelt congratulations on the birth of their new heir, a son. Words of admiration echoed through the room, expressing gratitude for the blessing bestowed upon the kingdom and the fortunate parents who now welcomed a young prince into their midst.
"Are you alright, Ma'am?" Her Private Secretary quietly asked her once he noticed her eyes watering with tears.
"Yes, sorry, Tommy," she sighed heavily. "I am just overwhelmed, that is all."
"Whatever you need, I'll be right here," he lightly smiled. "I may be your Private Secretary, but if Her Royal Highnesses allows it, I hope you see my friendship is genuine."
"Of course it is, Tommy, as it is mine for you," she lightly smiled. "You really are a true friend, one of my closest... And I'm thankful for you."
"Your Royal Highness," she looked up at the Prime Minister, and all lords placed their attention on them. "I'm happy the birth of His Royal Highness went on without complications. How are you doing, Ma'am?"
"I am well, Prime Minister," she lightly nodded.
"What is the name of the Prince, Ma'am?" One of them asked.
"Well, you see—"
"Is it George, like His Majesty?" One of them asked.
"Or Henry?" Another suggested.
"Is it a Bridgerton name?" Another asked.
"The Bridgerton names are fit for a King," one of them said. "I dare say none of them are!"
"It could be William—"
"I bet it's—"
"My lords!" Charlotte raised her voice, an evident glare on her face. "My son's name shall remain unknown until further noticed... And you all will be last to know."
As murmurs of her demeanor and choices echoed throughout the room, she remained indifferent to the opinions swirling around her. Instead, her focus narrowed to the rapid thud of her own heart, its frantic rhythm causing a slight dizziness to sweep over her. Shivers coursed through her body, her senses overwhelmed by the whispers around her and the plaintive cries of her son.
"Whatever do you mean, Ma'am?" One of the lords questioned.
"The world will not fall apart if we delay the official announcement from the palace for, say a week," she stated calmly. "Let me have my son for myself and my family before he belongs to the whole United Kingdom and the world too."
"We understand your wishes, and will respect them," the Prince Regent nodded at his sister and glared at all men in the room. "Isn't that right, gentlemen?"
"As Their Royal Highnesses decide," they bowed their heads.
"Good. Then it's settled," the Queen glared at them too. "Now, you've seen my grandson, you've admired him enough. Hopefully, I won't have to see any of your faces for a good while."
"Here you go, Sister," George handed her back her son, and she held onto him rightly, his head on her shoulder, cuddling onto him.
"This morning, His Royal Highness The Prince Regent, sent a formal and official letter to all members of Parliament and Cabinet, announcing his proposal for you to name you the Princess of Wales once His Royal Highness is King," the Prime Minister mentioned, and all lords in the room nodded. "Were you aware of this, Ma'am?"
"Of the title? Yes," she nodded. "He offered me the title last year."
"Well, there are some things I believe you should be aware of before you embrace your role as Princess of Wales. You must be at least aware of the responsibilities you will have to take on," the Prime Minister said. "One of them, additional duties to assist the monarch. And as you do so, you must be learning the ropes for if one day, you become Queen, or perhaps, the Princess Regent."
"Oh... Ah– Alright," she lightly nodded, and sighed. "Well, my father is still King. And for now, the Prince Regent is next in the line of succession, so let's not get ahead of ourselves, Prime Minister."
"If you say so, Ma'am," he nodded, with the smallest of smiles. "Well, the whole of Parliament and I, we are happy and in agreement with His Royal Highness' proposition of naming you the next Princess of Wales."
"There's no one else we'd rather have as our Princess of Wales more than yourself, Ma'am," another added, nodding and smiling too. "Your Royal Highness."
"Thank you, Prime Ministers, my lords," she faked a smile. "Now, if you excuse us, I'd like a moment alone with my family."
In unanimous accord, every gentleman within the room nodded in reverence to the Royal Family before respectfully taking their leave. As they departed, their conversation turned to the newborn prince, contemplating the promise of his future and the boundless potential that lay ahead.
As Charlotte gazes upon her son, a torrent of uncertainty floods her mind. She questions whether bringing him into the complexities of royal life was a misstep. What if she had chosen to flee with Benedict, opting for a simpler existence on a humble farm? Would their family find greater happiness in such simplicity?
Her thoughts spiral into a labyrinth of hypotheticals, each scenario laden with doubt and indecision. Charlotte finds herself paralyzed by the weight of overthinking, second-guessing every decision that lies ahead.
"Oh, what a blessing he is, Sister," the Prince Regent smiled at his sister and nephew. "He is so calm, like you were. So peaceful."
"Indeed," she lightly smiled. "I am lucky to have him... Hopefully, he feels the same way about me too."
"George..." The Queen sighed heavily. "Take your nephew away. Lilia, join them, I'd like to speak to my daughter alone."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Lilia nodded and joined George as he happily grabbed his nephew from his sister's arms and walked out of the room.
The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn sighed heavily and lazily leaned back on her chair, her eyes closed, an involuntary tear rolling down her face. The Queen asked Brimsley for refreshments since she also had invited Lady Danbury, the Sharmas, the Bridgertons. Took the opportunity of his departure to freely speak to her daughter.
"Listen to me carefully, my darling," the Queen stated, the Duchess opened her eyes to look at her mother. "I don't like what I'm seeing, so we must talk before it develops any further."
