CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
mate for life.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     "TELL ME, IS THERE A REASON WHY THIS TABLE IS SO GLUM?"

Lady Strachan's question makes all three of the sisters look up at her in unison. They all have their reasons — Winifred has her inner conflicts and feelings to balance with concern for her younger sisters, Abigail seems occupied with thoughts of someone in particular, and Jemima shrinks sadly into herself rather uncharacteristically. She will not betray to anyone what is the matter.

Well, Winifred knows what is.

     It still feels like treading on eggshells after last night. They have hardly spoken a word to each other since. And what would she say to her? As far as Winifred is aware, Jemima has no clue that she heard all those desperate, lovelorn words exchanged between the two girls in the palace gardens.

     Her lack of words has nothing to do with prejudices towards her, of which Winifred has none; instead, it has everything to do with the fact that it is a delicate subject to breach. With the world they live in, she wonders what comfort could she really provide Jemima? Winifred has never been a believer in providing false comfort. And sadly, stories like Jemima's and Emilia's seldom have happy endings in their world. It doesn't make it any easier for Winifred to watch her be so brokenhearted.

"Well," the baroness sighs, "there is plenty of mail which requires opening. Help yourselves."

The letters sit idly on the platter. Winifred clears her throat and reaches for the first one she glimpses with her name on — when she takes a closer look, she recognises the handwriting immediately. Madeline. It has been a while since she heard from her. However, this appears to be no ordinary letter. On the contrary, when Winifred opens it, she is instead presented with a small card decorated and printed in bold letters.

It is an invitation.

"We have been invited to a country ball," Winifred blinks rapidly with bewilderment.

"How lovely," Abigail sips her tea. "By whom?"

"Madeline. Madeline is throwing a ball."

Her sister's eyes widen as she unleashes a surprised giggle. She must read the same words that Winifred did — they have been invited to the Colchester Ball, as they called it, held in their country home in Essex around the summer solstice. The first reaction for Winifred is to frantically comb through her memory, for any recollection of a ball being mentioned in Madeline's letters. For long has she been planning this? And was this before or after she had given birth to Natasha? It leaves Winifred a shade embarrassed to be so left in the dark until now.

"I haven't been to Denham Hall in years," says Abigail.

"And it has been quite some time since the Osbornes hosted in the country, if I remember correctly," Lady Strachan remarks, also surprised. "Regrettably, I do not know whether I can be making such a trip. Going back-and-forth to the country during the season is rather more taxing at my age..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lady Strachan," Winifred says regretfully.

"Don't be, Mrs. Erstwhile. I can remain in London with Miss Fitzroy, and I am sure you will be quite comfortable in your sister's care once more."

Winifred nods in agreement. "That sounds sensible enough, doesn't it?" she asks rhetorically, turning to her sisters — more specifically Jemima, who has been swirling her spoon in her teacup for the last two minutes with a blank expression.

Lettie hasn't been listening to anyone for the last few minutes. Instead, her eyes are fixated on a point in Lady Whistledown's latest issue. It reaches the point where the baroness thumps her cane lightly on the floor to avert her attention. "Miss Fitzroy? What could you possibly be ogling at that is more diverting than our breakfast?" she interrogates.

"With respect, my lady," Lettie says slowly, "I think this particular news ought to divert any of us..."

Seems unlikely, Winifred thinks, after the surprise of Madeline's invitation.

"... Colin Bridgerton is engaged to Penelope Featherington."

Never mind.

"Heavens!" Abigail's hand flies up to her mouth, her teacup clattering onto the saucer. Even Jemima is finally snapped out from her daze as she manages a look of moderate disarray.

"When on Earth did that happen?" Winifred scoffs.

"When do you think? Last night, clearly," counters Abigail. "Colin went straight after Penelope after the dance had finished. They must have settled it then."

"I'm sure that is one word for it..." Jemima mutters under her breath. Winifred has the mind to scold her for it, but not the heart to be harsh on her when she already seems so downcast.

