Now I keep imagining Benedict drinking the special tea after theyāre married and heās so out of it he doesnāt really recognise Sophie for a bit but he keeps complimenting her and looking awed and he asks if sheās married she smiles and says yes and heās devastated until she tells him she married him š
Sophie found her husband by the edge of the lake, sitting under an oak tree as he gazed in rapture at a verdant leaf. He held it delicately with the tips of his fingers and turned it this way, then that, as if it somehow held the secrets of the universe that only his contemplation could unlock.
She had known to look for him the moment Mrs. Crabtree said there had been a parcel delivered from Mr. Bridgertonās brother in London. The box had contained an assortment of paint tubes and a jar of linseed oil that could only be purchased in town, along with a plain leather pouch marked by an unpleasant, but familiar, aroma. The pouch, now sitting on her husbandās desk in the study, was open, a shallow indentation the shape of two fingertips pressed into the dark powder.
As she came closer, her husband remained transfixed by the oak leaf, only glancing up once she was nearly by his side. His arms dropped, the leaf forgotten, as his eyesāthe pupils full and darkāwidened even further to take her in.
āYou, madam, are a vision, simply the most beautifulāā
āBenedictāā
āYou know me? No, ātis not possible. For I would have remembered meeting a being as ethereal as you. Tell me, what is your name? Flora? Helen? Aphrodite?ā
āBenedict!ā
A touch unsteadily, he rose to his feet, then reverently grasped her hands in his. His expression was euphoric, his gaze determined.
āI presume, but please tell me if my hopes are not in vain. Fair goddess, tell me: are you married?ā
Under other circumstances, Sophie might have been put out by the idea of her husband declaring his love for another womanābut when the woman in question was herself, it was impossible not to be a touch amused. He had in all other regards shown himself to be a devoted and loving husband, but still, perhaps she might make him suffer a little in recompense, if not for failing to recognize his own wife then for his liberal sampling of the exotic tea that had robbed him of his faculties.
āI am married, sir, happily. To a man who has brought me every joy and comfort, someone I cannot imagine living without.ā
His face fell, his features suddenly stricken with the deepest disappointment. Despite the game she was playing, it hurt her heart to see him so, reminding her of the pain she had once seen in his eyes during those dark days before their engagement, when she had told him of her plans to depart.
āI cannot bear it,ā he said, his voice haunted, āto see you and know you could never be mine. Whoever this man is, he cannot possibly be deserving of you.ā
āOh, but he is.ā Sophie pulled her hands free and wrapped them around his waist. She tilted her head up to meet his now thoroughly confused gaze. āBecause he is you.ā
āTruly?ā he asked in wild-eyed wonder. āYou are my wife?ā
āSo said the vicar, on our wedding day.ā
āI shall thank God for my good fortune,ā he said, āand as it is not a scandal for a husband to kiss his own wife, I shall do that too. For you are too radiant to go unkissed.ā
He leaned down, his lips soft and urgent against hers, and despite knowing that the intoxicants of the tea were still in effect, Sophie let his attentions continue for far longer than was perhaps proper.
āCome, sir,ā she said, as she stepped beside him and threaded her arm through his for support. āLet us get you to your bed. I will write a strongly-worded letter to your brother about the contents of his parcels and when you wake, Iāll be pleased to remind you of every detail of this folly.ā
