hi i miss him very much

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occasionally subtle
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if i look back, i am lost
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@missbridgerton20
hi i miss him very much
Day 7
The Beyond
Dearest Gentle Reader,
The chandeliers have been polished to a gleam, the kite laid carefully beside silk gloves and ribbons, and the final invitations sealed with wax and ribbon. At long last, the prompts for Benophie Week 2026 are ready to be revealed.
Over eight enchanting days, we invite you to step into a celebration of the hidden identities, stolen dances, lingering glances across crowded rooms, and the kind of love that transported us all. Inspired by the romance of our beloved Sophie Baek and Benedict Bridgerton, each prompt has been chosen by you, our honoured guests, to capture the magic, mystery, and devotion at the heart of their story.
So consider this your invitation to the festivities.
The ballroom awaits. The orchestra is poised to begin. The wedding march is about to begin.
We cannot wait to witness the dazzling creations that emerge once the festivities commence.
Yours in joyful anticipation,
The Benophie Week Team 🏡
I’ve always imagined Benophie’s first child taking first steps and everyone, the uncles, aunts, etc competing to see who they’ll walk to. I would love to see a fic (I know you wrote a fic in your 100 days that Benedict wanted Charles to say Mama first as a way of Sophie to be chosen but also I’m loling at this press run and Luke showing a competitive side)
Okay so i've tweaked this a bit so it's the viral walk to favourite aunt/uncle thing... i hope you don't mind...
Sunday lunch at Bridgerton House was loud in the way it always was when all eight siblings were home.
Which was to say: chaotic.
Anthony was trying and failing to maintain order at the head of the table while Kate laughed into her wineglass beside him. Gregory and Hyacinth were arguing over roast potatoes. Colin was halfway through telling an unnecessarily dramatic story to Penelope, who looked torn between affection and second-hand embarrassment. Eloise and Phillip were deep in some bizarre conversation about mushrooms. Francesca and Michaela sat shoulder-to-shoulder in comfortable quiet, occasionally exchanging looks that said these people are insane.
And in the middle of it all sat Charlie Bridgerton in his highchair, cheeks sticky with gravy and curls wild from his nap.
Sophie was wiping his hands when Benedict looked up from his phone with sudden delight.
“Oh,” he said. “We should do that thing.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes immediately. “Whenever you say that sentence, it ends badly.”
“The walking thing!” Benedict insisted. “The viral one. Where you line everyone up and see who the baby walks to.”
Hyacinth gasped. “YES.”
“Oh, this is excellent,” Colin declared.
Penelope laughed. “You all realise he may simply sit down halfway there.”
“He absolutely got Benedict’s dramatic tendencies,” Kate said dryly.
Benedict ignored them all, already scooping Charlie from the highchair. “Come along, darling boy. Time for science.”
“That is not science,” Phillip muttered.
Within minutes the drawing room had been transformed into what Eloise called “a deeply biased athletic event.”
Everyone lined up across the far side of the room.
On the carpet in the middle of the room sat Charlie Bridgerton, curls tousled from his nap and his stuffed fox clutched tightly in his tiny fist.
The stuffed fox Phillip Crane had brought him.
A month ago when he first met little Charlie and gifted it to him,
Which was apparently enough to alter the course of history.
Sophie sat behind Charlie on the floor, smoothing down his little jumper while Benedict hovered beside them like an anxious stage father.
“He’s never had this many people yelling at him before,” Sophie laughed.
“That’s not true,” Gregory said. “Family charades.”
“Fair.”
“All right,” Benedict announced. “No cheating. No bribery. No moving closer to him.”
Everyone looked immediately at Colin.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You have biscuits in your pockets,” Penelope said.
“They are emergency biscuits.”
Violet pressed her lips together, visibly trying not to laugh already.
“Ready, darling?” Sophie asked Charlie softly.
Charlie blinked up at her.
Then he pushed himself onto unsteady feet.
The entire room collectively lost its mind.
“Oh my God, look at him standing,” Daphne whispered emotionally.
“He’s literally been standing for days, and you’ve got two kids yourself… you’ve seen this in action…” Eloise replied.
“Yes but every time feels important.”
Charlie looked at the long line of waiting relatives.
Anthony crouched slightly, arms out. “Come to the head of the family, Charlie.”
Kate snorted. “If you say that to a child again I may divorce you.”
“Come to Auntie Hyacinth!” Hyacinth called dramatically. “I’m the fun one!”
