CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
love and commitment.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

1807.

     IT IS A PERFECT DAY TO GET MARRIED. The churchyard in the village is brightened by the sunshine of late May, birds singing in the cloudless sky above while there is barely a breeze to disturb the proceedings. White blossom petals have showered the path from the hawthorn tree leaning over it, all leading up to the door of the chapel.

The bride is a picture of purity. Her white muslin dress has a similarly pristine veil draped over her bonnet, which has pale flowers decorated around the band. In her hands, which are encased in delicate, lacy white gloves, she holds a small bouquet of daffodils, picked from her own home. Winifred passes the bouquet between each hand with nerves as she waits outside the church door with her father. She knows her husband-to-be is waiting inside — she is hardly having second thoughts, but suddenly this all feels so overwhelming.

     Her father seems just as withdrawn with anxiety as she is. He keeps checking his pocket watch and taking his top hat on and off. Finally, Charles clears his throat, his gloves pawing at his cravat.

     "The weather has certainly co-operated today, has it not? It is glorious..." he mumbles.

     Winifred gazes up through the thin sheen of her veil. "Yes, it is, indeed."

     A beat passes between them both. What is there to say? Winifred can hardly find the words for what she wishes to express to her father. She will always be his daughter, in her heart, but simultaneously when she reaches the end of that aisle, she will no longer be his. Today, she stops being Winifred Seymour, the daughter of a gentleman — she becomes Winifred Erstwhile, the wife of a dashing soldier.

     "How are you feeling?" Charles finally asks, tentatively.

     "I just... I cannot believe it is finally here," Winifred swallows thickly. She feels a mixture of apprehension and relief.

     Perhaps he senses his daughter's nerves, because he suddenly turns reminiscent. "On my wedding day, I was a nervous wreck waiting to say our vows. I kept fretting over them for days and days beforehand..."

     "And then?"

     "And then, I saw your mother walk down the aisle, and all of the doubts simply washed away. I suppose... I knew that I was ready to be hers." Charles lets a gentle, fond smile take over at the memory; his eyes overfill with a quiet awe at Octavia, even after all these years, when she is not even stood before him. "Joseph is a good man," he adds. "He will make a good husband."

     "I know, Papa," says Winifred.

     And she does know it, deep in her heart. It will all make sense one she sees him.

     The sound of organ music comes from inside the chapel, along with the shuffling of feet as people rise from the pews. It is time for the bride to enter. Charles offers his arm to link with Winifred's; she can feel the leather of his gloved hands pat around searching for hers, and when he finds it, he grips it tightly like he never wishes to let go.

     "Right, then," he says, trying to steady his voice. "Are you ready?"

     "I have never felt more ready."

     "Good... that makes one of us, then."

     Winifred could have sworn she heard his voice break. Surely enough, she looks up at her dear father's face, which desperately tries to remain stoic; she can see through her veil that his eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. It only worsens as Charles realises his daughter has noticed, his lip trembling as he squeezes her hand even harder. "Papa..." she whispers, feeling a lump form in her throat, too.

     In their last moments alone like this, she quickly lifts up her veil and presses a 'thank you' kiss to her father's cheek. Then, holding onto each other's arm more tightly than ever, they give each other a shaky smile. The doors open, and Charles leads the bride in to the wedding chorus...

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

THOUGH it baffles Winifred to actually be thinking these words, she must give credit to Lady Whistledown for summing it all up into words: "A march down the aisle may very well be the longest walk any young lady ever takes."

     Anthony Bridgerton and Edwina Sharma's wedding day is to be no exception.

     Winifred is reunited with her family for the occasion, this time in its entirety — her father made the surprise trip to London. Charles had announced he was to stay for the remainder of the season, Octavia adding that he was particularly interested in the event that a proposal might arise from a certain Colin Bridgerton. To this, Abigail's face had dropped with diffidence, a look that only Winifred seemed to notice.

     The day requires the finest attire. Everyone dresses in their very best, preparing for the summer heat that may meet them at the chapel. It is only when confronting her wardrobe that Winifred realises, in theory, that her year of mourning has come to a close. It need only continue through her own wishes. She does not quite know how to feel about it yet. Even if it weighs her down, she had grown accustomed to wearing black, and then the rotation of half-mourning colours. To play it safe, she opts for a mauve gown with an embroidered chest.

     The chapel has been decorated beautifully for the ceremony — the aisle is scattered with pale flower petals, and larger floral arrangements stand like towers to punctuate the pews. It is a gloriously sunny day, the light bursting through the stained-glass windows above the altar. Guests have already been filing in upon the Osbornes and Seymours' arrival, the chapel filled with excited chatter amongst the ton. Charles and Octavia walk arm-in-arm to find a pew for them all to be seated in, while Winifred cranes her neck to look up at the ceiling.

     "I do not think I have been to a wedding this grand since..." she trails off.

     "Ours?" Silas suggests, somewhat proudly. "Yes, that was quite the day."

