Upper Orders//Benedict Bridgerton

⚘twenty five⚘

A jilted groom. A broken-hearted bride-to-be. A royal wedding in shambles. Sensational? Quite. But true? This author may traffic in chatter and speculation, dear reader, but misinformation? Never. Explanations of why Miss Edwina absconded from the altar may be greater in number than anyone could possibly fathom. But we must not forget, it was Her Majesty the Queen who placed the young miss on that special stage so that she could make her grand exit. Allow this author to hope... for Her Majesty's sake, as well as both the Sharmas and Bridgertons, that an official explanation emerges swiftly, lest the ton are run away by their tawdry imaginings.

Lady Bridgerton has decided that the best way to minimize the scandal from Anthony's failed nuptials is for all of us to continue on as if nothing happened. She wishes for all of us to promenade together this morning. We are all waiting in the drawing room for Anthony to arrive.

"Where is your brother?" Lady Bridgerton asks. "He should be here by now."

"Perhaps he is still waiting at the altar for Miss Edwina," Colin taunts.

"There will be no mockery today," Lady Bridgerton states.

"She mocks me incessantly," Gregory says about Hyacinth.

"Are we not overlooking the benefit of this... tragedy?" Eloise asks.

"Leftover cake?" Gregory reasons.

"You wonder why I mock you?" Hyacinth argues.

"Brother!" Benedict greets. "How good of you to join us."

"Have you all eaten?" Anthony asks.

"You will need to break your fast later," Lady Bridgerton tells him. "For now, it is of the utmost importance that we act swiftly to limit the damaging consequences of the unfortunate events of your..."

"Bungled nuptials?" Colin offers.

"Is all of this truly happening because a woman merely changed her mind?" Eloise questions.

"Unfortunately, so, Eloise. Yet, I suppose the reason does not signify. We simply must deal with the consequences," Lady Bridgerton tells her. "Now, I think it a pleasant morning for promenade." Every Bridgerton groans. "Together, united, as the most respectable family that we still very much are."

"Respectable?" Anthony asks. "A respectable family is headed by a gentleman, is it not?"

"Brother... Is there something more we should know? Or, perhaps, more than just I should know?" Benedict whispers.

Anthony sighs. "Forgive me. If a promenade is what you feel is wise, Mother, then we shall leave within the hour."

Eloise clears her throat. "I shall be a little late. Shopping. I need a new pair of gloves, so as to look that much more united and respectable."

Everyone is watching our family as we promenade. It is if they think we are contagious. That if they get too close, they too will have a marriage stopped at the altar.

"Don't look," Lady Patridge tells her daughter.

Lady Bridgerton gestures to Anthony to say hello.

"Miss Patridge," Anthony says. "Such a pleasant afternoon, is it not?"

"Yes, indeed, my lord," Miss Patridge agrees.

"My dear, I believe we will be late for the Gorings," Lady Patridge tells her daughter. "Make haste."

Of all people it is my aunt who is the first to speak to us. "Is this not a surprise, to see you out in public, Lady Bridgerton, so soon?"

"Lady Featherington, it is not as though we are in mourning," Lady Bridgerton tells her.

"No one understands the pain of a broken engagement better than myself," Aunt Featherington insists. "I never thought we would recover after Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Thompson's falling out, and yet here we are. Miss Thompson now Lady Crane, Philippa now Mrs. Finch, and Prudence now engaged."

"Yes. It is rather amusing how things work themselves out, is it not?" Lady Bridgerton offers.

"Indeed. I do wish you good fortune with all of your things, Lady Bridgerton," Aunt Featherington says before walking off.

"We are truly sorry, Lady Bridgerton," Penelope tells her.

"Come along, Penelope. We don't want to talk their ears off," Aunt Featherington calls after her.

I am sitting in the drawing room reading. Benedict is once again out late at the Academy. I know that I should not be angry with him but if I must confess, I am a little jealous. I wish that he would spend more time with me.

The door to the drawing room opens and I sit up straighter. Instead of Benedict Anthony walks into the room.

"Anthony?" I stand up. "Is everything alright?"

"You were right," Anthony tells me.

I look at him confused. "I am not upset by the admission but a little confused as to what you are referring to."

"About my feelings for Miss Sharma," Anthony states.

I smile. "I am glad to know that you have finally realised it. But I do think this could have waited until tomorrow."

"I have something else to tell you," Anthony explains. "Since we look out for each other I want you to know what Benedict is doing."

"What Benedict is doing?" I question. "He is at the Academy."

"He is getting drunk at the Academy. And not just that he is drinking that tea again," Anthony tells me. I nod my head trying to compose myself from lashing out in anger. "I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Anthony," I tell him. "It is better for me to know then to be blindsided I suppose."

I sit on the end of my bed waiting for Benedict to return. When he does, I can tell right away that Anthony was telling me the truth.

"You are late," I tell him.

"I finished another painting," Benedict tells me.

"Anthony stopped by," I inform him.

"Anthony? Whatever for?" Benedict asks.

"He wanted me to know where you were. What you were doing. Who you were doing," I explain.

Benedict steps towards me. "Diana..."

I do not let him finish, "No. You are high again. After you promised me, you would not drink that tea again."

"It was a party," Benedict tells me.

"That does not make it better," I assure him. "In fact, it makes it worse."

"I was simply attending a party. You have attended numerous parties at Lady Danbury's," Benedict argues.

"Just because you are a second son, Benedict, does not mean you are exempt from familial duty. I am your wife, and we have a son," I tell him.

"If I'm learning anything from my art studies, it's that it is almost always a matter of... perspective. I look at my art, and if I do not like what I see, I may always alter the color palette, but I certainly do not toss the entire design aside," Benedict tells me.

"Are you truly that high?" I ask. "That you thought you would try to give me advice now?"

"I simply meant that..." Benedict starts.

"Go," I tell him.

"Go?" Benedict asks. "Where do you wish for me to go?"

"Anywhere else. I do not wish to sleep in the same bed as you tonight," I tell him. "You can sleep in a guest room."

"Diana, please," Benedict pleads.

"No. You will go," I tell him.

Benedict does not try to argue anymore before walking out of the room.