“You taught him how to throw mashed potato,” Benedict reminded her.
“He laughed.”
“Charlie,” Colin called smoothly, opening his arms. “Come to Uncle Colin and I shall teach you piracy, adventure, and how to become devastatingly charming.”
Penelope muttered, “Please do not teach him any of those things.”
Simon simply lifted an eyebrow at the entire spectacle.
Francesca and Michaela sat quietly side-by-side, smiling softly.
Phillip looked deeply uncomfortable about being included at all.
And then Charlie started walking.
Tiny wobbling steps.
One after another.
The room went silent except for occasional gasps every time he nearly toppled over.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Sophie whispered.
Benedict looked seconds from crying again like he did the first time he saw his son walking.
Charlie was tottering towards Anthony for a moment but then veered left suddenly, straight toward Phillip.
There was a beat of utter silence.
Phillip blinked. “...What?”
Charlie made it to the final step and collapsed happily against Phillip’s knees, proudly waving the stuffed fox and squeaked “Ox!!!”
The room exploded.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Colin cried.
Anthony stared in outrage. “He’s met him twice.”
“TWICE,” Gregory repeated.
Eloise burst into hysterical laughter, nearly falling sideways. “OH THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”
Phillip looked bewildered as he carefully picked Charlie up. “Well… hello.”
Charlie immediately shoved the fox into his chest.
Violet laughed openly now, her hand over her mouth. “Oh that is precious.”
“It’s the fox,” Benedict groaned. “The fox has betrayed you all.”
Phillip, meanwhile, looked so quietly touched that even Anthony stopped complaining for a moment.
“Again!” Hyacinth demanded instantly. “Reset him. We need rankings.”
“Rankings?” Daphne echoed.
“Yes. This is now a tournament.”
And somehow nobody objected, which Sophie had to admit wasn’t overly shocked at, the Bridgerton’s were nothing if not competitive, she was just more shocked they didn’t think to go get the rest of the kids from the playroom and do it with them all.
Charlie was gently returned to the middle of the carpet.
This time he looked far more confident, wobbling immediately toward Hyacinth.
“Yes!” she shouted, scooping him up triumphantly. “Vindication!”
“You are encouraging him toward chaos,” Anthony said.
Hyacinth grinned. “And?”
Kate was next.
Charlie practically toddled into her lap without hesitation.
Kate melted instantly, kissing his cheek while he giggled.
Anthony looked smug for approximately three seconds until Charlie turned directly away from him afterward.
“Oh no,” Benedict whispered.
Anthony straightened as Charlie slowly made his way toward him next, determination all over his tiny face.
“There we are,” Anthony said confidently, lifting him into his arms. “Excellent instincts.”
“Anthony,” Eloise deadpanned, “he also tried to eat a candle this morning.”
Anthony ignored her entirely. “Clearly he recognises leadership.”
Kate laughed so hard she had to lean against Violet’s chair.
Then came Eloise.
Charlie wandered over mostly because she was sitting cross-legged on the floor instead of crouching normally.
“Hello, my little menace,” she greeted fondly as he grabbed onto her sleeve. “You’ve caused irreparable damage already.”
“He really has,” Colin muttered darkly.
Daphne’s turn made Violet visibly emotional.
Charlie toddled toward her with complete trust, and Daphne gathered him close immediately, rocking him instinctively while Simon smiled beside her.
“Oh, darling boy,” Violet murmured softly.
Francesca was quiet and gentle as Charlie simply leaned against her knees until she lifted him into her lap.
Michaela got a huge grin and immediate grabby hands for her bracelets.
“Well hello there,” Michaela laughed. “You’ve got expensive taste already.”
Penelope’s turn nearly ended in tears because Charlie reached her and instantly buried his face in her chest.
“Aww,” Gregory groaned.
“She gives him sweets… and clearly has fun pillows…,” Eloise said knowingly.
“That is slander.”
“It is absolutely true,” Colin replied.
Simon’s turn was calm and solid, Charlie reached him, patted his arm thoughtfully, then settled happily against his chest like they had reached some silent agreement.
Gregory, when it was his turn, got laughter from his youngest nephew.
Actual shrieking baby laughter because he made a ridiculous face and pretended to fall over before Charlie even reached him.
“Yes!” Gregory cheered. “Finally someone appreciates physical comedy.”
And then, only Colin remained.
The room immediately became unbearable.
Colin dropped dramatically to his knees. “Charles Richard Bridgerton. Son of my beloved brother. We have a bond… How could you do this to me??”