     Indeed it was. Silas and Madeline's wedding, unlike today, had been in a wintry setting. The cold draft creeping into the chapel had not deterred everyone from the beauty of the nuptials. Winifred remembers how stunning her sister had looked, in a gown that looked as though she had risen straight from the freshly-fallen snow. Madeline seems to be reflecting as well, a faint smile playing across her lips as she fans herself.

     "Wasn't Lord Bridgerton the best man for your wedding?" Abigail suddenly asks, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

     "That is correct. I could be offended that he did not choose me to return the favour this time, but unlike me, I suppose he has enough brothers to choose from... ah, speak of the devil!"

     "Careful how you swear in church, Colchester," Benedict teases as he strides up to them, Colin and Eloise in tow. His eyes immediately scan the group to find Winifred — subconsciously, she had found herself doing the same thing. It is the first time she has seen him since leaving Aubrey Hall last month. They share a warm smile with one another, the feeling contagiously spreading through her chest.

     After shaking hands with Silas and exchanging some pleasantries, Benedict walks over to Winifred alone, much to her surprise. They softly smile at each other again as a beat passes.

     "Best man, I presume?" she eyes the sharply-dressed Bridgerton before her.

     Benedict gives a curt nod of confirmation. "When duty calls..."

     It really does feel good to see him again. Being in his presence, she can put herself at ease, which is an escape Winifred suspects she will be craving throughout today. When she looks closely at Benedict, she notes a particular twinkle in his eye. He seems almost jovial in spirits.

     "How have you been?" Winifred asks. "Is the Royal Academy everything you hoped it would be?"

     "More than that, it is... it is wonderful," he sighs, sounding completely besotted, "I have much to tell you."

     "I look forward to hearing it."

     "And what about you? How was it being back at Highbourne?"

     "Well—"

     Winifred opens her mouth to reply, but is soon cut off by Silas and Madeline stepping into their conversation (although mostly Silas). "Bridgerton, Madeline and I were just trying to remember... you were invited to our wedding, were you not?" asks the Earl.

     "I was, yes," Benedict nods, to which Winifred raises her eyebrows. She did not know that. But now that he has said it, she does recall a passing remark Madeline made that day — something about a certain guest being unable to attend, which had been a shame since she had thought the two of them might get along.

     "I do not remember you from that day. Where were you?" Winifred implores, suddenly curious; because she is quite certain that she would remember Benedict Bridgerton if she had met him earlier on.

     Somewhat sheepishly, he replies: "If memory serves me, I was bed-ridden and battling a terrible cold."

     "You can trust Benedict to come down with something the moment the weather turns," Eloise interjects smugly, much to her brother's distaste, "especially when we were younger. Isn't that right, brother?"

     While Benedict turns to sneer at his younger sister, Madeline taps Silas's arm with her fan: "Darling, could we go and find our seats? It is so very hot in here..." she murmurs. Her husband immediately obliges, although she urges everyone else to carry on until the ceremony. Winifred shoots a concerned look at her sister — Madeline has appeared in a delicate state since this morning, hardly stomaching her breakfast and seeming slightly affected by all the heat and noise.

     She turns back to the rest of the group, noticing that Abigail seems to be similarly concerned about Colin as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are you quite well?" she asks him worriedly.

     "Yes," he replies tiredly, "it was, uh... a rather late night, shall we say?"

     Winifred can surmise what that means. The Bridgerton brothers probably stayed up to celebrate Anthony's last night as a bachelor. She already shakes her head slowly at the young man's hangover, but furrows her brows when he pulls out a small flask from his breast pocket and takes a swig of what she assumes is not water.

     "Are you sure that is wise, brother?" Eloise cocks an eyebrow at him.

     "Do not ask me. It was Benedict's idea."

     At this, Winifred shoots Benedict an almost accusatory look. In his defence, he proclaims: "It is a simple remedy. If you continue to drink, there can be no after-effects."

     "... That is quite possibly the worst idea I have ever heard," Winifred scoffs in disbelief.

     "Well, there are plenty more where that came from," he shrugs playfully.

With that, the best man disappears to take his place at the altar, since most of the guests appear to be finding their seats now. Abigail has struck up a conversation with Colin, Eloise and Penelope, which leaves Winifred to return to the rest of the family. Almost an entire pew is reserved for the Osbornes and Seymours combined, somewhere in the middle rows. She slides in next to Madeline, who is fanning herself gently.

"Are you feeling better now?" she asks her sister.

"Yes, I just felt a bit faint all of a sudden," Madeline reassures her. "I apologise for tearing you away from Mr. Bridgerton. The two of you seemed as though you were in the middle of something."

"Oh, do not worry," Winifred waves her hand dismissively through the air, "I can catch up with him later."

