Baby, I'm yours - Benedict Bridgerton

The clutches of the ton

"Matilda!" A voice calls me, and I turn to see the woman who greets me. Violet Bridgerton, the woman who sent me the letter that I currently have clutched to my chest, inviting me to stay with her and her family this social season. She is a beautiful woman, and she strides confidently over to me, taking my hands softly and greeting me with a pleasant smile and a warm familiarity. "Oh, it is so wonderful to see you. You look just like your mother."

This comment makes me smile a little, a sad little bitter sweet smile. The loss of my mother had gotten a little easier with time but I did not believe the pain would ever fully leave me. She was everything to me, everything a mother should have been and more. We had always spoken about my debut into the ton, we had always spoken of the dresses we would have purchased and the men I would have danced with and the suitors that would have bought me chocolate and flowers and trinkets. There was no we any longer, I had to do this alone. That is why I was so thankful when Violet reached out to me.

"It is wonderful to see you again, too." I clutch her hand as tightly as she holds mine. My mother's childhood friend, looking at me with the same kind of strange sadness I always feel when speaking about my late mother. "Thank you for your letter. And for your hospitality, I could not be more grateful."

"Nonsense, it is nothing. You and your mother were always family to me, I know she would have guided my girls if this situation was flipped... Daphne is debuting this year too, I am sure you shall find comfort in one another." She now begins to walk with me, leading me towards the Bridgerton home.

I have not been to London before, nor the Bridgerton house. When we had stayed with them, when I was a young girl, we had stayed at Aubrey hall. I had always been fond of Aubrey hall, the beach and the sea had always attracted me and I loved them so. We stopped visiting so much once mother got ill, and I had not really been anywhere since her death. It had been a while since I had last spoken with a Bridgerton, and I was worried I should not be able to remember all of their names! Not to mention, I believed that there were two new children since I had last been around. I was an only child and so recalling that amount of siblings names had always been unnatural to me.

"I am sure." I follow her, having to speed up to keep in time with her strides. She walks so quickly and with so much purpose that we are at their home within no time, their servants dragging my bags past us and into the house, and then up the stairs to whatever room has already been assigned as mine for the season. "It is a beautiful house, my lady."

"Please, there is no need for such formalities. We are family, Matilda. I shall certainly not insist upon you calling me by my title as I would not insist my own children would... speaking of which." She gives a sideways glance to her housekeeper, who bows her head and departs the room. "That is Mrs Wilson, my housekeeper. She is a darling, if you ever do need anything and you cannot find myself, do shout for her. She is off to find my children... wherever they shall be-" Her voice raises at the end as two children race past her and themselves over the bannister of the stairs. She let's out a sigh, as though this is a regular occurrence, before she looks to me. "I must apologise, I shall go and fetch Gregory and Hyacinth. You stay there, my dear."

With that, Violet rushes away with a view to chastise her children, and I do exactly as she says, standing in the same spot. It is nice to be in a house that is a home. I have been living practically alone since mother died five years ago. The noise and the hustle and bustle of the house was refreshing in a way. I did not mind it at all, for at least it meant I was not alone anymore.

"Is that Matilda Dawson I see?" I turn around to see a beaming, smiling face marching down the stairs at me. A tall figure, with a slightly crooked smile and an imperfect beauty. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a paintbrush tucked behind his ear. I always thought he had rather calming presence about him, and my mother had always mocked me for saying so. She had often mocked me for my childhood admiration for Benedict Bridgerton. "Mother told me you were coming to London. It shall be nice to have another sane person around here for a change."

It takes a moment for me to recognise him, but once I do, I smile back. "I am not completely sure I should call you sane at all, Mr Bridgerton."

"Yes, well. I do suppose we have not see each other since we were... well, I daresay I do not wish to think how young we shall have been since it shall make me remember how old I currently am." He grimaces, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Most of the memories that I had involved Benedict in some way, shape or form. We had always gotten along well, my mother had even suggested once that I might marry him! She did love to tease me and see my cheeks burn red as I spoke about the game that Benedict had shown me that day, or the book he had read to me, or the chocolates that we shared. "You must remember that I am certainly not quite as old as you. I am not on my deathbed yet, unlike yourself."

"No, certainly not. Although you may wish you are as you step into the clutches of the ton." Benedict walks down the remaining stairs, grinning at me. "Well, anyway. you look as wonderful as I remember you doing, Miss Dawson. Welcome to London."