Charlie stared at him blankly
Colin pressed a hand to his chest. “I am your fun uncle.”
“Debatable,” Anthony said.
“I taught him pirate noises!”
“You frightened him with pirate noises,” Sophie corrected.
Penelope was already laughing too hard to help.
“Come here, darling boy,” Colin pleaded. “Come to Uncle Colin.”
Charlie blinked and looked at him and then sat down.
The room erupted so violently Violet had tears streaming down her face.
“Oh this is cruel,” Kate gasped between laughs.
“DEVASTATING,” Hyacinth shouted.
Colin looked genuinely wounded. “Charlie.”
Charlie smiled at him.
Then slowly, very slowly, to the point it was painful to watch as he pushed himself back up.
“One step,” Gregory narrated dramatically.
Charlie toddled forward.
“Another step,” Benedict whispered.
Colin looked like he was witnessing a religious experience.
Finally Charlie stumbled directly into his arms.
“YES!” Colin cried triumphantly, lifting him high. “I KNEW IT. Favourite uncle Colin prevails!”
The family groaned.
And then Charlie immediately leaned around him toward Penelope with grabby hands.
Silence.
Penelope burst into laughter.
Anthony physically bent over.
Eloise actually slid off the sofa laughing.
Violet wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh my poor Colin.”
Colin stared at Charlie in betrayal. “You used me to reach Penelope?”
Charlie patted his cheek lovingly.
“ip,” he announced proudly.
Across the room Benedict absolutely beamed.
And Colin sighed deeply. “Right. Fine. I accept being second favourite.”
“Not even close… not even second to last,” Eloise said instantly.
Also Benedict Bridgerton's puppy eyes should be classified as a lethal weapon.
the thought of a commitment-phobe man falling so deeply in love with a woman he changes his ways, but she wants nothing to do with him (she actually does), so now he needs to show that what he feels is not some passing fancy, because if he cannot be with her, then he might as well just kill himself (i'm exaggerating... or not?)
and yes, i'm talking about you, benedict bridgerton
gif: spontaneousellipsis
Dearest Gentle Reader,
There are some love stories that do not simply pass through a season… they linger. Softly, steadfastly, and entirely unforgettable.
So it is with the tale of Sophie Baek and Benedict Bridgerton, a romance cherished in every telling, whether upon the page, upon the screen, or in the hearts of those who hold them dear.
As we prepare for Benophie Week 2026 (12th–19th June), we invite you to help shape a celebration worthy of such devotion. A collection of prompts awaits your choosing, each one an opportunity to honour a love where longing lingers and love dares to be seen.
Your voice, as ever, is essential.
Consider this your invitation to add a brushstroke to the canvas, or a careful hand to the plan, by completing the Google Form below, and help us craft a week that reflects the tenderness, yearning, and quiet courage at the heart of their story.
Your Choices for 2026 Benophie Week!
Yours in quiet anticipation,
The Benophie Week Team
He’s developed this exterior that’s very amenable. [He] doesn’t feel like anything bothers him, yet clearly, in the middle of him, there is this side that is running away from something. Even with the mistress offer, it’s sort of quite a neurotic thing to do. It’s like trying to compartmentalize your life, this reluctance to give someone everything. It’s quite refreshing because he has a very soft exterior, and then there’s actually this center that is a bit more controlling, which is a surprise. — Luke Thompson
LUKE THOMPSON as BENEDICT BRIDGERTON BRIDGERTON | seasons 1-4
HAND IT OVER NETFLIX
SPOILERS- I just wanted to do a compilation of Benedict snapping cause man was going THROUGH it and he was ready to FIGHT for Sophie (scenepacks from jcqscenes on ig)
What moves me most about Bridgerton Season 4 is that Benedict does not waver.
Not in a grand, performative way... but in that quiet, almost frightening certainty of someone who knows what he feels, and refuses to let doubt rewrite it.
Because he SHOULD waver.
This is Benedict Bridgerton - the “spare,” the charming one, the one who has always learned to take up just enough space, and no more. The kind of man who, when faced with uncertainty, would ordinarily step back.
But with Sophie Baek, he does not.
Because for the first time, his love is not shaped by how it is received - It is grounded in what he recognizes.
He sees her. Not merely the illusion, not merely the mystery... but the fear, the restraint, the life that has taught her to hold herself back.
And instead of reading her distance as rejection, he understands it as context.
And he stays.
