CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
the long game.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

DEAREST WINIFRED,

Thank you ever so much for your letter. Please do write as often as you can, if it is no trouble. It was a shame we had to miss Lady Danbury's ball, they are always the highlight of a season, and this one sounded just as dazzling. But I am relieved to hear that Abigail and Jemima are taking steadily to the ways of the ton again — and you, of course. If anything, I think you are the one who has struggled the most in Mayfair. I commend you again for taking on our sisters in my absence. Although it does not surprise me one bit...

I must say it is a relief to be back at Denham Hall. Silas is pausing his duties for as long as he can to spend time with the children, and you can just see they adore every minute of it. I wish he knew how good of a father he has become. (Even more surprisingly, however, is that Persephone has done her bit in trying to entertain the children! Can you believe it? I think she frightened Adrian when she read him a story but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless.)

As for myself, I am recovering slowly but surely. This birth has rattled me in a way the other three had not previously, but I am coming to terms with it in the aftermath. Plenty of strolls about the gardens — taking a leaf out of your book, dear sister — are doing me good. Little Natasha becomes more beautiful every day. She is already growing up so quickly... this is my fourth child, and yet I am never prepared for the passage of time.

I am about to run out of ink, so I shall end this letter here. Do make haste in your reply!

With all my love,
Madeline

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     THERE is nothing like fresh air to restore one's spirits. It is partially why Winifred urged Abigail to accompany her for a walk through Hyde Park this morning. The clouds are slightly grey and over-hanging with the slightest chill, but Winifred maintains that it is all the more refreshing. Jemima volunteered to stay at home and read, and Lettie needed to remain with Lady Strachan to help her needlework. But somehow Regina has ended up on their walk — the pug wheezing as she waddles along the path, a maid quietly holds her leash a couple of paces behind. As the baroness said, "She cannot rest on my lap all the time."

Winifred had imagined something a little brisker, but it has soon turned into more of a stroll... like a promenade. She has listened as Abigail confessed her disappointment over the last couple of days — despite sharing two dances at the Danbury Ball, neither of her partners ended up calling on her the following mornings.

"You must give these things time," Winifred advises her. "And do you remember what our mother always says? You should never hasten yourself into a marriage for the sake of it."

"I know, but... I was re-reading one of Edwina's letters the other day," Abigail says; since the last social season, the two amiable young ladies had agreed to keep in touch via letters, and had become great friends through their correspondence. The word is that Edwina made a great match abroad. "She seems so happy with her husband. It made it painfully clearer that no one seems interested in calling upon me in this place."

     "Abigail—"

"I am sorry, that sounded selfish..."

"It did not. But listen, much of the ton seems to regard us as... lesser. Even if we are the daughters of gentry, we are still a peg below the nobility in their eyes," Winifred admits factually. "Having said that, a shining personality can easily break through. And you have only just begun, Abigail. You do not need to resort to desperate measures."

"I suppose that is true..."

"I can hardly believe I'm saying this," she adds, "but I would direct you for once to Whistledown's words this morning: 'it is said that fools rush to judge while the wise watch and wait'. Playing the long game does not have to be a hindrance."

Squeezing her arm tighter, Abigail nods, seemingly with resolve. "This is going to be my year. I'll make sure of it. Last time, it was all new to me, but the shock has subsided since. No more half-courtships or missed callers."

     "That's the spirit. Do not think so lowly of yourself."

     Winifred looks across to the path ahead of them, when her eye catches the Bridgertons walking towards them — or Benedict, Eloise and Colin at least. The eldest of them seems to be edging away from two young debutantes as if they were allergenic. But upon seeing Winifred and Abigail, she sees his chest expelling a sigh of relief.

"You are certainly brave, taking your chances in this weather without proper precautions," Benedict muses as he spins his wrapped-up umbrella in his hand.

"If the walk is brisk enough, I find you can beat the rain entirely," Winifred replies coyly.

As the pair look at each other, like they were the only ones present, Abigail is occupied speaking to the remaining Bridgertons. "What brings you all out this morning?" she asks graciously.

"Soaking up the fine day, like yourselves," Colin shrugs. "And we were discussing the season coming up ahead."

Winifred raises an eyebrow at this, involuntarily shifting her gaze towards Eloise. She expects her to recoil at the mention of it, but there is barely any reaction from the girl. She seems to be much more subdued than the fiery teenager who read Wollstonecraft that Winifred met last year.