     Shaking her head slowly at the issue of Whistledown, Lettie scoffs. "Well," she grins, "what I wouldn't give to have a pair of eyes in Bridgerton House this morning..."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     BENEDICT knew there was a reason he liked leaving balls — perhaps not in last night's case at first, but had he not done so, he would have totally missed the carnage that was his little brother waltzing in and announcing his engagement to a dishevelled-looking Penelope Featherington.

     The Bridgertons had been overjoyed, if not completely blindsided. They had known Penelope for so very many years, and she had always been close with Colin. Violet had seemed more than happy to embrace the Featherington girl as one of the family, Francesca was all smiles, and Hyacinth was thrilled to have another sister. The only one rattled by it all was Eloise — Benedict had noticed her expression, red hot as if she had been slapped around the face. Her feud with Penelope was clearly still ongoing (although he remains baffled as to why).

     And Benedict himself? Well, he took one look at Colin, then at Penelope, then back at Colin. The dots were all connected. Then with a broad and knowing smile, he had embraced and congratulated his brother. Questions would follow later on.

     The surprises keep coming, it seems, as Hyacinth spies Anthony and Kate leaving a carriage from their extended honeymoon. The Bridgertons trickle down the staircase one-by-one as the glowing couple walk into the house. They are still as attached at the hip as they were when they left. Violet and each of her children catch the viscount and viscountess in a welcoming embrace. Benedict being the last to reach Anthony, he suddenly feels that switch of their roles in the house — Anthony is the head of the home once again. It feels both a relief and like a sudden absence of purpose...

"I could get used to such long journeys if every return was like this," Anthony remarks wryly.

"So... have you heard the news in Whistledown yet?" Benedict probes, whilst shooting a cheeky wink at his younger brother. Colin dips his head shyly with an infectious grin.

However, Anthony and Kate are none the wiser, as Whistledown's news has yet to reach them. "Oh. What is it?" asks Anthony.

"Brother, you must tell them!" urges Hyacinth.

Colin opens his mouth, barely drawing breath to speak—

"You delay, so I shall," Hyacinth cuts him off impatiently. "Colin is engaged to Penelope Featherington!"

"Hyacinth may be the most excited of us all," Violet adds, clutching her stomach with overwhelming joy.

The speed with which Anthony's smile drops almost makes Benedict snort with laughter. If looks could kill, Colin would be withering under the stare his eldest brother is shooting him right now, which screams the question: What did you do this time? Thankfully, Kate lets out a laugh — albeit a shocked one — as she tilts her husband's tightened expression to face her instead.

"Oh, well, what wonderful news!" Kate exclaims, with an encouraging nod to Anthony.

"Of course," he replies curtly.

"Thank you," Colin smiles in a daze, "I am in high spirits."

"It seems..." Anthony clears his throat, walks up to Colin and places a hand on his back, "... we brothers have much to catch up on, indeed." Then he shoots a knowing look at Benedict, who can only agree — a brotherly chat is certainly overdue.

As the trio walk upstairs, the still-adolescent Bridgerton son looks after them with an envious sigh. "I am one of the brothers as well," Gregory laments.

     "I think of you as the family pet," Hyacinth quips back.

     "... That is so unnecessary."

     Leaving the family chatter downstairs, Benedict and Anthony lead Colin into a private room. They take a seat at a small table and pour themselves a drink — Colin sits opposite, with his two elder brothers facing him with anticipatory expressions.

     "First... explain," Anthony says.

     Benedict stifles a giggle. He is sure there is much to explain. Yesterday, Penelope was practically engaged to Lord Debling in all but name; in a mere hour's difference she was stumbling into the Bridgerton drawing room, as though stumbling into a dream, her dress creased and her red hair frizzy from... exertion, should they say?

     "No furtive looks necessary," Colin chuckles under their scrutiny.

     "Come now, you must admit, it's all rather sudden!"

     "What was sudden was my last betrothal, so I cannot blame either of you if you are prone to think me foolish. My feelings for Penelope are not a thunderbolt from the sky..." As Colin speaks, his brothers tilt their heads in unison and try to read him — everything that pours out is completely, sickening sweet adoration. With perhaps just a hint of being quite pleased with himself. "I have known her a very long time, and perhaps I have always felt something for her. My only foolishness this time was not realising it sooner."