As she says this, a strange look appears on her sister's face — her eyes seem to twinkle with satisfaction. She furrows her eyebrows at Madeline. What is she smiling about? But before Winifred can ask, Abigail is taking a seat on her other side and the string quartet at the front of the church beginning to play the wedding chorus. It is a sweeping, romantic tune which sets the tone for the ceremony... one should hope. She tries to be optimistic. In the time that she has been away, Anthony and Edwina could have become closer, and he and Kate could have dealt with their feelings for each other... couldn't they?

Right on cue, the groom walks down the aisle, his suit immaculate and not a hair out of place. Anthony seems completely composed with the look of a man fulfilling his duty. When he arrives in front of Queen Charlotte and her ladies-in-waiting, he gives her a bow, before arriving at the altar; Benedict is there to give him a reassuring wink.

Anthony is on complete display in front of the whole ton. He surveys the room full of guests, his family sat in the front rows. Then his face changes — his lips part, pupils dilated, breath lodged in his throat with silenced awe. Winifred knows that look... remembers that look, the one worn by a lovestruck groom at the altar. She has seen it not just in her own husband, but in Silas as well, when he saw Madeline walking towards him. With this in mind, she turns in her seat to get a better look at the bride.

Only it is not the bride. It is Kate.

The bridesmaid stares just as intensely back at the viscount, drawn to him no matter how desperately she fights it. With a curtsy to Queen Charlotte, she too takes her place at the altar, on the far left side.

Oh, good God...

Winifred feels her heart sink. This is not good. But, perhaps naively, she tells herself that as long as everyone can get through the ceremony, all will be well. She gazes around at her family, dreading to see if they have also noticed the sparks flying — but so far, most of them seem more oblivious or concerned with other things.

When the actual bride walks in, the music swells appropriately and everyone rises to see her. Edwina walks down the aisle on her mother's arm in a vision of white. Her long train and veil sweeps through the petals like a blanket of snow, her glittering jewellery catching the sunlight with her every movement. All of the guests marvel quietly at the diamond-turned-bride as she makes her journey to the altar...

But Winifred's mind has drifted elsewhere, like the summer breeze. She is suddenly in a smaller chapel than this one, about six years ago, making the very same journey down the aisle on her father's arm. The familiar faces of her immediate family meet her on one side, and those of the Erstwhiles on the other. Her heart is fluttering restlessly in her chest with each step she takes. She is so young, wondering if she is making the right decision. At the altar, the groom turns around, dressed smartly in his uniform — his chest inflates with a deep fondness, lips quirking into a nervous smile. That is when it suddenly all makes sense.

The memory now has a bittersweet lining. Knowing that the life they did share, however wonderful, was much shorter than she ever hoped it would be...

Winifred's mind comes back into focus when the string quartet ceases playing. She sees Benedict, stood waiting as best man behind Anthony, who faces his lovely bride. Only then does she realise a lump had been forming in her throat. Where did that come from? In an effort to quell the feeling, she swallows thickly, but still finds that her skin prickles with nostalgia.

     "Please be seated," instructs the Archbishop of Canterbury, pausing for the shuffling as everyone sits back down. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

     How familiar those words are, Winifred thinks briefly before shaking off her distraction.

     "And therefore, it is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, and wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding..."

     Somewhere between 'carnal lusts' and 'brute beasts', Benedict's eyebrows fly up in surprise, then knit together in absentminded thought. Winifred just so happens to catch sight of it — even with all the formalities, she has to purse her lips firmly to suppress a smile.

     But he is not the only one distracted. As the archbishop keeps talking, Anthony's gaze drifts over Edwina's shoulder to Kate; the intensity of their stares is mutual. There is so much left unsaid, so much that is being fiercely restrained. It soon seems as if the congregation and all their families dissolve into nothingness, leaving only the pair together. The viscount is so carried away that he does not hear the Archbishop trying to get his attention.

No, no, no... Winifred feels her toes curl inside her shoes. Someone in the congregation coughs, while another shifts in their seat with a loud crrreak.

"My lord... my lord?"

Anthony snaps out of his hazy trance. He looks around, completely lost, his cluelessness echoing through the chapel. Across from him, Kate begins nervously fiddling with a shimmering bangle on her wrist.

"What is going on—" Octavia whispers with impatience.

"Hush, Mama!" Madeline silences her incredulously.

Their mother tries to nudge Charles to get a better look at what is going on, while Jemima fans herself with large strokes on this hot summer's day. Suspicion is growing. Or confusion, at least. The ton will be baffled as to what is taking the viscount so long.

Edwina, looking down with a demure expression, gently prompts him: "The archbishop would like you to repeat, my lord, after him."

"Yes, of course," Anthony blinks rapidly.

The archbishop clears his throat loudly. "I, Lord Anthony Bridgerton—"

Cling!

Kate's bangle slips from her wrist and clatters to the chapel floor loudly, taking a while to truly settle from its descent. Without even thinking, Anthony lunges forth the same time as she does, the pair now crouched over the train of Edwina's wedding gown. Winifred finds herself instinctively sitting forward in her seat with slight horror.

"Allow me..." Anthony's voice is barely audible. Then, completely oblivious to his surroundings, he takes Kate's hand and delicately slips the bangle back onto her wrist.