The younger Bridgerton brother grins mischievously. "In fact, we were just reminding Benedict that he did promise Anthony to give society a try this season."

"Is that so?" Winifred asks, already noting the sneer that Benedict shoots Colin.

"Pending a response, more to the point..." he sighs.

Abigail beams at Benedict and replies, "Well, perhaps I shall be seeing you on the dance-floor at the next ball, Mr. Bridgerton. I am certain there will be queues of young debutantes eager to share one with you."

"Please... do not remind me."

In the middle of a collective chuckle amongst the group, Colin's face suddenly switches from mischief to a gentle attentiveness. He has spotted something — or someone — just past their shoulders. "Will you excuse me?" he mumbles, bowing his head to Winifred and Abigail as he walks past. They track his movements to find him walking straight for Penelope Featherington, who stands on the path beneath the shade of a tree. Colin falls into step with her as they begin strolling along together, his tall and toned figure next to her petit one.

Abigail eyes them with a certain curiosity, or a depth of knowingness, while Eloise practically pales at the sight. Winifred frowns at the latter sight. She is sure there is some hidden complication between her and Penelope that she is missing.

"I think we should keep moving," Winifred concludes, shifting her eyes to the grey and overhanging skies.

"Indeed," Benedict nods playfully, "keep up the brisk walk."

As the Bridgertons continue in the other direction without them, Winifred and Abigail walk along with the maid and the pug. She steals a glance behind her shoulder without thinking much of it — but then to her surprise, Benedict is looking back too. They both snap back around, flustered in equal parts. Winifred gulps and tries not to analyse why that felt like being caught red-handed...

She instead listens to Abigail talking about potential eligible bachelors she has read about in Whistledown. As they walk, they quietly greet members of the ton who walk past. They are not on a friendly basis with the majority of these nobility — to them, the girls must seem more like outsiders from the country without Silas and Madeline to lead the way. But politeness is key. That is what the Seymours were raised with. So they briefly greet each person they pass, whether they know their names or not, a simple nod of the head and fleeting (but warm) eye contact. Abigail has always been better at that part; Winifred often finds she either avoids it or ends up staring rather severely.

The next gentleman they walk past is somewhat more rugged than the rest of the ton, and not in the glossy and tanned way Colin is after his travels. It is not so much that which catches their attention. After nodding and muttering a quiet "Good-morning," Winifred feels Abigail slowing down her pace as her linked arm drags her back. There is an expression on her sister's face of someone slowly piecing together a puzzle. Behind her, the man has also slowed down, carefully turning around to face them again.

Winifred must admit she also recognised him, but did not wish to be so bold in naming the potential stranger.

"... Mr. Ribeiro?" Abigail asks, her voice creeping up.

Matthew's brows fly up. "Yes... Abigail Seymour, wasn't it? And Mrs. Erstwhile." He walks up to her, considerably more humbled than their first meeting. Winifred remembers it now — he was the architect with whom her sister danced at the Harvest Ball. The only marked difference about him is a slight more care taken to his appearance, not least that his face is now clean-shaven.

"Yes. What– how– I mean, how are you?" Abigail's cheeks heat up.

"I'm... well."

There is a pause, as if they wait for him to say more. But it becomes clear that it really was all he meant to say, so Abigail takes the lead. "What brings you to London?"

"Business," Matthew replies. "There is the potential for securing some lucrative clients in Mayfair. Also... I live here. Temporarily, anyway. I am hoping to move elsewhere soon."

"Oh, I see..."

"And you? What brings you to London?"

"I am here to find a husband," Abigail declares with determination.

There is the slightest trace of a reaction in Matthew's demeanour. Something flickers in his eyes, twitches in his face; a slight alarm at the idea. But then he rolls his shoulders back with a re-gained nonchalance. "So... business for you, as well?" Matthew deadpans.

Initially taken aback, Abigail then cracks a smile. "Yes, I suppose. It is rather business-like."

     I might as well be invisible, Winifred thinks, as she watches the two of them talking. It is a strange dynamic. There is a push and pull, quite opposites at first glance, and yet the friction also sets off an undeniable spark.

"I would not know a thing about the marriage mart, and nor do I intend to," Matthew says. "But I wish you the best of luck."

"Who knows? We might... bump into each other again."

