The Second Born Bridgerton's Wife // Benedict Bridgerton

Stay long

The london marriage season had been such a whirlwind for me that I simply could not believe where I was now. I felt as though one morning, I might simply wake up and it shall all be gone, it felt too good to be true. A kind and loving husband who is nothing but truly incredible, a child on the way, and Aubrey hall all to ourselves, I did not see how things shall ever be bad again.

"Peaches, darling, are you awake? You have multiple letters arrived." Benedict has begun to rise earlier and earlier, and this morning he has done so early enough that he has managed to catch the post as it came and is now eager to wake me up to tell me so.

It is the little things whilst we are at Aubrey hall, Benedict rising early so that he can collect the letters before they are even posted, the walks around the estate that must be short since I cannot walk too far without needing the bathroom. It is deciding we shall eat outside or at midnight, or perhaps we shall eat only sweets today. It is not getting out of bed because we have talked and painted until the earliest hours of the morning. Every morning I wake and I  am excited for the day ahead that I get to spend with him. "Multiple letters? How many is multiple?"

"You have four letters and I have none. I am ever so jealous." He bursts back into the bedroom and lies beside me on the bed, balancing the letters carefully on my growing stomach. "You are getting fat."

"It is your child! You have made me so. I feel queasy every moment of every day, I now cannot get up and down the stairs without any assistance and all of my pretty dresses no longer fit me." I laugh a little and knock the letters from my stomach. "If you are so eager to see who they are from then you can open them for me. They are most likely only from my mother or father so that they can beg of you for money once more." I wave a hand absent mindedly, regretting this action instantly since it is something my mother used to do.

I hate opening letters that I receive. I used to be so excited to open them, when I knew they should be from Benedict. Now that he is always by my side, we have no need to write letters any longer, and that means they are almost always from my mother. It seems my father has got himself into quite some trouble with debt collectors, and my mother appears to think that if she incessantly writes to myself and to my husband then we shall give her what she needs. Benedict and I have spoken about it and agreed that we shall not do that, for it is not even worth asking Anthony. But still, I receive a few begging letters every week, and I continue to ignore them so.

He takes the letters, opening the first one and smiling. "This one is from Penelope. She tells you of how your mother has allowed her to don a purple dress now that you are away. She says that your mother believes it to be one of the main reasons that you were able to secure the most handsome Bridgerton brother."

"I am quite sure it does not say such."

"And I am quite sure that it was not your purple dresses that attracted me to you, but who am I to argue with what Lady Featherington says, hm?" His grin stretches across the width of his face and radiates the rest of the room and I cannot help myself but to grin with him. "This one appears to be from Eloise. My own sister has written to my wife and not to me."

"Is she asking of the baby again? That is what I presume it to be. She is adamant she shall find out how a woman comes to be with child, and that is paired with her obsession with lady Whistledown. She shall never unmask her, you know? I do believe it is genuinely a waste of her time." Of course, I know that with every moment of investigation, Eloise gets gradually closer to finding out the true identity of the scandal sheet goddess, my very own sister. I have tried to redirect her attentions on many occasions, but she shall not listen to me as she shall not listen when I tell her I will never discuss the creation of babies with her.

"Mother agrees but alas, it is quite impossible to tell Eloise to do anything that Eloise does not wish to do. Quite how your mother must have felt about you, my darling." He pairs that comment with a kiss on the back of my hand as he tears open the next one. "This one is from your mother."

"Oh, shall I take a guess? Is it that perhaps she is in need of more money for Prudence's dowry? Does she ask of the kind and generous young lady that she knows I have always been and beg for coin? I do tell you, no increase of dowry shall make anyone wish to marry Prudence." I laugh, until I see that he is not laughing, reading the letter with deep thought. "I did not realise you liked prudence so, I shall not insult her again?..."

"Peaches, your father has died."

"What? How can my father have died? He has not been sick, no one has written to me and mentioned any illness." I shake my head slightly, sitting up so that I may prise the letter from his hands, scanning the page with my own eyes. "How could I have missed this, Benedict? I did not even... I did not even know he was sick."

"Nor did I. No one has mentioned so to me either. We should have heard if he was sick, Peaches. We would have. I... I am sure I have not missed any mail, I collect it every single morning." He frowns, putting the letter on the table that rests by the side of our bed and moving so that he is sat close by my side, his arms wrapping around my shoulders as he comforts me. He kisses my cheek, running his fingers in soft circles on the bare skin of my upper arm. "I am so sorry, darling. I know what it is like to lose a parent."

"I... no, it is not... I did not care for my father. Hardly at all, really. I believe the last time we spoke, he called me a disobedient wretch and that was a similar tone to everything else he shall have ever said my entire life. I am not... I am not too upset for anyone other than the rest of my family. My mother shall be suffering, I am sure, and that means that Pen shall be too. I shall imagine her life is a nightmare right now, actually." I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder, enjoying his touch. "It is so bad that I do not feel so upset about him?"

"I think that you must practice your upset face for when we attend the funeral. It seems we may be returning to London sooner than we initially planned, my darling." He kisses my head once more and reaches for the final letter. "This one is addressed to myself, actually. How lovely, someone has thought to send me a letter. I am ever so lucky, I feel as though I am the most popular lady in the ton!"

I smile at his joke, I know he is attempting all he can to make me laugh, before I roll to the side of the bed and make the effort to climb out, looking through my wardrobe for what I shall take to London. It becomes more and more difficult with every day to squeeze myself into them, I may have to revisit the modiste once we are back in london. It is not ideal, but it means I get to spend my days in aubrey hall with the love of my life and so how could I complain? "Who is your letter from?" I shout back to him. "Are you the most popular lady in the ton?" He does not respond and so I turn to look at him. "Benedict? Is everything okay?"

He is still silent, engrossed in the letter, tearing his eyes away to look at me. He looks a little unnerved but disguises it with a smile, screwing the letter up in his hand. "It is nothing important, my darling... oh, you are not taking that dress are you?" He drops the letter and strides over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It is awful. Just awful, I should hate you to wear it!"

He teases, kissing my neck as I pull out the dress that he described to madame delacroix for me. "I love this dress and I somehow still manage to squeeze myself into it and so it shall come with us to London. You need only pack a few shirts, I am sure I shall not need to stay long."