"What do you mean, Mama?" She questioned.
"When you were born, Charlotte, I... Despite the joyous occasion of your birth, I suddenly found myself ensnared in a shadowed realm of despair and uncertainty," the Queen confessed, a sad look in her eyes. "For months I was haunted by an indescribable and profound sense of sadness and emptiness. The weight of my responsibilities as a mother and ruler pressed upon me, suffocating my spirit with an unrelenting grip..."
"Did it happen too when George was born?" She asked. "Or was it just with me?"
"Just with you, I'm afraid. Fatima assured me it was entirely common in women to feel such way after the birth of a child, with no specific cause," she explained. "I do not wish for the same to happen to you, so you must tell me exactly whatever is troubling your restless mind."
"Will I be a good mother, Mama? Will he love me? Will he be happy? Will he feel comfortable being a prince, or will he prefer to run away and live in the country– far away from politics?" Her eyes started to fill with tears. "I can't sleep, Mama. Ever since he was born I have been consumed by a sense of inadequacy and fear. Doubts assail my mind constantly, casting doubt upon my ability to fulfill my maternal duties, being a wife, and lead our people with the grace and strength befitting of the Princess and Duchess I've always been."
"Don't let them win, my darling. You are stronger than you think. Don't let your thoughts make you feel like you can't do this. Don't let them diminish you, because I promise you, no one else will," the Queen smiled sweetly. "And no one in this world could ever doubt your ability as a mother. You will be a wonderful mother, Charlotte. Your son may not speak yet, but he does feel, and he feels your love every time he senses you are near, with every touch, with every cradle, with every kiss."
"I don't want my son to go through what I did," she admitted, a tear rolling down her face. "I don't need him to be perfect. I don't want him to be perfect. I just want him to be the best person he can be without feeling all eyes on him, without feeling the pressure of the Crown on his shoulders like I did."
"I won't tell you how to raise your son... I don't doubt yours or Benedict's abilities to raise him," the Queen sighed. "But never forget he is still an heir to the throne. Whether you like it or not, Daughter, he will have all eyes on him...and, eventually, he will feel the pressure of the Crown on his shoulders. He will be trained, just like you were... And he must be perfect, more than he already is."
Charlotte's heart shattered as she absorbed the Queen's words, a pain too deep for words to convey. Memories flooded her mind, transporting her back to a tender age of innocence. She remembered herself at four years old, consumed by the weight of expectation, striving relentlessly to embody the epitome of perfection as a princess. The burden of avoiding missteps, the fear of failure, the obligation to radiate kindness to all, and the relentless pursuit of self-improvement weighed heavily upon her young shoulders.
As tears welled in her eyes, a sob escaped her lips, each breath a testament to the agony of her past. She couldn't bear the thought of her son enduring the same suffocating expectations, the same relentless pursuit of unattainable ideals. She yearned for him to experience a childhood free from the shackles of perfectionism, a life unburdened by the relentless pursuit of excellence.
"Then it is settled. He will be trained, Mama, like I was, but in mine and my husband's terms," she lightly nodded. "I will make sure he grows with the qualities and abilities of a Prince and a future King."
The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn harbored a silent resolve, born from introspection and poignant recollections. Though reluctant to vocalize her sentiments, she vowed inwardly never to replicate the upbringing she herself endured. Memories of her own childhood flickered to life, vivid and bittersweet.
At the tender age of four, she stood in the shadow of the Queen, her own mother, a figure of authority and prestige. Yet, amidst the grandeur of her royal upbringing, the warmth of maternal affection remained elusive. Her mother's focus was singular, sculpting her into a paragon of princesshood, adept at courtly decorum and regal grace.
But as the Duchess navigated the complexities of her own maternal journey, she found herself yearning for something more. Beneath the veneer of royalty lay a longing for the simplicity of nurturing love, for moments unencumbered by the weight of expectation.
She resolved to chart a different course for her children, one that prioritized authenticity and emotional connection over outward appearances. For in the end, she realized that true fulfillment lay not in the trappings of royalty, but in the profound bond between parent and child, nurtured with tenderness and unconditional love.
"This conversation will conclude with one last advice," her mother sighed. "Whenever you have doubts, whenever you feel like this again... Talk to your husband, to your ladies, or your brother, Lady Bridgerton, the Viscount– anyone... Just do not lose yourself in this beautiful journey that is motherhood."
"Thank you, Mama," she lightly smiled, and just in time, Brimsley came back with tea, cookies and biscuits.
"Now here, wipe your tears away," the Queen handed her daughter a napkin. "We have guests arriving in a few moments. You can't cry,"
"Right," she lightly sighed but accepted it nonetheless. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Charlotte marveled at the stark contrast within her mother's persona. In one moment, she was affectionately addressed as 'Mama', radiating warmth and maternal tenderness. Yet, in the blink of an eye, she transformed into 'Her Majesty', embodying an aura of authority and regal demeanor. It was as if two distinct personalities resided within the same body—one commanding and authoritative, the other nurturing and almost maternal.
As if orchestrated by fate, Lady Danbury and the Sharmas entered the room a few minutes later, their presence filling the space with an air of anticipation. Yet, one notable absence lingered—the Viscount.