"I hope you do not mean that literally."

Abigail gives a subtle roll of her eyes, while Matthew shifts his gaze down to the congested pants of the pug at his feet. He adds: "Good luck with that small beast of yours, too."

Matthew nods curtly — but not impolitely — as he leaves. Abigail's head then pivots around to follow his path as he walks away, his brown coat trailing behind his long legs. Winifred watches her sister watching him for a few moments. It is only after she squeezes her arm that Abigail returns back to Earth.

"An odd coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Winifred remarks casually.

"Yes, it is a small world..." Abigail mumbles, still looking behind. "Do you not find him rather vexing?"

"Vexing?" she hums. "Mr. Ribeiro strikes me more as a man dedicated to his work. He most likely sticks out in sore contrast to the palette of polite society."

"... I suppose so, yes."

Winifred turns to her sister with a watchful eye. She has the fleeting suspicion that she knows what Abigail means by 'vexing'...

... But for now, she decides it is nothing to worry about.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     "HESITATING, Hyacinth?" asks Colin with a twinkle in his eye.

     Next to him, the youngest Bridgerton furrows her brows. "I do not hesitate," Hyacinth insists.

     "And yet here we are," Gregory sneers, "waiting."

     "Perhaps it is to your good fortune that she fleeced you in the last hand," Colin teases him further.

     "I play a long game!"

     Benedict watches the whole interaction slumped in his wicker chair, smiling eyes peering over his own hand. He thought it was a fine day to play his first game with the Spanish cards Colin brought back from the continent. Gregory and Hyacinth had somehow gotten involved, and now the quartet were out here in the garden, trying to outsmart each other at the table with glasses of lemonade handy.

     Hyacinth clears her throat. "I am pleased with my hand," she declares, sinking back into her chair with a triumphant smirk.

     Gregory, meanwhile, seems less satisfied. He shuffles his cards with a vexed look on his face, much to Benedict's amusement. The youngest brother finally turns to him with a look of faux confidence. "I should like to trade," he says.

     "Mm..." Benedict smiles crookedly at him.

As they shuffle through their cards to trade, a footman arrives in the garden. Colin only exchanges a mysterious glance with him before rising from his chair. "I am out of this round," he announces.

"Coward!" Gregory protests.

"Told you he had a strategy," Benedict mutters.

But Colin is all smiles, coyly adding, "We may need more coins, the way Hyacinth is playing."

Benedict scoffs, but keeps a watchful eye on his brother until he has escaped his line of sight. Colin has been acting rather secretively the last couple days. He slips out of the drawing room without notice (or so he thinks), and almost always at a scheduled time too. And what was that secret exchange between him and the footman?

"Are you certain you're not cheating?" Gregory asks Hyacinth.

Hyacinth smirks back. "Do you think me a magician?"

Pulled back into their orbit, Benedict hums teasingly. "Well, if you are, please teach us some tricks."

The poker game continues, and Benedict can only rejoice that he did not leave at the cost of missing this spectacle; for Hyacinth Bridgerton is an absolute virtuoso in playing poker. Somehow it does not surprise him. And he does not discourage it either, amused at the image of her wiping out tables of older and experienced lords in gentleman's clubs. He only nurtures this skill of hers in private though — if their mother knew Benedict was raising Hyacinth to be a proficient gambler, he is sure he would be skinned alive.

Unsurprisingly, she wins. Again. Gregory remains a sore loser as always.

"Magic..." Hyacinth whispers, just to taunt him.

Behind them, Eloise and Francesca have appeared in the garden, back from their trip to the modiste. "Ah! Sisters!" Benedict booms, stretching his arms out. "Perfect timing. Our game has just ended."

"Gregory lost spectacularly," adds Hyacinth.

"You do not have to rub salt into the wound!" Gregory whines.

"Would either of you care to join us?"

At Benedict's offer, Francesca seems to visibly recoil, which he completely anticipated. "Thank you, brother, but I rather think the pianoforte calls my name instead..." She then scurries off without another sound.

"Eloise?" he offers.

"Not in the mood," she mutters, "I think I'll retire to my room."

Her response snaps Benedict out of his playful mood. He straightens in his seat, tilting his head at his sister. Eloise may have been out-of-character the last few months, but she seems especially miserable at this very moment. Gregory and Hyacinth are none the wiser as they get up and follow Francesca into the house. Eloise is about to join them, until Benedict rises from his seat.