God blind me, Winifred thinks incredulously.

Because there it is. Right there on display for everyone to see.

Not everyone connects the dots, but the only one who matters does — Edwina. Her chest starts to heave with bewildered breaths, eyes slowly widening in realisation as she looks between her sister and the viscount. The bride's reality as she knew it has been completely shattered. The Archbishop attempts to continue with the ceremony, about to have Anthony repeat after him until Edwina lets out a shuddering gasp of air.

"Miss Edwina," Anthony asks, "are you—"

"I need a moment!" Edwina shouts, crumbling on the spot.

Gasps of shock ring out through the congregation. The fuming bride hoists up her skirt and sprints right back down the aisle, leaving a flurry of petals in her wake. Mary soon follows in tow, then Kate. Queen Charlotte is on her feet and asking her footman what is happening to the nuptials, and to top it off, a round of the most ill-timed fireworks breaks out in the sky.

Winifred hides her face in her hands, secondhand embarrassment making her plead for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. The rest of her family are now waking up to the whole situation as well.

"What a debacle," Persephone scoffs with a roll of her eyes.

Ignoring his mother, Silas adds, "What on Earth was that about?"

"Perhaps Miss Edwina was feeling faint, like Madeline?" Abigail suggests innocently.

Octavia chips in, her eyes narrowed whilst Jemima starts fanning even faster (out of boredom than anything else): "Well, whatever the reason was, it seemed rather suspicious, do you not think? I must say, the viscount seemed rather distracted."

"What could be more important than your wedding vows?"

"I do not know... Jemima, will you calm yourself with that fan!" Octavia suddenly snaps, startling her youngest. "If I wished to be windswept, I would have gone to the Shetland Islands."

The mother then snatches it from her grip, flicks it open and begins fanning herself just as, if not more vigorously than Jemima; her daughter throws her hands in the air with disbelief. At least they both have one thing in common — being in shambles over the confusion of the ceremony.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

UTTER chaos. That is the only way Benedict can describe the atmosphere in the room right now.

     An emergency family meeting has been called — but more accurately, it evolves out of all the Bridgertons following an irate Anthony like a flock of bewildered sheep. They burst into a private room, where a mere hour before they had been preparing for the ceremony... and now they are somehow caught up in this instead.

Benedict had been there at the altar. He had seen it all, in the closest proximity.

In no way was he blind, though perhaps carefree about Anthony's behaviour in the lead-up to the wedding. Not to mention Daphne had been strangely interrogative and cryptic towards him this morning. But standing up there and watching his brother look at Kate like that whilst Edwina connected the dots, something had clicked — there were sparks between him and the other Sharma sister. No, more than that, something much deeper.

"Does this have anything to do with our dinner with the Sheffields the other evening?" Violet asks desperately, fumbling for answers, "Or perhaps some even greater issue has come to pass that we must discuss, Anthony?"

"Miss Edwina is merely agitated," Benedict tries to interject coolly, "she will come to her senses."

He shoots Colin a subtle look towards his breast pocket holding the flask, but he does not see, adding: "Miss Edwina does seem to have a delicate constitution. Perhaps fresh air will be just the thing."

"Flask," he now whispers more pointedly.

Having received the flask from Colin, Benedict turns to Anthony, who stands with his back to the family; his entire body seems so tightly rigid with burden. He tries offering the drink to the suffering viscount, who immediately waves it off as if it were an annoying insect.

"Perhaps the archbishop's talk of lifelong covenants overwhelmed her," Eloise theorises proudly. "Perhaps she realised that marriage is, in fact, a prison for women."

"Ugh," Colin groans, "must you always be so... you?"

"How else should I be? Married and silent?"

"Perhaps she decided she must change into a different dress," Gregory suggests innocently.

"Absurd!" Hyacinth retorts, "She looked beautiful—"

"Perhaps... we should allow Anthony a little respite," Benedict interjects sympathetically; he manages to slow the room of quick-talking Bridgertons down to a halt, which is not an easy task. He thought he had better do it soon, or else his brother would explode, stood with his temples pressed to his head of flurrying thoughts. "... Brother, is that what you need?" asks Benedict again.

For the first time since entering the room, Anthony turns around to look at them all. His whole being is so seized with pent-up tension that he looks ready to snap. Then his gaze cuts through the family, to Daphne of all people. An uncomfortably-charged energy fills the room, one which makes Benedict feel like he is somehow missing something. It is the thing that pushes the viscount over the edge.

"Precisely," Anthony snaps, boots thumping against the floor as he storms out of the room.

What was that about? Benedict thinks, now just as curious as the rest of his family. Daphne tries to look inconspicuous, with that sweetly innocent expression of hers, but their mother can see straight through her — something is hidden behind her behaviour. She has never been the best liar in the world (or at least he thought she wasn't, until she managed to hide her secret plan to form an attachment with the Duke of Hastings last year).