The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn observed keenly as the eldest Sharma sister excused herself from the room, her demeanor betraying a hint of discomfort. Meanwhile, amidst polite chatter, the Queen and Lady Danbury engaged in conversation, their gazes occasionally flickering towards the entrance, awaiting the Viscount's arrival.
Charlotte still found it difficult to comprehend that Anthony had proposed to Edwina instead of her sister, whom he clearly had developed feelings for.
"Viscount Bridgerton," the Queen greeted him first once he walked through the door. "We thought perhaps you'd not be joining us."
"Your Majesty. Nothing could keep me from my beautiful bride," he had bowed his head before the Queen and then turned to his sister-in-law. "Your Royal Highness."
"Lord Bridgerton," Charlotte smiled at him. Anthony made the exception, not caring for who stared and leaned down to kiss her cheek with a smile on his face. "How are you doing?"
"Truth be told, I've been better... But overall, everything is well," she lightly smiled. "What of you?"
"I'm fine," he lightly smiled too, both heard footsteps behind them and saw Kate Sharma walking in the room again, her and the Viscount locked eyes before he cleared his throat and turned to his sister-in-law. "I'm fine, Char. Truly."
Before another word could be exchanged, he withdrew from her side and settled onto the sofa beside Edwina. Quietly, Charlotte observed the subtle exchanges of glances between Kate and Anthony. In silence, she offered a prayer that Anthony would come to his senses before it was too late.
"Now, tell me of your wedding plan. There is no talk of a special license, I would hope," the Queen laughed at that.
"Of course not, Your Majesty," Lady Mary shook her head.
"I believe a modest family affair would be most fitting," the Viscount suggested. "Perhaps back in the country, at Aubrey Hall."
"In the country?" The Queen laughed. "No, that will not do. You must have it here in town. In fact, I shall host the nuptials myself."
"Your Majesty," the Duchess of Kent and Strathearn looked at her mother while the women in the room gasped with surprise. "If I'm not in a mistake, were you not supposed to plan the grand dinner for the—"
"You're right, Daughter," the Queen smirked. "A grand dinner which you will now have the honor to plan."
"Oh! Plan the grand dinner?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but the look on her mother's face indicated she was not taking a 'No' for an answer. "Right... As Her Majesty decides."
"This is most generous, Ma'am," Anthony nodded gratefully.
"Most generous," Lady Mary nodded.
"But not at all necessary," he added.
"Nonsense. She is my diamond, after all. And may I remind you, Lord Bridgerton, you are, in a way, family, to me. It is only right that I give you both a wedding worthy of such honor," the Queen lightly smirked. "Besides, one could almost credit me myself with bringing about this most illustrious match. Isn't that right, Daughter?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," Charlotte nodded and looked an Anthony with a sympathy in her eyes he's familiar with.
"I shall oversee every detail," the Queen quietly told Brimsley. "Let that gossipmonger try to get the better of me now."
"Can you believe it, Didi? It is like a fairytale come true," Edwina excitingly told her sister.
"You deserve nothing less, Bon," Kate smiled at her.
"Nothing else for a true love match," the Queen added with a nod, and on cue, the cup almost fell off Kate's hands.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," she nervously said.
The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn let out a heavy sigh as she watched the scene unfold before her. She could only hope that Benedict's first day at the Royal Academy of Arts would be less fraught with drama and unfold more smoothly than the current encounter.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
The frenzy of competition. The thrilling delight of hazarding your all.
I am referring not to the lure of London's luxurious gaming halls, but to a gamble with far higher stakes.
Matrimony.
For once that particular wager is placed, it cannot be easily undone.
A fact which, I am sure, is met with both regret and sheer relief...
Royal Academy of Arts, Burlington House, London
As the Duke of Kent and Strathearn stepped out of the coach, a rush of butterflies fluttered in his stomach at the sight of the academy building he had long yearned to attend. Finally, the day had arrived, and he couldn't contain his joy. He felt his wife's smile echoing within him, her pride serving as a beacon of encouragement as he prepared to venture into this new yet strangely familiar world.
"You must be one of our new fellows," a young man around his age said, catching his attention.
"Is it really so evident?" Benedict questioned after taking off his coat.
"Conserve that youthful vigor," he said. "Soon you shall be just as jaded as the rest of us. After all, one form is much like the other, do you not think?"
At that moment, the young man's gaze shifted to the naked model, who had just shed her robes to pose for the male artists gathered around her. Swiftly and discreetly, the Duke of Kent and Strathearn averted his eyes, releasing a sigh of resignation. He made a conscious effort to disregard the woman's gaze as well, maintaining his composure amidst the intimate setting.
"I'm sure no one will snitch on your wife if you lay your eyes on her every now and then," the young man dared to add. "Should I pretend to not know who you are, Your Royal Highness?"
"And now you just made me owe my brother more money than I should have gambled," Benedict joked, remembering the bet he made with Colin if he were to be recognized for his royal title. "And I'd rather not look at...her longer than necessary."
Taking a deep breath, Benedict grasped his dark charcoal and approached his sketching station. However, as he prepared to commence his work, he found himself hesitating to meet the gaze of the woman posing before him. While the other men around him effortlessly began their sketches, Benedict felt a wave of unease wash over him.
In that moment, a profound sense of discomfort swept over him. The act of sketching another woman, one who was not his wife—the mother of his newborn son, the woman he cherished above all else—felt disconcerting. It left him grappling with a gnawing sense of guilt, as if he were betraying the love and devotion he held for his beloved.
