"Benedict Bridgerton!" Lady Bridgerton gasped and turned to give him a stern glare, swatting playfully at his arm with her glove.
Benedict had made another one of his sexual innuendos, a habit he had picked up around the age of fourteen, much to Violet's dismay.
He pretended to be offended, feigning innocence as Colin laughed from his seat at the table across from his older brother, even though he didn't get the joke. He thought his older brothers were the funniest people in the world.
Benedict couldn't help but smile as he looked down at his plate. His mother was not pleased with him at the moment, but he much preferred it to the state she had been in the three months since his father's death. He couldn't help but feel that things were getting back to normal, and he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. His mother noticed it as well, and unknown to him, smiled a bit herself at the thought.
One thing had not returned back to normal, and it was like a cold chill that everybody in the family felt.
Anthony.
Since the day of his father's death, Benedict had not seen Anthony show a single emotion. No happiness, no anger, and what scared Benedict the most, no sadness. He had been there the moment his father died, he and his brother had cried in each other's arms. Yet, since that moment, Anthony had been stone cold. He had not made any of his cheeky jokes, he had not teased his younger brothers, he had not run around playing with the little children.
After dinner, Benedict purposefully dawdled behind, knowing that his mother was typically the last one to leave the dinner table. She always insisted on helping the maids clean up afterward. Once everyone else had left the room, she noticed Benedict standing by the door.
"Dearest, is everything all right?"
He looked at her, before glancing into the hall to make sure everyone was out of earshot.
"Mother, may I speak to you about something?"
"Yes, of course. I can see that something has been bugging you this evening." She took a seat the table, gesturing for him to sit with her.
"I must admit I'm beginning to worry about Anthony. I know this must be harder for him than any of us children, but I can't help but feel that he's no longer the same Anthony that I have known all these years." Benedict sighed, sitting down. His mother was not at all surprised by this sentiment. In fact, she was relieved that somebody else had the nerve to say what she had been thinking the past few weeks.
"It has been three months since your father died, we must all try to be happy again. For some of us, that might take longer than others." She put her hand on her son's cheek, smiling lovingly at him. "You have been so very patient during this trying time. Do not think the hours you sat by my bed talking at me incessantly these past three months went unnoticed. You must try to give Anthony a little more time now as well."
Benedict nodded softly, knowing that she was probably right. She always was. He kept his eyes down at his lap, his mind not yet at ease.
"So.. all of those times, you could hear me?" He failed to mask the pain in his voice. The past three months were the most difficult time of his life. He couldn't help but feel a bit selfish at the thought he had next, and he hated that he had it. Still, he couldn't help but think that Violet and Anthony both got to mourn in private and retreat into their feelings of depression while he was forced to relive the same day over and over, forcing himself to plaster a smile on his face for the children, indulge them in games of hide and seek or tag to distract them, and put them to bed. He was forced to pretend that everything was great for their sake, while he felt as though his heart and his body were being repeatedly stabbed.
Violet nodded, taking his hands in hers.
"I have imagined at times how it would be if Edmund were to die. He and I had talked about it on occasion, he insisted that we needed to talk about these things so that we were prepared for if it ever did happen. Still, nothing could have prepared me for that pain, that awful pain. I laid there for weeks, unable to move, unable to think of anything but him, watching as he stopped breathing in my arms over and over again every moment."
Benedict squeezed her hands softly, watching her with worried eyes.
"Our little chats were the one respite I had from the torture of seeing that image in my mind. You came into my room three times a day, for three months. You never showed any frustration at my lack of response, you simply kept smiling. You truly are becoming a wonderful man, dearest. You are the most patient of your brothers and sisters, you are the most kind, and compassionate. You are very much like your father in that way." She smiled softly and he kissed her hand, mirroring her smile. The two stood up and Benedict helped his mother stack the dishes together.
"You will make some beautiful lady very happy one day." She teased softly, knowing very well of his lack of excitement for marriage.
Benedict laughed softly, shaking his head.
"You are lucky Anthony was born first. I suppose we both are. I shall happily watch from the side as he endures this horrific tradition of the social season."
Violet laughed, shaking her head at his displeasure with marriage. "Speaking of, Madeleine stopped by earlier. She asked that I let you know."
Benedict furrowed his eyebrows. "How in the world is that 'speaking of'?" His mother smirked and shrugged, as if she knew something he didn't. He kissed her on the cheek, turning to leave.
"I don't want her to worry, I will be back within the hour." He knew his mother didn't love the idea of her children being out at night, but Madeleine was too caring for her own good, and he knew she would worry based on the events of the last few months.
He slipped through the back door, crossing over the flower bushes and finding Madeleine sitting on her back porch, nose buried in a book. He crept up from the side, out of her view, and quickly grabbed her shoulders, yelling to scare her.
Madeleine jumped about fifty feet in the air, her hand on her heart as her chest rose up and down.
"Benedict, you are an imbecile! You are going to give me a heart attack one of these days!" She stared at him incredulously as she caught her breath, but she couldn't help but laugh at his shit-eating grin. Benedict had that effect on people.
"I must say I am glad to see you smiling, genuinely smiling." She sat back down with her book. "But I am still angry."
Benedict laughed, elbowing her to move over so he could sit. She continued to read her book, for a grand total of ten seconds, before he snatched it out of her hands.
"Hey! Benedict, give it." She glared at him, holding out her hand.
He gave her one of his signature grins as he took her hand and kissed it like a proper gentlemen. "Oly, if you wanted me to hold your hand you could've just asked."
She scoffed, swatting him upside the head, laughing at his antics and attempting to reach for the book.
"Ah, ah, I am your friend and I am here to see you so I require your full attention." He smirked, putting the book out of her reach.
"You truly are quite the drama queen, Bridgerton." She snarled, to which he stuck out his tongue, proving her point.
"If you must keep me away from my reading, please tell me it is with happy news." She looked in his eyes, being rather genuine now. The Bridgerton Household had not been a bright and happy place as of late, and she wished for the day when they would all be happy again. They were the kindest people she knew, and she hated to see them experience such loss.
"It is, in fact. Today was truly the first time I felt genuinely happy, and I must admit I never want it to end. Mother was smiling as well, she is finally getting back to her old self."
Madeleine smiled brightly at the sound of this and she threw her arms around the boy. She laughed as he stood up, swinging her around.
Once he set her down, the two talked more about his family, how everyone was. The moon shone bright above them, and after an hour, keeping his promise to his mother, Benedict handed her her book and bade her goodnight.
He laid in bed that night, his mind nagging him about something. His mother's voice rang in the back of his head. Why had she said "speaking of" as she did, as if there was some secret that only she knew?