Not loudly. Not forcefully. But with a steadiness that feels earned.
And that is why it lingers.
Because this is not love at first sight as we often dismiss it...
It is recognition at first sight, and choice thereafter.
Again, and again, and again.
Even when she cannot meet him there.
And Sophie - you never doubt her love.
It lives in precisely what she cannot say, in what she dares not hope for, in that quiet ache of restraint.
There is something deeply reminiscent of Pride and Prejudice in it - where longing carries more weight than confession, and understanding matters more than ease.
And perhaps that is why it resonates so deeply.
Because this is not a story about pursuit.
It is a story about becoming...
About a man learning to hold love without fear, and a woman learning she is allowed to be loved at all ❤️
Facts
It's my 3 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳
Ash,
I am dieing to kown what is your thoughts of s4 as you are a massive fan of Benophie
Honestly I’m still floating.
I know a lot of people have been upset that we didn’t get dialogue from the book but honesty what they did….
It feels so book accurate without being accurate.
It’s kept the feelings and the key scenes and it better.
Benedict’s confession. He’s sheer will to be with Sophie was amazing
John’s death was done beautifully. I basically cried from the moment Sophie tried to end things at Benedict to her being arrested.
I even didn’t mind the little sub plots
And fucking Alice Mondrich!!! What an MVP! My girl!
And the wedding at the end.
Alfie giving Sophie away like he’s her big bro was just beautiful.
Honestly it was incredible. Utterly fucking spectacular.
As a Benophie from season 1 and falling in love with their book, it was everything and more than I could have dreamed for.
Perfect.
Also the queen calling Sophie a diamond…: fucking called that years ago 😂😂😂
The winner of the Sneak Peak Vote was The Weight of Legacy…
So here is chapter 1 as a treat to all my lovely followers!
Let me know your thoughts!
Chapter 1: Edges
The rink belonged to Sophie before it belonged to the world.
At five in the morning, the Penwood training facility was silent but for the hum of refrigeration beneath the floor and the distant click of Alfie’s stopwatch. The stands were empty. No flags. No cameras. No commentators rehearsing her name.
Just ice.
She stood at the threshold for a moment, gloved fingers resting against the gate.
Her father had taught her never to rush the first step.
Listen first, Richard would say, crouched beside her when she was small enough that her boots swallowed her ankles whole. The ice tells you what it wants.
She had been two when he first set her down on blades.
She had fallen immediately.
She had laughed harder than she’d cried.
Now she pushed onto the rink with the quiet reverence of someone entering a cathedral.
One glide.
Two crossovers.
Speed unfurled inside her like memory.
It came naturally, the acceleration, the low, powerful knee bend, the ability to build velocity in seconds. That was her father. Olympic speed skater. Relentless. Efficient.
But the stillness at the centre of it, the awareness of line, of extension, of breath, that was Marie Baek.
Sophie never remembered her mother’s voice clearly. Just flashes of perfume and applause and soft Korean murmurs in the background of old recordings. Richard had kept every tape. Every article. Every program sheet.
“She skated because she loved it,” he’d told Sophie once. “Not because anyone told her to.”
Triple Lutz.
She snapped into the air, tight, controlled, landing with a clean running edge that carried her nearly half the rink.
She let it run.
That part was hers.
She moved into a triple-triple combination without hesitation. The rhythm between take-off and landing was instinctive now, not calculated but felt.
When she skated alone, she didn’t count rotations.
She remembered.
Her father’s hand at the small of her back correcting posture.
His laugh when she’d tried to race him in hockey skates and lost spectacularly.
Her mother’s layback spin looping endlessly on grainy video.
On the ice, they were both with her.
She spun into a Biellmann, pulling her blade overhead, the stretch sharp but familiar. She held it longer than required, because she could.
And because no one was watching.
The rink doors opened.
The smile vanished.
“Again,” Araminta said.
Her voice carried crisply across the ice.
Sophie didn’t turn immediately. She finished her exit edge first.
Araminta Gun stood at the boards wrapped in cream wool and impatience. Her heels were wholly impractical for a training rink but she wore them anyway. Appearance before function.
“The federation wants footage of the quad attempt,” Araminta continued, scrolling through her phone. “It tests well.”
Irma’s head snapped up from the stands. “She’s not doing quads in the short.”
Araminta waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t mean in competition. Just for the media. It shows range.”
“It shows injury risk,” Irma replied flatly.
Sophie reset for another triple combination.
Araminta frowned slightly. “Is that the axel one?”