With resolve in his heart, Benedict closed his eyes and formulated a plan. He conjured a memory, painting a vivid tableau in his mind of his wedding night—the moment he first beheld his wife's naked form. In his mind's eye, she was a masterpiece, her beauty transcendent and enduring.
Memories flooded his mind, tracing back to the moment she first stepped into their bedroom. Each recollection was vivid: the rhythm of her breathing, the cadence of her voice, the tender caress of her touch. Every detail etched itself deeply into his consciousness, painting a portrait of their shared intimacy.
He opened his eyes and, without glancing at the woman who had volunteered to pose naked for the artists, he began to sketch from the depths of his imagination and the recesses of his memory.
"I want you, Benny..."
Charlotte's voice echoed in his mind, stirring his creativity and heightening his senses even further.
"Kiss me, Benedict..."
The echoes of her moans, the rhythm of her breath hitching with each movement he made, played vividly in his mind. Waves of sensation coursed through his body as he relived the memories, his arousal evident in the growing tightness of his trousers. Hastily, he retrieved his coat from the ground, draping it over his lap to conceal his burgeoning desire from any curious onlookers.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Bridgerton House, London
The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn returned home alongside the Viscount, seeking solace within the walls of their family estate. During the journey, Anthony found comfort in cradling his godson, using the infant's presence as a source of support while he poured out his heart to Charlotte. As he shared his innermost thoughts and troubles with her, Anthony felt a weight lift from his shoulders, his spirits buoyed by their heartfelt conversation. And nestled in the warmth of his godson's embrace, he couldn't deny the uplift in his mood that came from both the catharsis of their talk and the simple joy of cuddling with the little one.
"It is not yet right. See how the cuffs are an inch too short?" The Viscount showed the tailor as he tried on the vest he would wear on his wedding day.
"Very well, sir," the man nodded and helped him get out of it.
"There is plenty of time to adjust it to your liking," the Dowager Viscountess said. "The wedding is not for another month."
" There is still much to do," Anthony stated.
"Will Miss Edwina live with us?" Gregory wondered.
"Indeed. After the wedding, she'll be the lady of the house and responsible for you all," Violet responded.
"Lord, help her," Colin joked.
"Even me, Mother?" The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn playfully asked.
"On the contrary, Sister," Anthony looked at her. "Since Mother dearest here has refused, I am counting on you to train Miss Edwina into becoming the...ideal Viscountess."
"I thought it unnecessary because Miss Edwina is already lovely as she is," Violet explained. "She might possess a natural gift, like Daphne did."
"Which reminds me, our carriages must be polished to a shine, and the horses' manes braided. We should bring out the finest silver," he added. "The queen may be hosting everything at the palace, but we must be ready to entertain here."
"And what of us, Brother?" Benedict had just walked in the room, stretching his back from being sitting down in a stool for hours. "Should we also be polished and braided for the big day?"
"We'll all be on display," Anthony said and smirked at his brother. "Though, I'm not concerned about you, Benedict. I'm sure your own wife will make sure you are polished and braided for my wedding. Perhaps you might even scrub your hands for the occasion?"
"I've been occupied at the academy," Benedict looked at his fingers, stained with black charcoal.
"Oh, I'm not concerned about it either, Brother," Charlotte added to his joke. "I'm sure Tommy will be onto him that day."
"'I'm sure Tommy will be onto him that day'," Benedict high-pitched his voice, mocking his wife as he went and sat next to her.
"What about Miss Edwina's sister?" Hyacinth wondered.
"What about her?" Anthony was quick to ask.
"Will she come to live with us, too?" Hyacinth asked.
"Oh, I would hope so," Eloise smiled. "It would be a boom to have another intelligent woman in the house."
"Another?" Benedict teased. "You're overcounting."
"Overcounting, you say?" Benedict's eyes grew wide when he heard his wife questioning his words.
"Yes, Benedict," Eloise now smirked. "Is there not another?"
"Uh—"
"You speak of me and El, of course," he flinched slightly when he felt her hand on his shoulder, and looked at her with a wide but nervous smile. "Do you not?"
"Right! Of course I do speak of you," he giggled and kissed her temple. "After all, you are the most intelligent woman I know, my angel."
"And what of her?" The most mischievous smirk graced her face. "What of El?"
"She..." He forced a smile. "She's getting there."
"Fine," Eloise scoffed. "I'll take that."
"Oh, and how could I forget of my other sisters?" Benedict chuckled as his wife raised an eyebrow at him. "Daphne, Francesca and Hyacinth are most intelligent too, indeed."
"Do all men fear their wives at some point in their marriage?" Hyacinth wondered.
"Yes," Violet nodded, a small smirk placed on her face as well. "It is the most fun part of the marriage."
"Oh, it is," Charlotte agreed with a giggle.
"Eloise, I shall need your help today," the Dowager Viscountess looked at her daughter. "There is the dinner to plan with Lady Danbury to welcome the Sharmas into the family. And then the engagement ball next week—"
"I am sorry, Mama, but, uh..." Eloise walked away from her. "I am attending a lecture this afternoon. Flower arranging. Penelope's mama is forcing her to go, and you've wanted me to find more ladylike pursuits."
"For how long have you cared about flower arranging?" Benedict asked his sister.
"I am an open-minded woman. I can care about many things," Eloise quickly defended herself.