"What?" Daphne asks, as every pair of eyes settle on her.

"You know something," Violet steps forwards.

"I do not—"

"Daphne, you may be a duchess, but you are still my daughter. Tell me what you know."

     The minutes that follow are a revelation.

     As it turns out, Daphne knew much more than she had let on. She was aware that Anthony and Kate's feelings for one another had been growing for quite some time now, no matter how they fought it. It reached the point where she had walked in on them alone as early as the Hearts and Flowers Ball — she did not need to give any more detail than that. So much for swearing off love, brother, thinks Benedict.

     Violet Bridgerton leaves the room looking rather pale. Daphne follows her, as they leave to go out for some fresh air. Gregory and Hyacinth do not seem to understand the magnitude of what has gone on, while Eloise simply does not care. As she saunters off after the rest of the family, Benedict and Colin linger behind. The situation feels so blown out of proportion that he cannot help but feel like poking fun.

     "Well, that is one wedding put to rest, I would presume. Still, there is hope yet with a certain Miss Abigail in the picture, is there not?" Benedict says, before smiling crookedly at his brother with a teasing edge.

     "Do you really think so?" Colin asks curiously.

     "I do not know..." He is rather thrown off by how literally the remark was taken. Stopping in his tracks, Benedict furrows his brows and asks, "Do you?"

     Colin also stops in the hallway now, seeming reflective — a familiar look of jadedness that has been prevalent since his return from Greece glazes over his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "Well, we have been courting for a while now, and perhaps it is reaching the stage where something ought to move forward. Obviously Anthony's wedding had taken precedence until now, but I have been pondering it quite a bit after my visit to Miss Thompson– I mean, Lady Crane."

     Benedict draws back in surprise. "When did you find the time to visit Lady Crane?"

     "The day of the Hearts and Flowers Ball, of course."

     "Of course..." he echoes, with a note of sarcasm.

     "Anyway, the visit provided me with some closure of sorts, after everything that transpired last year. She told me that I should look to what is already in front of me to find my happiness. I would like to think that this time, I am the man who knows what he is doing..." Colin licks his lips uncertainly, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Abigail is very lovely."

     "But do you love her? Do you wish to marry her?"

     "Well, I... there is—"

     "If the answer is not immediate, then I doubt that you are ready to propose just yet," Benedict reaches out and rests a hand on Colin's shoulder, more earnest than mocking this time; the younger Bridgerton lets out a slightly disappointed sigh, as though ashamed of himself. "Do not look so forlorn, brother!" says Benedict with a reassuring smile, "You have plenty of time to explore your options. That is what I am doing."

A flicker of mischief appears in Colin's lips as they turn into a smirk. "Indeed you are," he says, "at the ripe age of eight and twenty?"

Dropping his hand from his shoulder, Benedict stares at Colin for a few moments, slowly narrowing his eyes.

"I think I may have to rescind your flask privileges—"

"No! There will be no need." Just to prove this, Colin plucks the flask from his hands and takes a swig from it. "I think I will go and help myself to some wedding cake. We cannot let it go to waste. Perhaps I shall also find Pen outside, and see what she made of the ceremony."

"Mhmm..."

Benedict folds his arms across his chest, tilting his head as his younger brother walks away with dampened spirits; only for a moment, he wonders if Colin wouldn't rather check on Abigail than Penelope, considering the conversation they just had. But he soon forgets it, for there are bigger concerns today. Besides, Colin seeming hesitant and lost appears to be a pattern ever since his return from his travels — he speaks as though his adventures in Paxos defined his sense of self, yet his words feel hollow.

     He feels a necessity to reassure his brother. And no, perhaps Benedict is not so qualified to talk of marriage. That is why he floats around, trying new things, dipping his feet into different waters to see what he enjoys; why since last month, his nights have become intertwined with Tessa, the model from the Royal Academy. One thing leading to another...

     Nevertheless, Benedict hopes he knows a thing or two about the human heart.

"But Colin?" he mentions, his voice earnest; Colin turns around to hear what he has to add. "Just follow your instincts. And really, you must not worry. I was only jesting with you before."

     Colin drums his fingers on the flask, digesting the words. "Yes... of course..."

     Though soon enough, a crooked grin returns to Benedict's face. He nudges his brother lightly in the arm before joining him in the walk to the outside gardens. Inevitably, the ton awaits — they will have everything to say about the Bridgertons and the Sharmas, no doubt.

Time to face the music.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

"THEY can smell fear, you know..."

     "Fear? I am not afraid."

     "Then edge yourself nearer to the beast, why don't you?"

     "Not a chance! I do not know whether that thing will lunge at me."

     Staring into the small, inky eyes of a peacock — such an exotic and unusual creature on English shores — Winifred listens to Jemima and Emilia debate whether they should approach it further. A multitude of peacocks are wandering about the gardens, their brightly-coloured feathers surrounding their long, sapphire-coloured necks like a halo. They are proving to be worthy entertainment whilst the ton waits for answers...