“It was a Lutz-toe,” Alfie muttered under his breath.
Araminta ignored him as she always did.
“You need to hold the landing longer. And smile. Not that small one, the brighter one. Sponsors like warmth.”
Sophie launched again.
Clean.
Precise.
Short glide.
Emotionless
Alfie noticed the difference immediately.
“Let it breathe,” he called gently. “You’re cutting your exit.”
She adjusted on the next pass.
Under her father, skating had felt like a ritual. Like freedom.
Under Araminta, it felt like inventory.
Irma descended the steps slowly, hands in her jacket pockets.
“You’re over-rotating your toe loop when she talks,” she said quietly as Sophie skated close.
“I know.”
“Don’t let noise change your edges.”
Sophie nodded.
Irma had coached her father once, back when Richard was still chasing hundredths of seconds on straight ice instead of guiding a little girl through figure-eight drills. When he died, Irma had stayed. Not out of obligation. Out of loyalty. To Sophie only.
Alfie had stayed too.
He’d been barely more than a trainee then, all nervous energy and determination. Now he leaned over the boards with the casual protectiveness of an older brother.
“You’re still the favourite for the individual,” he said softly. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Across the rink, Araminta was already correcting a federation rep.
“She’s competing in everything,” Araminta was saying. “Individual, pairs, team. Maximum exposure. Marie Baek’s daughter winning across categories is historic.”
Irma muttered, “It’s exhausting.”
Sophie didn’t comment.
She had made the individual cut easily.
There had never been doubt.
She could land combinations most senior skaters avoided. Her stamina was unmatched. Judges rewarded her speed through transitions, something few pure figure skaters possessed.
But Araminta never spoke about footwork.
Only headlines.
The side door opened again.
Hugh Im entered quietly, shrugging out of his jacket. The Team GB crest was still faintly visible beneath the temporary South Korean patch stitched over it.
He had made the extended roster for Britain but not the final Olympic individual selection.
So Araminta had poached him, sent someone to get him after she’d found a slip of paper with his credentials and his name and heritage on it.
Unbeknown to her, Posy had left it, thinking since her mother was desperate for a partner for Sophie and no one else stayed, that he would be perfect and he would do it for her. He would swap to represent South Korea with Sophie, for a chance to compete, and be closer to Posy without anyone being any the wiser as she knew her mother would never approve of their relationship.
“That’s him?” Araminta said, squinting slightly. “He’s taller than I expected.”
“He’s six foot,” Alfie replied.
“That’s fine. It’ll look dramatic.”
Hugh stepped forward.
His expression was neutral, he knew the deal, he’d heard it all from Posy, what her mother was like, but he knew Sophie’s talent was unmatched. Team GB had been desperate for her to sign with them, the daughter of two olympic champions, with the talent to rival anyone’s. He’d met Sophie a few times at competitions throughout the years, they’d skated together once but it had been like skating with his sister… There was no chemistry there but this was his shot at the Olympics and he was going to take it, even if it was on Sophie’s coattails.
“Sophie,” he said, offering a nod and a friendly smile.
“Hugh.”
Araminta clapped once. “Let’s see the lift, the twirly overhead one.”
“The rotational?” Hugh clarified carefully.
“Yes, that.”
Irma closed her eyes briefly.
Hugh stepped onto the ice.
His edges were strong, not breathtaking, but dependable. His posture was clean. He approached Sophie with quiet professionalism.
“Rotational first?” he asked her, ignoring Araminta’s commentary.
“Yes.”
His hands settled at her waist.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
He lifted.
Strong core engagement. Stable axis. No wobble.
She rotated easily and landed with barely a sound.
“Again,” Araminta called. “But look happier.”
Hugh’s mouth twitched faintly.
They repeated it.
Then a throw jump.
His timing was a fraction late. She compensated automatically.
He noticed.
“You adjust before I finish,” he murmured.
“So do you.”
They reset.
After the third run-through he said quietly, “For what it’s worth, I know this isn’t your focus.”
“I know and I know why you are here really…” she replied just as quietly.
Relief flickered across his face as not having to lie to his partner would make it easier.
There was no spark between them. No charge. Just rhythm.
They worked well.
They did not burn.
When the music started for their pairs short, they moved through the choreography cleanly. Step sequences aligned. Turns matched.
But when their hands linked, there was no electricity.
From the boards, Araminta beamed.
“See? Chemistry,” she said brightly.
