He’d wanted to fuss at her when he’d found her up and walking around, the newborn babe in her arms barely having completed one full rotation of the Earth.
The ordeal of birth had been…an eye opening experience. Benedict had vacillated between fearful nausea and breathless excitement as he’d watched his wife labor to being their child into the world. He’d been exhausted by the end of it, and decided that meant Sophie had to have been stretched to nearly beyond human capacity.
The midwife hadn’t seemed overly concerned, declaring the birth a rather easy one, which had earned a glare from Mrs. Crabtree and an edict that Mrs. Bridgerton was to stay in bed for at least a week to heal and recover her strength to which Benedict has wholeheartedly agreed.
And yet here she was, his ever intrepid wife, child in her arms, bare feet, in her night dress, perusing the shelves of the library.
He could feign surprise, but the reality was, as much as he wanted to wrap her up and bundle her off to bed, to keep her safe and protected from all the world’s ill, to insist she not lift a finger, he knew that wasn’t her. She was the product of two worlds, often caught between the two, and they were making it up as they went along.
“Aren’t you not supposed to be in bed,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
She turned to him, a small, mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Do you know what’s interesting about spending all day in bed?”
He laughed, the deep, rich sound echoing in the stillness because that was her. Throwing his own words back at him in this very room. “I have an idea,” he finally answered stepping forward and taking the swaddled, sleeping bundle into his arms, grateful for his army of younger siblings that afforded him the experience of handling such a tiny being—though the depth of awe and love was new and overwhelming. He gave into the impulse and place a small kiss against the soft, downy hair.
“But,” he added, his gaze shifting to her, growing critical, “I don’t care. Back to bed.”
“You heard Mrs. Crabtree,” he insisted.
“I am not spending a week in bed.”
She smiled at him, satisfied, and his own grin deepened.
“Now, pick your book before Mrs. Crabtree awakens and finds us. Then back to bed with you, and I shall read to you until you fall asleep.”
“I will need to feed the baby soon,” she pointed out obstinately, though the glint in her eye betrayed any severity.
“Then I shall read to you both until you’re both contented and comfortable and fast asleep.”
She roller her eyes, but leaned in for a quick kiss nonetheless which he was glad to provide.
“To bed wife,” he said, offering her his free arm. She grabbed a book off the shelf then wrapped her small hand in the crook of his arm.
He set off to the bedroom, but stopped when he heard a small hiss.
“Perhaps a little slower,” Sophie said sheepishly.
He gave an apologetic grunt even knowing his stubborn, strong, adorable, slightly ridiculous wife was going to make his life hell as he worried about her.
And he would love every moment.
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