Benedict lets out an endeared sigh — it's slightly teasing, accompanied by a sappy pout — but it does strike him in that moment how strongly Colin seems to feel for Penelope. He can see it making complete sense, remembering the two of them as children and ever since.

What's more, he cannot wrap his head around little Colin getting married. It was one thing with Daphne, for as much as he felt protective of her and knew she would always be his little sister, she had yearned for that wedded bliss all her life. So he went into her first season with every expectation that she may be whisked off to the altar. Colin, however, he had started to wonder whether he'd put up his walls — Benedict had thought it a shame, because he knew too well the lovely young man underneath it all. That Colin seems to have made a reappearance at last.

Then, of course, it is a humble reminder that Colin is settling down before Benedict...

Never mind, Benedict thinks lightly. He isn't sure he would want to settle down, anyway... he just isn't sure.

Even Anthony is touched by what Colin has told them about Penelope. "Have you said these words to her?" he asks him.

"The final part, the betrothal, it—" Colin stops, swirling his drink in front of his lips, which crack a mischievous smile. "It did all happen rather swiftly."

"Ah, it's swift because you—"

"Are you going to duel with your own brother? Or...?" Benedict cuts in. Anthony stares at him, bolt upright whilst Benedict slouches in his chair with a joking shrug. Because for all that drama over Daphne and Simon, could his brother honestly say that he waited until the altar with Kate?

"Well," Anthony says decisively, "you are marrying her, and for all the right reasons, it seems. That's all that matters. But tell her."

A flicker of realisation appears in Colin's eyes; as though he too, has just realised how much he needs to tell Penelope how he loves her. "Very well. Perhaps I shall go see Penelope now," he announces, rising from his chair.

"But first..." Benedict calls out, raising his glass, "... to your wives."

The three of them toast — to that intangible, yet increasingly common happy ending in this family — and Benedict feels distinctly, for a moment, that he is missing something.

They wait until Colin has left and shut the door behind him, his boots clicking quieter and quieter down the corridor... and then the remaining two brothers turn to each other, gossiping amongst themselves. "Can you believe that?" Benedict asks, laughing as Anthony shakes his head. "I did not know that!"

"Perhaps we should keep better tabs on our siblings."

"Perhaps we should..."

"You have no secrets of that sort, do you, Benedict?" Anthony asks.

"It would be far more thrilling if I did," Benedict's response flies off the tip of his tongue — but the question does trip him up, the delayed bewilderment coming afterwards.

They both lean back in their chairs and take a long swig of their drinks, a comfortable silence falling over them. It's become more common since Anthony found Kate. There is less Anthony, head of the home and more Anthony, the big brother — he had all but disappeared up after their father died, and Benedict is relieved to have him back, slowly but surely.

So, Benedict returns the question. "And you? Any secrets you are hiding from us?"

To his surprise, Anthony freezes and shoots him a conflicted look. After a moment's consideration, he shakes his head. "No... not yet."

"Not yet?"

"There is news, but it shall have to wait. I promise you will know in due course... and I think you might be quite pleased to hear it."

"Hm. Well, I shall wait with bated breath," Benedict mumbles into his glass with a crooked smile. After taking another sip, he remembers something else. He supposes that now Anthony is here, he might as well ask. "Actually, I'm glad you have returned, for there is something I wanted to run by you."

"Oh? Go on, then."

Benedict sits up in his seat, setting his glass down on the table. He folds his arms across his chest. "Last night, before the ball, I was looking through some old papers. I found some of father's, and... there was the name of a place with my name next to it. My Cottage. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Anthony sulks in deep thought. Then he perks up and snaps his fingers loudly. "Ah, yes. I remember it now."

"Any reason for the, er, name?"

"Oh, that wasn't our choice. Apparently the previous owner named it, rather ironically I might add. Father didn't seem inclined to change it."

Benedict shakes his head, realising he's asking the wrong questions. "So, did Father... leave this place to me?" he asks intently. When Anthony nods, he flinches with impatience. "Why didn't you tell me? For how long has this been sitting and collecting dust?"

A flash of regret illuminates Anthony's face, as he soberly sets down his glass.