Irma snorted, there was about as much tension between them as water in the desert.
Training stretched into late morning.
Media coordinators arrived. Cameras tested lighting angles. Araminta positioned herself precisely where she could be seen.
Sophie collapsed onto the bench beside Alfie.
“You were flying earlier,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“What changed?”
She glanced across the rink where Araminta was explaining to a journalist how “figure skating scores are mostly about presentation.”
Sophie wiped her blade carefully.
“When I skate alone,” she said softly, “I can feel them.”
Alfie didn’t ask who.
He knew.
Richard’s steady hands guiding her shoulders.
Marie’s old programs flickering through empty arenas.
“They’d be proud,” Alfie said.
Irma approached, pressing a bottle of water into Sophie’s hands. “You skate like you’re apologising when she’s watching.”
Sophie swallowed.
“I don’t mean to.”
“I know.”
Across the rink, Araminta laughed too loudly at something trivial.
“She’s going to burn you out,” Irma said under her breath.
“She won’t,” Sophie replied.
But she wasn’t sure whether that was confidence or defiance.
When the session finally ended, the Zamboni rolled out, smoothing away every mark.
Hugh lingered near the gate.
“You’re still the one they’re afraid of in the individual tournament,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
“You are,” he insisted. “Everyone knows it. You are world champion after all”
“Fear doesn’t win medals, nor does the fact I am the world champion...”
“No,” he agreed. “But joy does.”
She stilled.
He shrugged lightly. “You had it earlier.”
A pause.
“I’m glad it’s you,” he added.
“As a partner?”
“As a person.”
She nodded.
“Me too.”
It was honest, it was friendship, nothing more.
Just steady ground.
The resurfacer finished its slow pass. The ice gleamed again, flawless, unmarked.
Sophie stepped back onto it one last time before the lights dimmed.
One long glide.
This time she let it run.
For her father.
For her mother.
For the girl who had once laughed when she fell.
For the love that had started this.
Not the pressure that threatened to finish it.
And for a brief, fragile moment, she felt the pulse again and hoped the lights of the Games would let her forget about Araminta and skate how she felt
Seollal
Note: i've been writing this for a few days and done some research so i hope to god i've done this justice... i'm a white woman and whilst i've done Chinese New Year and know their traditions from working in a Chinese restaurant, this was new and i deeply hope i've done an okay job! but Gong Xi Fa Cai and saehae bok mani badeuseyo and Akemashite omedetō to all who celebrate.
The first lantern was already glowing when Sophie realised her hands were trembling.
It hung from the old apple tree at My Cottage, a small red light against the deepening winter dusk. Along the fence and beneath the eaves, more lanterns waited to be lit. Inside the house, voices carried, laughter, footsteps, the cheerful disorder of a large family gathering.
Benedict came to stand beside her.
“Too much?” he asked quietly.
Sophie looked at the lantern.
“No,” she said after a moment. “Only… I never thought I should see this again.”
The memories were still fresh, the pain and the trauma she was sure would fade eventually but today, especially, it came rushing back, at Penwood, the New Year had never been neglected.
Each year, the house shone with red, gold, white and blue. Guests were received. Wishes were written. white packets were prepared for family, visitors, and servants alike.
The celebration was never absent.
Only Sophie was.
After the Earl’s death, when Araminta forced her into service, Sophie rose before dawn each New Year to help Irma prepare the feast. She folded dumplings, carried trays, and lit lanterns she would not be allowed to admire once the evening began.
She watched Posy and Rosamund receive their packets.
She watched the servants receive theirs.
The first year after her father’s death she reached for one, the tray was drawn back.
“Those are not for you.”
After that, she did not reach again.
It was not the tradition she had been denied.
It was belonging. Sophie knew what Araminta thought of her, that she’d only ever been included before her father died because of his insistence, she was his “ward” as he’d told Araminta, not daughter, ward… even though the whole of Penwood knew the truth.
“Mrs. Bridgerton?”
Sophie jerked, pulled out of her memories. Mr. Crabtree stood with a blue lantern, a small smile on his face, he’d always read her well and knew when she needed to be brought out of her head.
“If you’ll tell me where this one goes, ma’am.”
She steadied herself.
“Along the lower branch, please. Thank you, next to the white, for the Taegeuk pattern.”
Inside, the house was alive with preparation.
Irma commanded the kitchen with flour on her sleeves and fierce determination.
“If anyone says they do not like dumplings,” she declared, “they may go hungry.”
