When Benedict was eight years old, his favorite horse died of old age. The horse was called Bo, and it was the one Benedict had learned to ride on. He spent many evenings in the stables at Aubrey Hall, talking to Bo as though he could understand the boy. It did not bother him that he couldn't, it simply felt nice to have somebody to talk to. He knew he had Madeleine and he had his family, but it was different knowing that the one listening to you always had time for you and could not find a way to judge you.
He would talk about things he was embarrassed to speak to any of his family or friends about. On one particular evening in late September, he sat next to Bo and gently stroked his mane as he told him about his family.
"I know my father loves me, of course he does. It just seems that nothing I do is ever as good as what Anthony does." The boy sighed, picking at the hay on the floor.
"I showed father my sketch this morning and he smiled and told me it was beautiful. I was so happy that he liked it." He smiled sadly, continuing. "But then during lunch, Father went on and on to us about how good Anthony was getting at hunting. He kept talking about how proud he was and how much of a strong man Anthony will be. For half an hour, he talked about how great Anthony was and how he would make a wonderful Viscount. I just wish he was that proud of me sometimes, you know?"
Bo snorted lightly as he moved around on the hay and Benedict sighed, watching him.
"Maybe one day I will be really wonderful at something. Maybe art. I would like that." The young boy smiled at the thought. "I could show father one of my paintings and he would hang it in the foyer and look at it everyday and think of how proud he is. Maybe my work could even be in a gallery and he would go to look at it! He would tell people how his son made that and how proud he is of me." Benedict's tone got excited at the thought and he grinned at the horse.
"You think that will happen, Bo? Hm?" He scratched his fur lightly and Bo nuzzled his head into the boy's hand. Benedict continued to talk, thinking out loud of ways to make his father proud one day.
"Or maybe I could take up-" His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound coming from Bo. He had never heard it before and he could only think that it sounded like the kind of moan a human made when they were sick. Bo's head lightly fell to the ground and he laid there, moaning softly.
"Bo, are you okay? What's wrong? What is it?" His voice was nervous as he sat up straight, taking Bo's head lightly into his hands. The horse's breathing got heavy and slow and he could not seem to hold his own head up. Benedict scrambled to get up and he ran to the exit of the stables, calling loudly for his father.
Edmund was across the yard with Colin and his head shot up at the sound of his boy's panicked shouts. He took off running toward the stables, worried that Benedict was hurt or something had happened.
"Son, what is it? Are you all right?" His voice was laced with worry as he held the boy's face, examining him for any injuries.
"Father, it's Bo. Something is wrong with him!" Benedict exclaimed in panic, grabbing his father's sleeve and rushing him over to the horse.
"Oh, Bo.." Edmund sighed, kneeling next to the horse and gently petting its chestnut colored coat. He knew what was about to happen. He had not told Benedict of the nights he had spent in the past few weeks taking care of the horse. After his children went to bed, he would come to the stables to see Bo in this exhausted state, his conditioned worsening each day. He frowned softly at the horse and sat down next to it.
"Benedict, come sit with me." He patted the spot next to him and the boy obliged, walking over cautiously.
"Is Bo going to be okay?" He looked up at this father with fear in his eyes. Edmund sighed softly and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.
"Bo is very old, Benny. When you were born, he was already seventeen years of age. He has lived a long and happy life, and now it is time for him to be set free." He rubbed the boy's shoulder softly, watching him with sad eyes.
"H-He's going to die?" His eyes pricked with tears as his glance darted from his father to the horse. "No, Bo you can't die! You can't!" He cried, leaning down and gently hugging around the horse's neck. His tears dampened Bo's mane as he cried softly.
Edmund soothingly rubbed his son's back, watching him with apologetic eyes. Benedict turned to look at his father, desperation painted on his face.
"Father, do something! We can't just let him die! He's my best friend." He whimpered, tears falling down his cheeks. Edmund picked the boy up gently and held him as he cried.