"El... wait a moment."

Eloise's shoulders shrug with a heavy sigh. Benedict walks around the table, slowly collecting his playing cards as he surveys his sister with curiosity and concern.

"You seem troubled," Benedict says. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

"No. Why would I wish to talk about anything with you?" Eloise snaps back.

His eyes grow wide at her response on the offensive. He raises his hands in mock surrender and scoffs. "Forgive me for being considerate. I'll try my hardest to be aloof and uncaring next time. But..." Benedict pauses, staring pointedly at her. "Sometimes, when one is feeling lost or burdened, it is good to confide in your family. Or even better, your friends."

"I have friends."

"You mean you have Cressida Cowper?"

"You still do not approve of her, do you?"

"I never said that," Benedict argues, although he definitely thought it. He currently thinks it to be the most bizarre team-up of the century. In fact, he swears he remembers Eloise saying she would rather die than join Cressida's clique before she seemingly befriended her. Still, he figures he should probe gently with his sister. "Although I must say I was... surprised to see you acquainted with her after last year."

"There was no one more surprised than myself," Eloise replies. "However, Cressida was one of the few who showed me kindness in the wake of what Whistledown wrote about me, when I least expected it. There is more to her than meets the eye."

Yes, he thinks, somewhere beneath those giant sleeves.

"I heard that!"

Benedict grimaces sheepishly. Perhaps he 'thought' louder than he meant to. As he crosses over to the large tree in the garden, where two rope swings sway gently with the breeze, he turns to her again.

"And what of Penelope Featherington?" he asks.

The very mention of her name sets Eloise's face in stone. Sometimes, he can see complete loathing in her eyes at the mention of Penelope, and other times she seems like she could burst into tears. Benedict has been perplexed over the reasons of their falling-out... in that he cannot think of what drove them apart. Usually, he thinks he has a good read on Eloise's true feelings, but on this matter she has been a closed book.

"Your friendship was so dear to you, as I'm sure it was to her," says Benedict; solemnly, sincerely. "I cannot understand what has happened to cause such a rift, let alone why you seem reluctant to make any attempt in mending it. But I would like to understand... if you would let me."

Slowly, deliberately, Benedict lowers himself to sit on one of the swings. The ropes creak with his weight in the silence that follows. His hope is that Eloise will follow him to the other swing, and she will bear all her secrets to him — something that has become a tradition of theirs in the last few years. Benedict would like to hope he is a good brother. He certainly loves his family, and thinks he knows most of them like the back of his hand. But it is with Eloise that he feels a true sense of responsibility as a big brother. While they can speak like equals, he has taken pride in the moments where he can guide and support her, perhaps because they understand each other uniquely in the middle of their family.

Instead, to his horror, Eloise just stays in place with her arms folded. "I should like to prepare for tonight's ball," she says.

Benedict frowns. Never have those words left Eloise's mouth, at least not genuinely. The girl that wanted to forge her own path last year seems determined to fit in this season. What hurts more is that she seems to feel there is something she cannot tell him. Is there something he is doing wrong? Failing to provide as a brother? In what world does Eloise Bridgerton not want to bear her soul to a lightly-amused Benedict on the swings, where they can utter nonsense and somehow make complete sense?

But at the same time, he knows it would be even worse to judge her. Benedict simply nods soberly, sympathetically, and lets his knees drop inwards.

"Do you remember what Colin said to you the other day, about giving society a try? It might not hurt as much as you think," Eloise imparts to him tiredly. "I spent the whole year prior trying to fight it. But now, I suppose... if you cannot beat them, join them. Do consider it, Benedict."

     Eloise leaves, the garden emptied of all but one Bridgerton. The spare. That title is one of the many reasons Benedict has steered clear of the marriage mart all these years — that is all the girls and their mamas see him as. How could he possibly find anything authentic in that world, if that is what Eloise means to imply?

     Then again, there is that price he knows he has paid. Solitude. Although Benedict would argue it is just as solitary a pursuit to be wed-locked because it is what everyone else does. It is a difficult line to walk.