“No Bridgerton has ever done such a thing,” Mrs. Crabtree assured her.
Alfie moved through the rooms with quiet authority. John assisted Benedict with decorations. Hazel hovered near Sophie, adjusting ribbons and pressing a reassuring hand at her back.
“You look nervous,” Hazel murmured.
“I am hosting a viscount, a duke, an earl, Lady Danbury, my mother-in-law, seven children all of whom are under 10 and not to mention the rest of my in-laws ,” Sophie said.
Hazel smiled. “And every one of them already loves you.”
From the doorway, Alfie announced:
“The first carriage has arrived.”
Anthony and Kate came first.
Anthony descended with Neddy holding his hand, while Kate followed with baby Milo bundled against the cold.
Neddy pointed immediately at the lanterns.
“Lights!”
“They will glow tonight,” Sophie promised.
Kate turned slowly, taking it all in.
“Oh, Sophie,” she said warmly. “It’s beautiful.”
Anthony nodded, his approval quiet but unmistakable.
“You’ve done something remarkable.”
Benedict appeared beside Sophie. “She has. I supervised, she wouldn’t let me help after I broke the first lantern.”
Kate laughed. Anthony smiled, his lips twitched at his brother's eager confession and small boast about how wonderfully his wife had done.
The lane soon filled with carriages.
Colin and Penelope arrived with eighteen-month-old Elliot, determined to walk everywhere himself.
Daphne and Simon followed with Auggie, Belinda, Caroline, and little David.
Francesca came with John Stirling, calm and observant.
Gregory and Hyacinth ran ahead before their carriage stopped.
Violet embraced Sophie as though she had always belonged.
Lady Danbury surveyed the decorations and announced, “At last. A celebration with proper ambition.”
The final carriage drew up more quietly.
“Posy!”
Posy hurried into Sophie’s arms, her eyes bright.
Behind her stood a gentle-looking gentleman.
“Hugh Im,” Posy said proudly. “My husband.”
Hugh bowed warmly. “I have been told you are responsible for this evening. I already admire you greatly.”
Sophie squeezed Posy’s hands.
“I am so glad you came.”
By afternoon, My Cottage was full.
Children played under Hazel’s watchful eye. Alfie directed coats and refreshments. John moved easily between rooms. Irma and Mrs. Crabtree ran the kitchen like a well-planned campaign.
At one point, Sophie slipped quietly inside and placed a stack of white packets on the kitchen table.
“These are for you, I wanted to give you yours first” she said.
Irma blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Of course and no one works tonight, you are all partaking in the celebrations. I insist.”
Mrs. Crabtree dabbed her eyes. Alfie attempted to refuse and failed. Mr. Crabtree thoughtfully examined his packet.
Hazel simply hugged her.
At dusk, everyone gathered in the garden.
The lanterns were lit one by one, their warm light spreading through the winter air.
Sophie stood beside the apple tree, the basket of white packets in her hands.
“These customs come from my family,” she said softly. “They had apple trees at Penwood for many years, the new Lord Penwood had an apple tree sent here as a wedding gift and Mr Crabtree has ensured it’s safety and that it will continue to grow for years to come”
She hesitated.
“For a long time, I prepared the celebration without being part of it. This is the first year in many that I have been able to welcome the New Year myself and I just wanted to say a small thank you to you all, for accepting me, for encouraging me, for welcoming me into this family… it’s an honour to be a Bridgerton and be part of this family.”
Silence settled briefly.
Then Violet stepped forward and took her hand.
“My dear,” she said gently, “then we shall celebrate it properly.”
Sophie began distributing the white packets.
To the children first.
Neddy opened his immediately.
Elliot tried to eat the paper.
Gregory asked if there were seconds.
Then to the adults.
No one was overlooked.
Not one. Sophie even had packets prepared to give to the villagers tomorrow but tonight, when the last packet had been given, Anthony cleared his throat.
“We have one more thing,” he said.
The family gathered together.
Penelope nudged Colin. Hyacinth stood very straight. Gregory looked pleased with himself. Violet smiled knowingly.
Then, together, some carefully, some boldly, some with dreadful pronunciation, they said:
“Saehae bok mani badeuseyo!”
Happy New Year.
In Korean.
For a moment, Sophie did not understand as it was jumbled together and for the most part mispronounced. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Benedict leaned close and repeated it softly, carefully.
It was imperfect.
It was beautiful.
“You learned that… for me?”
“We practised,” Hyacinth said proudly.