     After the Bridgertons and Sharmas flocked from the church, the rest of the congregation were led out into the palace gardens until all the affairs were settled. There is plenty to distract the ton, from the aforementioned peacocks to moving statue models painted in metallic gold. But London's high society is only concerned with the gossip. Young ladies like Cressida Cowper take turns about the gardens like vultures, waiting for the Bridgertons or Sharmas' reputations to drop dead so they can swoop in.

Winifred thought she would stay with her younger sisters to chaperone them. Abigail seems quietly impatient to find Colin in the crowds, though there is no sign of the Bridgertons just yet. Meanwhile, Jemima could not care less about the bungled wedding, more interested in meeting the peacocks. Emilia Caldwell is with her, too — they have quickly become bosom friends since meeting one another, bonding over their passion for theatre and literature, as well as their general distaste for the ton.

Emilia is slightly more apprehensive about the peacock than her friend is, however. "Oh, do be careful, Jemima!" she calls after her, watching her creep nearer towards the giant bird.

It is not that Winifred is ignorant to Jemima's safety, but her mind does wander elsewhere; she cannot help but wonder what both of the families are going through right now. She is impatient to have answers, to hear what will become of this whole debacle. God only knows the ton will already be talking about it for the rest of the week. Realising that it could be a while until she receives such answers, she turns her attention to Emilia — although she is not always one to initiate a conversation, Winifred feels she still knows so little about the young woman who has befriended her sister.

"Miss Caldwell, my sister tells me you are quite fond of the theatre," Winifred mentions casually.

Emilia turns to Winifred, slightly startled by the question. She may appear a delicate girl, with soft features in her peachy complexion, and the strawberry blonde hair shining even brighter in the summer sun against her cool blue eyes... but there seems to be quite a poetic and ambitious spirit inside. Unlike Jemima, however, it seems Emilia can filter it appropriately and appear the innocent debutante amongst the ton when needed.

"Oh, yes," Emilia smiles, "my brother and I were practically raised on Shakespeare. But I also quite enjoy the Greek tragedies, and the works of Aphra Behn too. My family have always performed theatricals at home in the winter. We all get involved, and sometimes we invite friends to join in... Jemima told me that you used to take part amateur theatricals growing up?"

"That is true, although I would put emphasis on amateur, particularly in my case. My sisters flourish quite well on the stage, unlike me."

"You should not doubt yourself, Mrs. Erstwhile!"

"No, really, I think there are statues with more stage presence than I."

Emilia laughs lightly, not mockingly but as though she were laughing with someone. "It is not for everyone... Jemima writes as well, did you know that?"

"I did not," Winifred furrows her brows in surprise.

"She is exceptionally talented," the girl continues, "I could never compose prose with such beauty like she can. I often catch her scribbling away in her notebook.

     "I was not aware that she wrote so often..."

     "Oh yes, she—"

"It ran at me!"

Jemima suddenly comes trotting back over the grass, her dress lifted up above her ankles as she escapes the peacock's wrath with its feathers in the air. A few ladies and their mothers nearby gasp in horror at the sight. Winifred instantaneously feels embarrassed, knowing that is her sister; and then she feels awful all over again. Of course she does not really care what the ton thinks — and Jemima would not be Jemima if she did not do... well, what she does. But Winifred only wishes, just sometimes, that her youngest sister was slightly more concerned with etiquette.

"I told you that would happen," Emilia giggles. "I thought it would lunge at anything going near it."

"Perhaps you were too sceptical of the peacock's intentions," Jemima teases.

"I did not need to be sceptical. I saw Prudence Featherington get chased by another peacock mere minutes ago."

The pair cover their mouths to muffle their laughter, as if they are the only two people in the gardens. As their giggles die down, their smiles soften, gazes dancing with each other. Then, as if suddenly aware of Winifred's presence, Jemima lets her arms drop to her sides so they hang limply. Is that really the reaction Winifred elicits in her company?

"I hope my sister did not bore you too much," Jemima sighs, adjusting her gloves.

While Winifred glares at her, Emilia smoothly responds, "On the contrary, we were just discussing the theatre—"

"Oh, look! There is Colin!" Abigail suddenly exclaims, hooking her arm through Winifred's fervently. Surely enough, there in the distance like a tiny pin-point, Colin is stood by a large topiary; he looks the giant wedding cake up and down with brewing desire. His presence can only mean that the rest of the Bridgerton family are due to follow. Now that she glances around her, she spots Eloise talking animatedly to Penelope under the shade of a refreshments tent.

The family is already subject to the scrutinising stares of the ton, their back-handed compliments and their scandalous whispers. It will be just as bad for the Sharmas, no doubt. Winifred cannot help but think about Kate — she had wondered whether she should go and seek her, to offer advice and guidance... but what would she even say? She is deeply disappointed that this mess ever reached the altar. Perhaps the next time she sees Kate, she will get her alone and find out how she is coping with Edwina's discovery of it all.