"I went home and you were not there," the Duke informed his wife. "I was surprised to learn you came here."
"Your brother needed to talk, and I thought it would be good for our son to spend time with his whole family," she said. "It is best if he gets used to their presence for when we are not around, he knows he can count on them to be there for him."
"'When', not 'if'?" He questioned with a smile.
"If, then," she lightly chuckled.
"Also... There is something we need to talk about," he looked around at his family. "It is rather urgent."
"Now?" She asked, and he nodded. "Well, I am prohibited to walk, even stand, so unless you wish to discuss whatever you wish to say to me in front of your family, then I suggest we wait until we get back home."
"Yes, let's do that. We'll talk when we get back to our home," he nodded, and giggled. "It is still surreal to me how I am now calling a palace a 'home'... But home is really wherever you are, my angel."
"My love—"
"Is there really not a day when you two are not so..." Eloise winced at her choice of words. "Touchy and feely with one another?"
"Oh, let them be," Hyacinth glared at her sister. "It's romantic! I love romance."
"Speaking of things one loves," Benedict looked at his wife. "Where is our son?"
"Sleeping peacefully in your bedroom," the Duchess smiled. "Lilia is watching over him. She wishes to become his governess."
"You have my approval. I'd love nothing more," he smiled. "But you will have one less Lady of the Bedchamber. Will you have to replace her?"
"I think we can both agree our dear Lilia is irreplaceable," the Duke nodded in agreement. "I still have Fatima and Cora. I believe we will manage."
Benedict's heart swelled with affection for the woman who graced his life with boundless joy. With a tender smile, gently, he reached out, his hand finding hers with a gentle caress that spoke volumes in its silent eloquence. In a wordless exchange of understanding, Benedict drew Charlotte into his embrace, enfolding her in the warmth of his arms. The weight of the world melted away as they melded into each other's embrace, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony.
Unnoticed by the others, the Viscount observed their interaction with a keen gaze. The exchanged glances, the shared smiles, the gentle caresses, the tender kisses, and the warm embraces—all reminiscent of the affectionate bond his late parents once shared. Witnessing such love and adoration stirred a sense of inspiration within him. Yet, amidst the tender scene, doubts crept into his mind. Could he and Edwina ever reach such depths of love, especially with Kate constantly captivating his thoughts and attention?
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Kensington Palace, London
The following morning, the Duke of Kent and Strathearn awoke with a heavy burden weighing on his heart. The previous night, his wife had drifted into sleep swiftly, leaving their conversation unspoken. He felt the pressing need to address the matter openly with her, to ensure she understood the true nature of the Royal Academy of Arts before any misleading rumors could reach her ears through idle gossip. Remembering the pain and anguish reflected in her eyes the last time, he vowed to himself that he would not allow history to repeat itself. The mere thought of causing her further hurt after all she had done for him was unbearable, and he resolved to approach the situation with honesty and clarity, determined to protect their trust and bond above all else.
"My angel," his wife looked at him. "We need to talk."
"Oh, right! We were supposed to talk last night," she sighed. "I'm sorry, my love. What is it that you wish to talk about?"
With a steadying breath, Benedict delved into his explanation, offering intricate details of his experiences at the academy. However, a nervous flutter danced within him as he broached the subject of the woman posing unclothed before him, her occasional glances adding to his unease. Despite his embarrassment, he found himself compelled to divulge the intensity of his reaction, admitting to the vividness of his imaginings as he described the scene. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he recounted how her presence had stirred a visceral response within him, vividly conjuring sensations as if she were whispering his name, her breath hot against his ear, and her soft moans echoing in the recesses of his mind.
"I see..." She nodded, her cheeks burning red at his words. "Though, I do not understand... What exactly is the problem?"
"Did you not hear what I just said?" His eyes grew wide. "I simply highlighted the distinct possibility of encountering nude models at the academy—both male and female. On my first day, a woman posed unclothed for hours– but I assure you, I made a concerted effort to avert my gaze entirely."
Benedict found himself immersed in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he beheld his wife's enigmatic smile, her suppressed laughter hinting at a depth of understanding that caught him off guard. In the tense anticipation of their conversation, he braced himself for her wrath, expecting a torrent of anger or a decree banishing him from the academy. Yet, as he looked into her eyes, he found only love and adoration reflected back at him. The realization washed over him like a gentle tide, leaving him both bewildered and relieved. He had braced himself for confrontation, but instead, she met him with a smile—a silent reassurance that spoke volumes. It was a moment of profound clarity, where the unpredictability of human emotion revealed itself in the tender curve of her lips.
"Come on. Say something, Char. Please," he sighed. "Your eyes may reflect understanding, but your silence is frightening me."
"I will not be angry at you for sketching a naked woman, Benny," she smiled, but raised an eyebrow at him when she saw the confused look in his eyes. "I mean... Will you touch her?"
"Never," he immediately responded.
"Will she touch you?" She asked.
"I wouldn't let her," he shook his head. "I'd treat her like she's the plague herself."
"Good. Then you may look at her, for artistic purposes only, of course," she smiled when his eyes grew wide in disbelief. "You're not blind, my love. Neither am I. We are allowed to look—"
"Hold on. Stop right there," he frowned. "'We'? Who's 'we'?"