"I'm sorry, Benedict," he apologises. "I meant to tell you. Truly, I did. It just became lost in the whirlwind of my duties over the years. That is not an excuse, but it is my explanation."

"You needn't give excuses, I understand if—"

"No, I don't think you always understand. That... I never mean to hold you back."

Then Anthony gives him a pointed look, one that suggests more than this accidental withholding of information. Benedict catches the hint immediately. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and avoids his gaze; he dreads if Anthony will delve into the subject of the Royal Academy and a certain donation, but thankfully he does not.

"The house is yours if you want it, Benedict," Anthony tells him plainly, almost encouragingly. "I could have sold it all this time, but Father had apparently been insistent that it be passed down to you. I wanted to respect his wishes. Now, mind you, it is not your typical bachelor lodgings — I hear it is a modest country manor, all overgrown and falling apart. Perhaps you should ask mother more about the details."

Benedict pauses, nods, stares at the bottom of his glass. A swirl of feelings dance slowly inside him, stirring up emotions old and new; most infuriatingly, the one person he wishes he could ask about this is no longer here. But he knows Anthony is right. There is always their mother. Something about the news feels like a window of opportunity... for what? Benedict hasn't a clue yet.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     WINIFRED watches the afternoon sun dazzle the Serpentine river, her gaze landed on two swans sailing the water's surface. The graceful figure they cut are closely intertwined; most likely mates, she thinks. One cranes its neck lovingly towards the other, who returns the gesture. The sight is much more invigorating than the ton promenading not far away. She is grateful for these moments of re-setting, even if they are a reminder of how she longs for the countryside again after this season.

     "Mrs. Erstwhile! What a surprise to find you here..." says a voice, entirely unsurprised.

     Initially startled, the feeling is replaced by warmth as Winifred recognises Benedict's intonation. She turns to find him walking across the grass towards her, arm linked with Eloise's. She neatly tucks her thoughts away in her mind for a later moment. "Good morning," she smiles at them both.

"We aren't intruding on your solitude, I hope?"

"Oh, hardly," Winifred shakes her head. "Which reminds me, I should extend my congratulations to you all on Colin's engagement. We were quite surprised to read the news in Whistledown this morning."

"Not as surprised as we were. But the family is embracing it... for the most part, anyway," Benedict says; he takes a pause to jab a sulking Eloise in the ribs, to which she grumbles "ow!" under her breath. Then he continues, "Anthony and Kate returned from their honeymoon this morning, so our sister has thrown herself straight into the duties of hostess for their engagement party tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow? My, that is rather soon."

"Yes, we're keeping with the theme of swiftness, I believe."

Winifred and Benedict both chuckle, with an unusually un-talkative Eloise not joining in. Still frowning, she casts a suspicious look between the pair, observing them curiously.

Suddenly Benedict perks up. "Ah, that reminds me! Mother was wondering if you would be attending the party with your sisters? The more, the merrier."

Her immediate instinct is to wince at the suggestion. "Thank you, that is very kind," Winifred prefaces. "But... Jemima hasn't been feeling very well since last night, and Abigail has a prior engagement. Besides, I am not entirely certain it would be appropriate for Abigail to attend anyway, considering her history with Colin... amicable or not."

     "Oh. Yes, well– that seems fair enough."

     "I'm so sorry."

     "Don't be. Not any more than I am," Benedict adds with a disappointed, and not altogether satisfied smile. He stares at her expectantly as though hoping there is more to be said.

     Eloise abruptly unlinks her arm from her brother's. "Will you excuse me? I think I see Cressida over there, I just... need to have a word."

     She wriggles away from Benedict's company — much to his confusion, clearly, as he still seems baffled at why Eloise associates herself with Cressida Cowper. Winifred cannot say she understands it either. But in the grand scheme of things, it is very far down on her list of priorities.

     Now left alone with him, she fixates again on the pair of swans leaving a trail on the water. She senses Benedict turn and meet her by the water's edge, standing and observing in silence. It could almost feel as though they were stood in the country. Certainly not in the middle of London, with high society bustling around them.

     "They are beautiful creatures, aren't they?" he says.

     "Yes, they are," Winifred agrees, her gaze unmoving. "I think they are courting."

