The Muse // Benedict Bridgerton

The Theatrics of Grief

A/N: trigger warning - consistent discussions of grief, smut, 

The Duke of Suffolk passed away by heart attack in the early hours of the morning, found by his beloved children Lord Henry Blackthorne and Lady Lucy Bridgerton née Blackthorne. That is what Lady Whistledown had reported in her column. Lucy read over the word beloved about a hundred times. The funeral was held a week later but flowers and condolences from the families of the ton kept arriving for weeks and weeks after. It was apparent that he was a much-loved member of the ton, regardless of how he treated his family. 

Lucy expected no less, though – everything dark had transpired behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, so of course people were oblivious and in mourning at the magnificent Duke that they had lost. The shock at finding her father still seemed to not have set in for Lucy – the only emotion she had shown in regard to his passing was the shrill scream that erupted from her moments after they had found him. Ever since then, she had felt empty. Not a single tear had been shed on her part. She did not feel any emotion other than emptiness. She supposed that she should feel something, anything – maybe even relief at his passing – but no.

After the funeral, she and Benedict returned to My Cottage and decided to stay there indefinitely. It was a much-needed break from society, and one she had been cherishing. Even though she was a city girl at heart, everything got too loud for her and she knew she had to escape – she needed privacy to grieve and process her feelings. Most of all, she had to prepare for the baby's arrival. She still had a few months to go, but one could never know with these things.

It was a cold morning, almost Christmas time, and Lucy was sitting outside allowing the icy breeze to slice at her face as she looked down at the invitation in her hands from the new Duke of Suffolk – Henry. He had invited Lucy and Benedict to Wyndall house to celebrate the holiday season, and Lucy could only presume he had also invited Eleanor and Alfred, and possibly the rest of the Bridgertons as well. It would not be unusual as they had often spent Christmases together in the past. This one would be different, she thought, but she did not know how different. Lucy had not seen her siblings since just after the funeral. It was mainly her own fault – she had left as soon as she could – and even though she had corresponded with her siblings and mother regularly, she still felt bad about not being with them physically. She did not know how everyone else was dealing with the passing of her father, or what stages of grief they were in, which would certainly make for an interesting reunion.

"I got a letter from Anthony this morning – they were all invited too," Benedict spoke as he took a seat next to his wife, stretching his arm around her for her to nestle into.

"I do not think it is wise for me to travel. The baby could come any day, you know," Lucy said, her voice vibrating against his chest.

"I think you're fine for the next few weeks. You can't keep avoiding them forever," he said in a moderately accusatory tone but still with a boyish grin on his face. Lucy lifted up her head, annoyed.

"I am not avoiding them, for god's sake," Lucy whined, wrapping her arms around her bump and moving away from Benedict. He ignored the movement and pulled her back into him.

"It's been months, Lucy. It's alright if you are, but you will have to see them eventually. And it is the first Christmas since ... well, my point is it's the time of year you should spend with people you love, not squared away in a cottage alone," He explained.

"I not alone. I have Mrs. Crabtree. And Mr. Crabtree. Both of whom have been incredibly helpful with preparing for the baby's arrival. And I have you. That is all I need right now, Benedict," Lucy responded, shuffling back into place against his chest.