"You and I. I– I mean, I never anticipated having to broach this topic, but since we've been married, I've encountered men who I must admit are quite attractive... I may have lingered in my observation longer than strictly necessary. However, I want to assure you that such fleeting thoughts have never extended to entertaining the idea of intimacy with them, let alone replacing you. Such notions are entirely foreign to me and, I assure you, have never crossed my mind," as she casually explained everything, her husband's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Come on, Benny. You've seen me flirt with your brothers—"
"No, no, no. That is different," he pointed out. "It is one thing to childishly flirt with my brothers, it is something else entirely to flirt with other men!"
"But that is it! I do not flirt with them! I do not touch them! I simply and quietly admire their natural-outside beauty from afar and that is it," she cupped her husband's face in her hands, her face inches from his, her lips teasingly brushing against his. "The one man I will ever only truly desire is right here with me. And it is you, my love. It will always be you."
Charlotte's lips brushed against his, tentative and nervous, igniting a cascade of sensations that seemed to halt every function within him. Emboldened, she kissed him once more, with a newfound confidence, her mouth pressing warmly against his. As she drew back, locking eyes with him, the tender affection shining in her gaze had him utterly entranced, melting beneath her gentle touch.
"Do you see what I mean, Benny?" She whispered in his ear. "Or... Would you like a better illustration?"
Benedict found himself speechless, his mind grappling to process the unexpected revelation from his wife. The once-familiar image of Charlotte, radiant and pure as the blood princess she was known to be, now seemed cloaked in a newfound complexity that caught him off guard. Her words resonated in his mind, stirring a sense of surprise and intrigue that he had never anticipated experiencing with her.
"Look at us, my love," she grinned wickedly. "Do you see anyone other than me?"
"No," he breathed heavily. "Charlotte—"
Before he could utter another word, her lips captured his in a fervent kiss, prompting him to close his eyes as they both inhaled sharply through their noses. Her hands threaded through his hair, eliciting a soft groan from him as her tongue delicately explored his mouth, their lips moving in a passionate dance as if she sought to consume him whole. Charlotte felt her heart soar, its rhythmic beats echoing in her chest, and in response, Benedict reciprocated, his fingers tangling in her brown locks as he embraced her with equal ardor.
"You're mine," she whispered against him and slowly moved into a sitting position on his lap.
No maneuvering was needed for his hips to grind against her core– and there it was, his throbbing arousal, pressing firmly into her warmth. Her husband had grown accustomed to sleeping au naturel due to his tendency to overheat at night. And his wife was making the most of it. Though mindful of her recent childbirth, she indulged in some playful intimacy with him.
With an air of playful allure, Charlotte swayed her hips in a teasing manner, eliciting a low groan from him. As the anticipation grew, she leaned down, hovering tantalizingly above him, before capturing his lips in a passionate embrace. He eagerly reciprocated, enveloping her in his arms and urging her closer with his legs. The sensation of her tongue against his sent shivers down his spine, her presence overwhelming him in the most captivating way. Each strand of her soft hair brushed against his face, adding to the intoxicating moment. As her lips trailed from his to the line of his jaw, he found himself momentarily breathless, his embrace softening in response to the dizzying array of sensations.
"Fuck! Char– Charlotte," Benedict groaned as his wife bit his beck without a warning, licking it afterwards. "Charlotte..."
"Yes, sir?" She sucked fresh marks into his neck, teeth nibbling at his skin. "Or was it... Your Royal Highness?"
As her tongue traced the line of his pulse, a whimper threatened to escape his lips, a visceral response to her tantalizing touch. Her lips retraced their path, journeying upward until they reached his ear, where the warmth of her breath sent shivers cascading down his spine. Each nip at his flesh, each grazing of teeth against the delicate shell of his ear, transported him to a place beyond thought, lost in the intensity of sensation. His head pressed firmly against the pillow, his thighs clenched around her with a hunger born of desire, consumed by the exquisite pleasure of his wife's touch.
Benedict was utterly astonished by the unfolding events, rendered speechless and immobile by the overwhelming rush of sensations. In those fleeting moments, a pang of guilt crept in—he couldn't shake the awareness that mere days ago, she had given birth to their first child. Yet here she was, atop him, commanding him with a predatory allure that left him spellbound. His desires felt selfish, urging her to persist indefinitely, engulfed in the ecstasy of the moment. And Charlotte, she showed no inclination to halt their fervent embrace. No, she reveled in it, craving to etch herself indelibly into his consciousness. Her aim was nothing short of seizing his very essence, claiming him as her own. Every glance at another woman should summon thoughts of her, a relentless invasion of his psyche until he belonged solely to her. Oh, how she yearned for the world to recognize his unequivocal allegiance to her, ensuring that no other could ever rival her hold on him.
Benedict growled as Charlotte slowly moved her hips again, she covered his lips with hers, again– a move that was becoming more and more effective with each iteration. Benedict lifted himself up and now they were both in a sitting position, the movement made a moan echoed through her and into his mouth, making him suck in air through his nose and pull her closer.
"I never thought I'd be saying this to you, Char," he breathed. "But I want you to ravage me like an animal."
Before he could utter another word, for the umpteenth time in less than fifteen minutes, her lips muffled his, hips starting to move against her core, his throbbing length pressing firmly into her warmth, yearning for contact, craving attention. Charlotte gasped into his mouth, running her fingers through his tousled hair, her tongue exploring him as she rocked her hips against his. It was almost a relief to feel him this way again, to trace his scalp with her nails, to twine his soft curls around her fingers, sensing his body react to her own desire.