     Sighing, Benedict swings by himself, wondering what it would take to fill the empty seat beside him.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     WINIFRED is stood under a large portrait of the baroness in the hallway — she passes it every time she leaves her bedchamber to go downstairs, and it catches her eye every time. Dominique Strachan had a lively glow in her youth. Her amber eyes glowed even brighter, matching the golden shade of her robe à la française, and her hair sits in tight curls on her shoulders like a mane. She appears powerful, and yet approachable. Winifred wonders if this the woman Lettie has grown to know better through being employed as her companion.

Right as she is thinking this, Lettie's footsteps grow nearer. Her friend emerges in the candlelight dressed in shimmering silver, like moonlight.

"You look lovely," Lettie says first.

Winifred hums and smooths down her gown of light, sage green taffeta. "As do you."

Her friend glances up at the portrait and takes a moment to admire it. "Quite the image, isn't it? The baroness had it painted around the time Queen Charlotte married the King. She has told me a few stories from those days, you know, on quieter days... it is quite fascinating."

"I am glad you have each other," says Winifred. "I know she is your employer, but she seems a great deal more engaged and attentive than a handful of the Fitzroys ever were."

There is a beat that passes, in which she senses Lettie trying to find some kind of witty remark, only to fall short. She knows there is little to joke about when it comes to the Fitzroys, who have never quite had the same warmth and togetherness as the Seymours. Winifred wonders for a moment whether she had overstepped — but she knows Lettie, who would have vocally protested if she had done such a thing.

"... Are your sisters ready for tonight?" Lettie asks, keenly switching the subject.

"I expect they will be soon enough."

The evening sky is already darkened for tonight's Full Moon Ball. The themes for these events seem to become more creative and decadent every year, Winifred is sure. But she is hardly focused on that, rather more concerned about being a responsible chaperone for her sisters. She carries Abigail's eagerness to find a husband seriously while also wondering whether to reel in Jemima at some point...

"Do you suppose Lord Basilio or Lord Cho might take more interest in Abigail?" asks Winifred flatly.

"I think Lord Cho has turned his attentions elsewhere, at no fault of your sister," Lettie replies, "but Lord Basilio could still be a potential candidate."

"And what about that gentleman we met Lady Danbury's ball? You know—"

Lettie groans, rolling her eyes. "Do not remind me... but yes, Lord Debling. He is difficult to discover more about. I have had to read between the lines. The only thing I could pick up on was that he intends to find his match this season, and that he has quite a keen interest in nature. Oh, and he claims to be a vegetarian."

Winifred raises her eyebrows, then shrugs. "To each their own, I suppose."

Her friend starts to smile with slight amusement, filled with curiosity. "I must say," Lettie begins, "I was surprised to discover you had opted to stay in London for another social season. Do you secretly revel in it?"

"Goodness, no," Winifred says quickly. "I am bound to this by duty more than anything."

"Hm... duty."

"You can pretend not to believe me, but it is the truth."

Though perhaps there is another reason. A selfish one, in her own eyes — the longer she can delay returning home and facing... whatever it is lies ahead in her future, on her own, the better. Winifred is usually pragmatic and objective in these decisions. But this one feels especially hard to make. This very reason she has decided to keep secret, even from Lettie, because if she cannot make sense of her internal knots and messes, then who can?

She adjusts the long white gloves on her arms and thins her lips, unimpressed dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth. Just as she does, Abigail and Jemima walk into the corridor, their gowns also catching the twinkle of the candlelight. "Ah, there you are," Winifred sighs, "are you both ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Jemima teases.

"Then we had better leave... the sooner tonight is over, the better."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

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

—

Dearest readers...

This was a short filler chapter, but a kinda necessary one if that makes sense? Abigail and Matthew have reunited, and this is not the last you have seen of them, trust me. And I really enjoyed adding my own (almost) Benedict and Eloise swing scene — I was worried season three wouldn't have one until that finale! I swear I read somewhere that those swing scenes were Luke T's idea and he wanted to include them in every season, so if that's true... 🥺

Also in Madeline's absence, I might throw in a couple of letters from her like at the top until she re-appears. I imagined Winifred wrote to her right after the Danbury Ball.

The pace of these updates might start to be more spaced out, not because I'm uninspired (trust me it's the opposite), but now that season three is fully-released I want to plan ahead for some chapters. We are getting into more important story beats when it comes to Benifred, and I don't want to botch them. I'm basically planning a few chapters at a time and then writing them, then planning and writing a few more, etc.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is focused completely on the Full Moon Ball.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 12/07/2024