"Shall we go over, then?" Winifred asks Abigail, nodding over to the topiary.

"Yes, let's," she nods, as they start walking together.

     As they stroll along (slowly, so as not to agitate the peacocks), Winifred catches whispers among different clusters of nobility over the fresh scandal. Some suspect that Edwina had second thoughts. Others think it was the viscount himself. Another suggests that Queen Charlotte herself was displeased with the match, and therefore halted the wedding herself... all of it is exhausting to listen to. Truly, Winifred cannot understand how people occupy themselves with the gossip and find genuine entertainment in it.

     Soon the season will be over, she reminds herself, and you can go home.

     Just as she and Abigail are about to approach Colin, a head of flaming red hair swoops in first — small in stature, but large in heart, for she captures his attention immediately. Penelope begins talking to him with earnestness in her eyes.

     "We can still go over, you know," Winifred says.

     Abigail shakes her head. "No, let them talk first," she nods politely, "I am sure Colin appreciates what Penelope will have to say."

     Together, they look at the pair of old friends again. Winifred remembers what Madeline had told her at Aubrey Hall — how she suspected Penelope had feelings for him, ones that were not so unrequited after all — and suddenly she can see it. Anyone could, really, if they were paying enough attention. They speak to each other as if there is no one else at this wedding, Penelope's eyes filled with heart-fluttering fondness while Colin hangs onto her every word. Through this she also notices the touching. Only a brief caress of the elbow, or a hand placed on the small of her back... but it is plain and obvious. Good friends do not reach out for one another like that. At least, it is deemed highly improper for them to do so.

     When she looks back at her sister, Winifred realises the worst part of it all:

     Abigail is well-aware of their closeness. In a way she did not used to do, she observes Colin and Penelope, her face pinched with slight disappointment; and it is not just from squinting into the sun. She perhaps seems to be wondering why he does not caress her in that way. Why do they work so hard to find a spark, when he already has such an effortless one with another that he is blind to?

A light applause rings out around the wedding cake — a footman has just cut a clean slice out of it, revealing the perfectly-baked layers of sponge inside. Rather tempting, thinks Winifred, watching Colin already head straight for a rather generous helping. She is feeling rather peckish after waiting around for the nuptials to go ahead, so she figures she might as well help herself.

... Of course it is a few minutes later, when she stood on her own and chewing a mouthful of cake, that Benedict Bridgerton chooses to show up.

"I'm glad someone is enjoying the festivities today," she hears him tease.

Winifred lets out an embarrassed grunt, mouth pursed shut while her jaw is cemented with sponge and sickly-sugary icing. She holds a gloved hand to her lips as she finishes the mouthful, and can only glare daggers as Benedict giggles at her predicament; the kind of laugh where his eyes crinkle at the sides.

"You would, too, if you had been made to wait all morning... I am not the only one who is taking advantage of a perfectly good cake," says Winifred, nodding over to Colin — he has his head over a plate and biting a huge chunk out of his gargantuan slice, leaving him with stuffed cheeks like a hamster. It appears hilariously in contrast to Abigail, who raises dainty forkfuls of sponge to her lips as she finally catches up with Colin.

But there are, unfortunately, more important things to discuss than cake.

"I was wondering where you were," she says slowly, "you all disappeared for quite a while."

"Emergency family meeting," Benedict settles for, like he is trying to restrain his actual opinion.

"And... are we any clearer on the state of the wedding?"

"If you ask me, there is no wedding to be had. Not after what has transpired. But of course, that is my brother and Miss Edwina's choice to make."

     She certainly agrees — especially considering what she already knows, told to her by Kate — although Winifred tries to seem as unassuming as possible when it comes to that. She already feels guilty enough for not saying something. Then again, she argues that she should not have had to, that the viscount should have either just proposed to the right woman or settle his feelings once and for all.

     Benedict heaves a loud, disillusioned sigh next to her. "It is all rather pointless, isn't it? The whole marriage business. So many of the matches in the ton lack any real passion or meaning, they are merely transactional or convenient. One might be better off navigating life on one's own..." A beat passes, where Winifred shifts her gaze awkwardly; he quickly realises how his words could have been interpreted. "My apologies, I– I did not mean to say that you are—"

     "I knew what you meant," Winifred interjects, mostly unaffected, "I just did not take you to be such a cynic when it came to love and marriage, Mr. Bridgerton... I had assumed you would be the romantic sort."

     "Ah, but I never said I did not care for romance. The marriage mart is the nonsensical part."

     She places her plate down on a nearby wall and squints at him, asking, "It is not that I do not agree with you, but... you do realise this is the world you are living in? The ton practically revolves around matches of status and advantage."

     "Yes, I do, I just..." Benedict pauses, murmuring softer, "Is it a crime to want something more meaningful? I suppose... I am waiting for the right woman to come along."