Charlotte withdrew, her hands on his face, capturing his lip between her teeth, locking gazes filled with lust. She marveled at his warmth and strength beneath her, his sturdy legs effortlessly supporting her as she moved her hips on his lap. The nuisance of her nightgown, the lone barrier, soon vanished as she pulled its ends up to her waist without removing it. Now, his heated, thick arousal pressed against the moistened folds of her core, evoking hushed, submissive moans from her throat as he kissed her fervently. How she longed to be enveloped by him. The longing was palpable, but both knew the risk of hurt if they succumbed too eagerly.
Her hands were fully engaged in exploring his torso—she craved every hard muscle, every small dark mole to be claimed by her touch. She yearned to memorize the broad expanse of his body for moments alone. His hips reacted to her as her nails traced over his nipples, down to his well-defined abdomen, pausing at the path to his throbbing, erect member, pressing against her still swollen belly.
Smirking against his lips, Charlotte gripped his member with her hand, her fingers seemingly small against its size, and began stroking his shaft, eliciting a deep, low moan from him. He moved, his hands leaving her face to grasp her hips, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. She groaned into his mouth again, feeling his member throb in her hand as she stroked him, sensing her own arousal as her sex swelled and moistened with desire, her clit yearning for friction from him.
"Charlotte," he moaned against her lips. "Charlotte– But you... We can't—"
"This isn't about me," as much as she wanted him inside her, she knew that moment had to wait a little longer. "Look at me."
"Angel," he looked at her, though it was hard becoming hard for him to keep his eyes open, his nose brushing hers as she continued to pump his shaft. "My angel..."
"My love. My Duke. My dear husband," he groaned at the names she called him as she continued to please him. "Look at me."
A rush of intense desire washed over him, causing him to whimper and nod in agreement as he tightened his grip on her hips, his nails leaving marks on her skin as he struggled to keep his eyes locked with hers. His breath quickened, moaning her name, his lips parted in ecstasy, a bead of pre-cum escaping from his tip. Charlotte's skin tingled with longing, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she could only imagine what she desired him to do to her. She envisioned him stretching her, leaving her feeling raw and sore, marked with bruises all over her body.
"Fuck!" Benedict let out a primal growl, calling his wife's name as he reached his climax. White streams of ejaculate shot from the pulsating tip of his member, his hand guiding himself through the final throes of pleasure. Gasping for breath, his eyes rolled back in his head as he leaned against her shoulder, his heavy breathing filling the air. Her hand remained on his shaft, tenderly stroking him through the aftershocks.
Quietly, Charlotte scooped up the pools of his essence staining her dress with one hand and brought it to her lips, consuming it as if it could satiate hunger. His taste was familiar—salty, sticky, warm—and despite her own arousal, she pushed it aside, striving to concentrate on him, on the reasons behind initiating all of this in the first place.
After tidying the mess on their bed and her clothes, she turned her attention to his softening member, moaning softly as she cleaned away the remnants of their lovemaking. Then, she playfully pressed her fingers against his lips, sharing the intimate taste with him.
Exhausted, Benedict collapsed onto the mattress, pulling his wife down beside him. Heartbeats racing and breaths labored, they nestled together, gazing into each other's eyes for a fleeting moment.
"Tha– That was..." He could barely speak. "That was amazing, Char."
"You may look at other women all you want, Benedict," she said, her tone seductive but determined. "But never forget, it is me, who leaves you breathless and wanting more every time."
"You do," he breathed against her. "Fuck, yes. You do."
"You'll enchantingly deter those who dare to vie for your attention, leaving them wistful and longing in your wake," she smirked. "You disobey, and I'm never touching you again, nor you will ever touch me... Now, do we have an understanding?"
"Bloody hell, yes, we do," both laughed and shared one last kiss. "In the vast expanse of my existence, you are the center of my universe."
After exchanging a few more tender words and kisses, the Duke of Kent and Strathearn escorted his wife to her morning bath appointment, while we prepared ourselves. It took him a bit longer than usual as he was still lost in thoughts of their recent moments together. Despite his reverie, he couldn't help but feel grateful for Charlotte's unwavering support and love. He couldn't imagine a future without her by his side.
Benedict found it challenging to articulate the profound transformation he experienced upon laying eyes on his son. Holding the tiny bundle in his arms, he felt a shift within himself, as if an innate instinct had been awakened, flooding his senses with newfound understanding and purpose.
Following the birth of his son, Benedict underwent a profound transformation, not only internally, but also in his perception of Charlotte. Witnessing his beloved wife, the woman he cherishes above all else, bring their first child into the world was a moment that forever altered his outlook. Their newborn, a tangible manifestation of their union, represented a bond forged through love, resilience, and unwavering commitment amidst life's trials and the idle chatter of society.
Standing beside Charlotte's bedside, he found himself overcome with emotion as they gazed upon their precious son cradled in her arms.
Prior to their union, Benedict viewed Charlotte through a lens of admiration akin to a delicate doll, an embodiment of perfection fit for royalty. However, marriage unveiled layers of Charlotte's being that only he was privileged to witness – her vulnerabilities, insecurities, and inner struggles concealed behind a facade presented to the world. Yet, even in moments of fragility, Benedict found her beauty to be unparalleled and her essence to be cherished beyond measure.
