The Second Born Bridgerton // Benedict Bridgerton

No letters

I return home but I still do not sleep. I am not tired, my brain is working too hard as it attempts to predict whether Anthony shall be killed or banished, whether the duke shall be killed or banished, and under what circumstances Benedict shall become the viscount. I try my very best not to care for after all, what does it matter? I must move on and I must find another husband.

The new dresses from the modiste arrive in the usual colours. I despise this purple, which is also no different from usual, but I most certainly do not have any option but to wear it and to refrain from complaining of it any further. There is not much point in trying to refuse it, of course.

"Peaches, have you read the latest lady whistledown?" Penelope sits by the side of me, the only one who is aware of the melancholy way that I feel this morning. "It seems that Daphne and the Duke are to be married. They have announced their engagement this morning and they shall be married by the end of the week." For the next part she speaks, she leans slightly closer so that she may talk directly into my ear and much more quietly. "And of Anthony? It is as though no duel ever took place. They must have agreed upon the wedding and never shot. Benedict shall not be the viscount, Peaches!"

This sends a wave of relief through my body, though I am unsure why. Even if he shall not be, I do not think that him and myself will reconcile. Not when I think of how angry I was and how stubborn he was. I said many things I did not mean, as did he, and I do not have enough experience with love to be able to predict whether that argument was strong enough to prevent us from being together. There is doubt inside me that he shall ever attempt to reform the relationship, and I am proved correct as it reaches the day of Daphne's wedding, and I have not heard anything from him.

No letter and no visit, nothing more than a closed curtain so that I may never even catch a glimpse of him. He has not been at a single ball since the duel and I have not visited Lord granville to know whether or not he has continued to go there. It has been almost a week since I have seen him and I could not explain the way I feel about this. It is impossible to explain it.

"Mama, must I wear yellow? It is a wedding after all, perhaps I may wear something else? A... a subtle pink perhaps?" Penelope stands and looks at herself in the long mirror as our mother watches the lady pull the corset on Prudence until she can hardly breathe.

"It may be a wedding but it is still a social event, there shall still be suitors there for you to impress and therefore you still will wear what I have told you to." She nods triumphantly as prudence practically collapses into the chair, and it becomes time for Philipa to have herself fitted. "Colin shall be there and so you must continue with whatever you have planned, Marina. As you are aware, Lord Rutledge is engaged as of this morning and so he is the only option remaining for you and that... child. You must do it tonight."

I do not have to look over to Pen to be able to tell how her face moves and contorts to a frown. I do not need my lady to assist with my corset, I can do the majority of it myself. As I do, I remember the last time that I saw Benedict, in the garden, and how expertly his hands graced my back, tightening my bodice with soft fingers, and I can feel his hands resting on my shoulders. I have never been one to pine and as lord Granville had reminded me previously, I had always found it quite pathetic. But now I understood. I understood the longing and how it is to truly miss someone so much that it consumes every thought of your waking day.

"-Peaches?" My mother addresses me.

I return from my daydream and look to her as she narrows her eyes slightly, and I realise that I have failed to listen to something she deems important. "What did you say?"

"What of your own marriage proposals? Do you have any or are you like your sisters?"

"I do not have any." I respond, and she throws her hands upwards in despair, beginning to talk. I ignore her incessant chatter, and continue to ignore it on the short walk to the bridgerton household where the wedding reception is to be hosted. My heart begins to thump as we walk through the door, my mother striding proudly along in front of us, and I find myself looking around for him. I try to resist but I know he shall be here, it is his sister's wedding reception and it would be quite outrageous if he was not.

The notion that I shall see him did not fill me with joy but I also felt somehow hopeful. I wished to simply see his face, I had craved even a glance for a week and I hoped that should be fulfilled. But I feared that even that should encourage the longing I was feeling, and I was unsure how much longer I could cope with that strange and wrenching emptiness inside me. That is when I see him, stood with his younger brother as they chat and sip at their tiny flutes of champagne. He does not see me, however, and I am glad that he does not. It gives me some more time to decide how I shall react to him of he does come to talk to me, if he does. "Pen, will you come with me so I may get a drink? I have a feeling we shall both need one."