     Winifred does not know what it is about today. Perhaps the wedding has put her in a strange mood — coinciding with the anniversary still being raw, it has left her with an undesirable cocktail of discomfort towards sentiment. "This woman must be one in a million," she says, slightly unconvinced, "I hope you have some sort of plan to seek her out."

     The Bridgerton shrugs one shoulder softly, half of his mouth quirking up into a smile; a more pensive one than usual. "Well... if she is out there, somewhere, then perhaps I do not need to go searching. Something will bring us together — fate, destiny, divine intervention, call it what you will — and I am sure it will become crystal clear if she is the one."

     She had not expected such an honest, and quite frankly endearing answer. Even with him, in all his patience and understanding, Winifred feels like she is in slippery territory when it comes to discussing this topic so sincerely. It takes her a few moments to know how to respond.

     "That is very... sentimental."

     Benedict draws back, brows furrowed. "You sound displeased."

     "It just seems like a very fickle way to think about love," Winifred admits. "Fate, destiny, all of it."

     "Now look who is the cynical one!" he proclaims.

     "I am not cynical. I merely think that love is more of a choice, than something that happens to someone."

     What an odd moment, she thinks. The rest of the ton is occupied over mindlessly gossip, and here they are dissecting the true meaning of love.

     "Alright..." Benedict steps forward, his gaze intent with curiosity as it settles on her. "But do you really not believe in fate? That there are forces, beyond our control, that could bring two people together..." His voice suddenly lowers, a quiet tenderness seeping into his words; as though just the thought of serendipity melts his heart. "To meet someone at the right place, the right time... a sign to point us in the right direction. Surely you must have felt that before?"

     Winifred stares at him. His words take their time to sink in, before they stir something deep within. She does remember, once upon a time, feeling something like that. But her reality is more unforgiving than a fairytale ending. It goes like this:

She did find the one. And then he died.

It is difficult to believe in destiny if it would tear such a sure thing away from her.

     "Perhaps..." Winifred soberly drops her gaze. "But all of the signs in the world mean nothing if you do not act upon them. I think more often than not, they are simply the things that we wish to see."

     "Nevertheless, it would be nice to believe in something like that, would it not?" Benedict asks, voice laced with weary hope.

     "... Yes, it would," she admits, swallowing thickly.

     He catches her eyes again, and this time she cannot tear herself away from his. Brown meeting greenish-blue. Winifred holds his gaze for a moment longer than she intended to — Benedict's expression seems to change, the one which is usually an open book of judgement shifting to something else. Something more quietly beguiled, at first by her thoughts, and then...

     A hollering voice from the other end of the gardens snaps him back to attention. Winifred had not even realised time was passing until now, as though feeling herself drop back into her shoes and the rest of her body. It leaves her suddenly feeling unarmed, or completely transparent. That was odd. She clears her throat and listens with the Bridgerton as an update on the wedding is announced. As she suspected, the wedding has been cancelled, and all the guests are to return home.

     "Well, there you have it," says Benedict, still slightly distant. "True love will prevail another day."

     Stood together in the middle of the path, they split the current of gentlemen and ladies meandering out to their carriages. Among them are hushed whispers of the Bridgertons. In fact, people are already staring at the two of them — or mainly him.

     "You should probably find your family, Mr. Bridgerton," Winifred tells him decisively. "I am sure there will be much to discuss."

     Benedict nods grimly, and with little else to say, disappears into the current of well-dressed nobility. She is soon swallowed by it herself, trying to find anyone in her party who she recognises. Now that the wedding is cancelled, she will be glad to return home — Winifred was growing rather tired under the heat and among the crowds.

However, there is no doubt in her mind that tomorrow morning, Lady Whistledown will have something to say about it. Doesn't she always?

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

Are Benedict and Winifred growing closer?? EEK! Although they are a slow burn, I did want some progress to happen in this chapter. Winifred has subconsciously grown very fond of him (and it looks like Benedict is starting to feel not-so-subconsciously fond about her, teehee...). I've just realised that I don't think I have written a Benedict POV where he's actually interacting with Winifred? Pinkie promising here and now I will find a way to make that happen very soon.

Anyway, this chapter was about 75% Winifred experiencing extreme secondhand embarrassment over the Bridgertons/Sharmas soap opera. But lots of other things were included in the background as well. Abigail seems to be catching on that Colin is so oblivious when it comes to Pen's feelings for him (and perhaps the ones he does not realise himself... yes, I'm all aboard the Polin train). Jemima and Emilia have a bit of a Vibe™️ going on too. And what was going on with Madeline?

My favourite flashback so far may well be this one of Winifred and her father on her wedding day 🥺🥺🥺 and on top of that, the moment when Winifred sees Edwina walking down the aisle and instead remembers her own wedding has a song — the Duomo string cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U" ❤️ and finally, I imagined Winifred's wedding dress from the flashback to look like Miss Taylor's in the 2020 adaptation of Emma:

Another chapter, another really long author's note... well done for making it this far! We are whizzing through season 2 and the first act of this story — I am hoping I can finish it before the third season premieres in May.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 04/03/2024