"Bo was very lucky to have you in his last years, Benny. He is always happy to see you and I am sure he considers you his best friend, too. But horses cannot live forever, they must come and go as we do. It is Bo's time to go now, there is nothing we can do. We must simply sit here and be with him, so that he is not alone when he leaves us. He is probably a bit frightened right now, so we must help him through this. Can you do that with me?" He whispered, squeezing his son slightly. Benedict sniffled and nodded, raising his head and looking down at Bo.
He gulped softly and moved, sitting down beside Bo again. He reached down, gently stroking the horse.
"You are not alone, Bo. Me and Father are here and we love you so much. It's going to be okay." He whispered, praying this time that the horse could understand him. He rested his head on top of Bo's and held him, listening as his breathing got more strained. A tear ran down his cheek, his heart squeezing in pain. They sat there for a little over thirty minutes, Benedict whispering calming things to Bo and Edmund watching his son with sad eyes.
Bo trembled lightly as he let out his last breath, his body relaxing into the ground. Benedict cried out, sobbing as he hugged the horse tighter. He sputtered through his tears, mumbling that Bo couldn't leave him and he loved him so much. Edmund frowned and pulled the boy into his arms, holding him as he weeped.
"Bo was in so much pain, buddy. He is happy now, he can run for hours in the field of flowers and he will watch over you forever." He whispered, rubbing the boy's back. Benedict gripped his father's shirt, crying into his shoulder.
"When things like this happen, it is okay to be sad. It is okay to cry or to yell, expressing your feelings is a healthy way to deal with sad things. But it is also important to focus on the positive. Bo gave our family a wonderful five and twenty years and he made us all very happy. We must find peace in the fact the he is not in any pain anymore. Can you do that for him, Benny? Focus on the good?"
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Benedict laid in bed that morning, thinking of what his father had said to him almost twenty years ago. It was something that had stuck with him all his life, to focus on the good in any situation and to think positive.
He sighed and sat up, determined to make the best of their current situation. He was not going to mope in his room all day and dwell on his sadness. Rather, he was going to spend time with his family and work out a plan to be with Madeleine. He would figure out a way to make it work.
Across the yard, unbeknownst to him, Madeleine awoke with a similar desire to focus on the positive in the situation. What the positive was, she did not yet know. She was hopeful none the less, hopeful that somehow everything would work out in her favor.
She dressed for the day and mentally prepared herself to face her great uncle. As she walked down the hallway from her bedroom, her optimism vanished and her mind was suddenly consumed by anger. Her mother's room was completely changed, now with all of Lord Alaister's stuff in it. The door was open and he was nowhere to be found, so she stepped closer. Her nostrils flared as she gazed inside, spotting the hideous deer head mounted above the bed and encased shelvings of ammunition hanging where her mother's George Stubbs paintings once were.
Her heart pounded as she grew more angry. Her mother's room was always a safe place for her to go, ever since she was a child and would come running from a scary dream. It was cozy and inviting, it was beautiful. And now it had been ruined, turned into a shrine for a huntsman. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, determined to stay calm. She would not let him win. She forced a small smile as she walked down the stairs, her uncle sitting at the breakfast table with a newspaper.
"Ah, good morning. I wanted to wait for you until I started breakfast, are pancakes okay?" His voice was chipper, as if nothing had happened between the two. Two can play at that game, she thought.
"Pancakes sound delightful, uncle." She gave him a fake smile and sitting at the opposite side of the table. She hurried through the meal as much as she could without raising suspicion. She politely excused herself when she finished, walking over to the foyer and taking her shawl and hat from the closet. Just as she reached the door, she heard her uncle's voice.
"Going on a walk?" She grimaced slightly before smiling and turning around to face him.
"Yes, it looks like quite a beautiful day outside. I thought some fresh air might be nice."
"Well, you know better than to go out unaccompanied. Let me grab my coat." He gave her a condescending smile and walked into the living room, Madeline cursing inwardly. She had planned to go see Benedict and there was no way she was going over there with her uncle beside her. They walked out together and Madeleine tried to hide her disappointment as he made meaningless small talk.
Just minutes after they left, Benedict stood on their doorstep, knocking on the front door. He waited a few moments before knocking again and receiving no response. He sighed in disappointment and turned around, walking back to the Bridgerton house.