“Anthony made cards after Ben had the idea,” Gregory added.
“They were very small cards,” Anthony said defensively.
Lady Danbury nodded. “I refused to rehearse and am therefore superior.”
Violet squeezed Sophie’s hands.
“You are part of this family, even before you married Benedict, you were part of it, even when we struggled with the pressures of society, you were important to us all, but this family would not be complete without you. Your traditions are our traditions now, you are a Bridgerton Sophie, the purest of us all” she said.
Sophie wiped away tears as there were murmurs of agreement and Benedict wrapped an arm around her waist and tenderly kissed her neck, as he liked to do regardless of who was watching, a bright smile on his face.
One by one, wishes were tied to the apple tree.
The lanterns glowed steadily.
Children ran between the lights. Posy stood beside Hugh, smiling through tears. Irma laughed with Hazel near the kitchen door. Alfie and Mr. Crabtree observed the garden with deep satisfaction.
Benedict slipped an arm around Sophie.
“Well?” he asked softly.
Sophie looked at the glowing tree.
At the lanterns.
At the white packets of luck, love and blessings for her family. Chosen and Found.
At the family who had learned her language.
For years, she had stood in the shadows and watched other people’s happiness.
Tonight, she stood at the centre of her own.
“This year,” she said quietly, leaning into him, “it found me.”
Above them, the lanterns swayed gently in the winter night.
And at My Cottage, for the first time in many years, Sophie welcomed the New Year not as someone who served the celebration but as someone who belonged once more within its light.
Benedict’s love for Sophie rekindling his love for art and pursuing it again after feeling it to be worthless is just so damn dear to me!!! he finally found someone who truly appreciates his work 😭
Hello Silverhallow, could you write a scene where Sophie collapses on the stairs because she’s overworked herself?
I hope you like it:
The grand staircase gleamed in the soft morning light, the banister polished to a mirror’s shine. It was early yet, the hour when housemaids scurried in hushed footsteps and the household had not quite woken to the bustle of the day. Sophie Baek moved carefully down the steps, one hand balancing a tray of freshly pressed muslin and the other gripping the polished rail.
She had not slept properly in two nights, between Eloise’s upcoming visit to the modiste, Lady Bridgerton’s dinner plans, Hyacinth’s requests for Latin and French lessons and a hundred small details between had kept her on her feet from dawn to long past candlelight. It was pride that kept her from complaining; gratitude, even, for a place under this roof.
But pride could not stave off exhaustion forever.
At the sixth stair from the bottom, her vision swam. The tray tilted, and before she could right it, the muslin fluttered like pale butterflies through the air. Sophie grasped at the rail, but the edges of the world went dark, sound receding to a distant drumbeat.
She crumpled silently.
“Good God…Sophie!” Benedict Bridgerton was halfway down the hall when he saw her fall. He reached her in moments, dropping to one knee beside her motionless form.
“Benedict? What has happened?” Eloise called, hurrying from the drawing room, her skirts swishing indignantly. “Oh…oh heavens, it’s Sophie! I bet she hasn’t eaten since last night, I told her…”
“She’s burning up,” Benedict murmured, pressing his hand lightly to Sophie’s temple. Then, more to himself, “And lighter than a feather, by the feel of her.”
He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders, another beneath her knees. She stirred faintly, a whisper of breath escaping her lips. Her head fell against his cravat as he lifted her easily.
“Brother, you can’t just carry her upstairs like some knight from one of your romantic notions,” Eloise scolded, though her tone trembled more with concern than mockery.
“I assure you, my notions are far less romantic—and far more practical,” he said, striding toward the servants’ hallway. “She needs a bed, not a debate and likely a Doctor."
Sophie’s eyelids fluttered open for a moment as they reached the landing. Her gaze met his and even in her dazed confusion, there was something mortifyingly sharp about her awareness.
“Mr. Bridgerton… please, you mustn’t…” she whispered.
“Mustn’t what?” His voice softened.
“Carry… me,” she murmured weakly. “It isn’t… proper.”
Benedict’s mouth curved, half amusement, half fierce tenderness. “Then I shall consider it an act of rebellion.”
Behind them, Eloise huffed. “If the scandal sheets could see you now, they would positively combust.”
“Let them,” Benedict said without glancing back. “They’ve written worse.”
At that, Sophie’s faint smile vanished into sleep once more as he carried her away, and the grand staircase, still gleaming in the morning light, stood as silent witness to a truth neither of them wanted to talk about.