     "Courting?" Benedict echoes; she can hear the amused smile cracking into his voice. "Well, they make a very fine pair."

     She grins at his teasing, but is entirely focused on the swans rubbing their bills together affectionately. "It all seems a lot simpler this way, doesn't it? None of the other dancing around that the human race does. You mate for life, and you survive for each other."

     "Perhaps. But look around you. Isn't everyone else also doing an elaborate dance to attract someone's attention?"

     Winifred looks back behind her, at the members of the ton promenading up and down Hyde Park. Young debutantes hoping to be seen by eligible bachelors, and vice versa as the men observe the most desirable diamonds of the year. Seeing his point, she shrugs one shoulder with a sigh. But Benedict gives a subtle nod of agreement; he, too, can interpret the purity she sees in the bonded swans now sailing out of sight down the Serpentine.

     "I hope the party tomorrow is a success," says Winifred courteously. "Really, I wish we could be there."

     "You say 'we', but what about you?"

     "What about me?"

     Benedict faces her, nerves suddenly creeping into his voice. The sunlight catches the pale green hue of his eyes, in such a startling way that demands Winifred's attention. "If I asked you– alone– to go as my guest... would you come?" he asks.

     "Oh..." she exhales softly. "Well, if you really want me there—"

     "I would. I really would."

     Winifred's breath catches in her throat. She is unprepared for the way Benedict seems so hopeful, and actually, how personal the invitation feels. It is to Colin and Penelope's engagement party, after all, a family affair — even with other members of the ton going as guests — so would she even fit in? But she struggles to find polite reasons why she shouldn't go...

     "Then how could I possibly refuse?" says Winifred.

     Benedict blinks at her, hesitant to accept the answer. "So– so you'll be there?"

     "Yes, I will be there. What time?"

     "That's wonderful. Truly, and– oh, um– seven o'clock, I think. Yes. Seven o'clock."

     Winifred nods, laughing lightly with Benedict at him tripping over his words. "Right then," she confirms. "I will see you at seven o'clock, tomorrow evening."

     "Yes– but wait, do you need picking up?" Benedict asks hurriedly.

     "Oh, no," Winifred dismisses it with a wave. "I think I am perfectly capable of walking myself to Grosvenor Square, don't you?"

     "Even in the nighttime?" he says, albeit sincerely, but the glare she shoots him makes him raise his hands in surrender. "I never said a word. Right. Well... I shall see you tomorrow."

     "Good."

     "Good..."

     There is a beat that passes, slightly too long to be comfortable, which veers into a nervous laugh from them both. Who's going to leave first? Benedict then clears his throat, bids her goodbye and takes his leave. What was once a tranquil moment for Winifred, has now turned into a site of pensiveness as she stands restlessly by the river. Then she has to remind herself that there is nothing to read into here, because there isn't, is there?

Bridgerton House. Seven o'clock, tomorrow evening.

... His guest.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

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

—

Dearest readers...

Hello! I took a little pause from this fic — at least compared to my usual turbo-updates (lmao) — and that was deliberate. Some important moments are coming up, so I'm currently trying to plan ahead as much as I can for the remaining chapters. Also I've been on such a Bridgerton kick and I was wary of getting burnout. It's happened before with a different fandom/fic and it didn't feel great at all I'm still holding back a bit, so the updates might be a little bit more spaced out for a while.

Once again, a disclaimer that "My Cottage" is from Benedict's book, and what I write of it in this fic is like 90% my own interpretation. I have no idea if the way he obtains the estate is mentioned in his book, I don't think it is? So I guess I'm trying to flesh it out best as I can.

Writing Jemima sad makes me sad for her 😔 (and also slightly frustrating because of the historical era), but there's going to keep being more little references to the fallout of Jemima/Emilia in the background. And about the ball Madeline invited them to... that's coming up soon and I'm VERY excited for that one. You'll see why when it comes. Just trust me.

The next chapter should be fun, it's entirely focused on Polin's engagement party, and Winifred gets to interact with all the Bridgertons (minus poor Daphne) as well as John and others! Until then, thank you so much for reading 😇

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 03/11/2024