Now, beholding Charlotte embracing their child, Benedict experienced a revelation of love and beauty unlike any he had encountered before. The sight moved him to tears, for it was a spectacle of profound grace and tenderness that transcended verbal expression. In that fleeting moment, he longed for the world to witness the awe-inspiring beauty that radiated from his wife and son, a beauty that words alone could not capture.
"Oh, isn't he a beauty, my love?" Charlotte spoke quietly.
"Indeed... You both are," he said, both parents had grins on their faces. Benedict enveloped his wife in a warm embrace, drawing their son closer too, creating a cocoon of love and protection around them. "It's astounding to think that I can cradle my entire world in my embrace all at once."
"What is it?" She had to ask, noticing his low and slightly sad tone in his voice. "Why do you sound so sad?"
"I wish I didn't have to leave you both," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret, and sighed. "I find myself grappling with a pang of regret as I realize that attending the academy necessitates my departure from your side."
"Don't say that, my love," she smiled reassuringly, her tone filled with conviction. "You have the opportunity of a lifetime. Learn, practice, do what you've always dreamed of... We'll be here waiting for you when you return."
"But what if something happens while I'm away?" Benedict's brows furrowed with worry. "What if you both need me and I'm not here?"
"We'll manage, my love. We're going to be alright," Charlotte lightly smiled. "I can't wait to see you guide our children through the King's Gallery and say, 'you know, I painted that', or for when I have guests over I'll say, 'the most brilliant man in the world, who happens to be my husband, painted that'."
"Thank you, my angel," Benedict met her gaze, gratitude and love shining in his eyes, his voice tinged with emotion. "I'll make you proud."
"You already have," she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "Go, my love. Go forth and embrace the destiny of your artistry."
"You are the canvas upon which I paint the masterpiece of my love, my angel," he said, brushing his nose against his wife's, both their eyes shut with delight. "And I will forever choose you as my muse."
Benedict lavished Charlotte with countless tender kisses, each one coaxing out sweet, melodious giggles from her lips, a symphony of joy that echoed in his heart. Reluctantly, he pressed a gentle kiss upon his son's tiny hand, bidding farewell with a heaviness in his heart yet fortified by an unwavering determination. With every step towards the Academy, he bore the weight of longing for his family, but also the reassurance of their boundless support and love, a comforting presence that he carried with him like a beacon guiding his path.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Royal Academy of Arts, Burlington House, London
Throughout the day, the Duke of Kent and Strathearn sported a continuous smile, basking in the memories of a delightful morning spent with his wife and cherished moments shared with his newborn son. Meanwhile, at the academy, they refurbished one of the fellows' artworks from years past.
He glanced into a classroom and spotted the woman he had seen the day before. Her presence there, alone, intrigued him, despite not knowing her name or why she, a model, would be in a classroom.
"I declare, that's rather good," Benedict praised her work when he walked in. She had sketched a perfect image of the statue before her.
"I am skilled at more than simply standing naked, Mister..." She trailed off.
"Bridgerton," he shook his head. "I do not doubt it."
"Then perhaps inform the academy," she stated calmly. "Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not yet allowed to enter the classroom. At least, not while we are clothed."
"So you work as a model as a way of learning from the lectures?" He crossed his arms over his chest as walked towards her, and she nodded. " Ingenious."
"Care to take a turn?" She motioned to the empty stool. "It is harder than it looks."
"Thank you... But no," he lightly sighed when her face dropped. "It's not that I cannot be submissive. I've realized I enjoy it, really... It's the shortage of people who deserve to see me looking up at them."
"Am I not deserving?" She questioned.
"That's not what I meant, and I apologize if I made it look as such," he said sincerely, a small smile on his face. "But I much rather come back home and look at my wife and son, that's all."
"Oh, that's right. It is the talk of the town your newborn son, Mister...Bridgerton?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not 'Your Royal Highness'? Not 'Duke of Kent and Strathearn'?"
"I am all those things, but in conversation, it is 'Your Royal Highness'," he nodded. "'Sir' too so the 'Royal Highness'-thing doesn't become repetitive."
"I see..." She lightly sighed. "Well, have a good afternoon...sir."
"You too," he slightly waved in her direction and walked out of the classroom.
Benedict let out a deep sigh as he distanced himself from the classroom. What if her intentions were simply friendly? What if their interaction wasn't heading where he imagined? Regardless, he felt a sense of relief for leaving. His initial intention was just to be friendly, but when his instincts hinted at potential complications, he decided it was best to step back.
After all, his devoted wife eagerly awaited his return home, a grin on her face, arms wide open, hoping to hear everything about his day, what he's learned, amongst other things. And his son, the thought of holding him in his arms alongside his wife filled Benedict with anticipation. Holding his entire world in his embrace still felt surreal to him.
Author's Notes: Hello, dear readers!
I loved writing this chapter. So many things happened, I hope it wasn't too confusing.
It's been a while since we've had a spicy chapter. I'll try to make more of those...especially now that the baby is out of the oven!
I CAN'T WAIT FOR SEASON 3!!! I'M SO EXCITED! I've seen every single teaser or promoting video Instagram and the fans have published in their accounts and I'm desperate for the season to finally be here!
Do you have expectations for the upcoming season?
Until next chapter!❤️