CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
cautious hearts.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

BENEDICT SHOULDN'T HAVE RUN AWAY, AND HE KNOWS IT. Although he must confess, he was caught off-guard. He had started to convince himself that Winifred would never reciprocate what he felt for her. Why should she? Even if she had, Benedict was unsure of what he could give her in return, that would make him worthy of such a woman.

That was until the night when Winifred kissed him. And it was... unlike any kiss he had shared with anyone before. For Benedict, he usually felt a colourful dance of all sorts in someone's kiss. This was different. With Winifred, the world went quiet around him. There was her, and only her.

But then he panicked, in a way he did not know he could panic — stuck somewhere between complete joy and paralysing fear. Benedict remembers stumbling off in a haze. That was the last he saw of Winifred, before he truly fled. It was convenient cowardice on his part, that he had been planning a visit to My Cottage anyway. This was his window of opportunity.

It had only been a few days in the countryside, and yet slipping away from the ton had reinvigorated Benedict. Yes, My Cottage (bizarrely named and not his idea, he would like to stress!) was a dust-collecting and abandoned manor, but that endeared him no less to it. In fact, there was something upon walking inside it that instantly felt like a home. More importantly, Benedict's home. The garden was overgrown, the stone crumbled in some places, the housekeepers a quirky pair, all part of something he can call his own.

The fresh air had also forced Benedict to face the regret that came with leaving Winifred like that. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Why couldn't he just tell her the truth, which was... it was...

Well, he loves her.

Why is that so hard to say? When faced with the idea of committing to a future, leaving what he knows already, Benedict finds himself freezing.

... These questions still linger upon his return to London, which is sooner rather than later. He couldn't miss his brother's wedding, could he? Benedict makes it back just in time for Colin's stag night. They go out drinking the night before with Mondrich and John — Colin had wanted to invite Matthew, but the architect had been busy working overtime on his designs. Anthony was also otherwise occupied this evening, not quite in the mind for stag drinking when he has his pregnant wife on his mind.

     The stag night is suddenly rather well-timed, for Benedict could use some loosening-up to free him from his doubts. A few drinks in, it seems to be doing the trick. Colin, however, is in another league tonight. Benedict eyes his younger brother as he pours another glass. "I realise that it is tradition to drink," he smirks, "but I believe if the stag gets too drunk the night before its wedding, it runs the risk of being shot."

     "Then keep up with me," says Colin nonchalantly, "so that there might be other, slower targets."

     "I do not think any of us can keep up with you tonight," Mondrich adds.

     On the other end of the spectrum, John hiccups drowsily over a half-empty glass; rather more lightweight than the Bridgertons.

     "I thought you were not much of a drinker, Lord Kilmartin," Benedict chuckles.

     "I am not," John slurs slightly, sinking back into his chair. "But in my defence... your mother does not like me."

     "Our mother does not not like you..." Colin begins to say, but is quickly shushed by Benedict.

     "I shall handle this..." Leaning further over the table, Benedict stares intensely at his potential future in-law. He is only slightly aware that his words come out in a drunken, wide-eyed and passionate monologue: "Lord Kilmartin, our mother ADORES... you. But, our mother also has an obsession with great love stories."

     "What should he do?" Mondrich asks. "Give the man some practical advice!"

     "Frankly, you might consider doing something foolish. Something bold. Declare yourself! Throw... rocks?" Benedict glances at Colin for affirmation and then pounds his fist on the table. "Throw rocks at Francesca's window tonight!"

     "No—" Colin shakes his head.

     "Your problem is that you are trying too hard to be respectful."

     Benedict stares at him intently, just managing to hold himself back from saying more. He certainly wishes he could be more bold when it comes to Winifred... but John needn't know that.

     "Bold?" John considers it carefully, leaving them in silence for a few moments. Then he takes a deep breath. "Well, if I am to be bold, I shall need some time to think about it."

     The other men groan, Benedict's head hitting the table in despair. John drains the remaining contents of his glass. He then stands up, swooning on the spot as he tries to find stable footing on his way out. Regarding his state with a concerned laugh, Mondrich also rises from his seat. "I think perhaps I shall go home as well," he tells the Bridgertons politely. "It is strange to be drinking in another man's club."

     "No, stay!"

     "Mrs. Mondrich and I have our social calendar full this week. I am... spent. I shall see you tomorrow, bright and early."

     He takes an arm around John, letting him lean his weight as they leave the club. It leaves the two brothers to drown their doubts in alcohol. Benedict, of course, knows why he is drinking more tonight — but surely Colin should be having more celebratory drinks? Since his return, he has noticed how withdrawn and pensive his brother seems. Unlike him tonight, even Benedict can see where his limits are.

     "Perhaps that is our cue," he suggests.

     "You go," Colin stares at the bottom of his glass, "I could use a moment on my own."

     Benedict tilts his head, discarding playfulness for a moment. "Is everything well?" he asks him.

     "Is everything well with you?"

     The question ricocheted right back at him, Benedict pouts teasingly. But if Colin truly wants him to back off, then he will. He is never the type of brother to pry... he can leave that up to Anthony. With that in mind, he stands up and scrapes the chair against the wooden floorboards. Before he goes, Benedict walks over to Colin, and places a kiss on the top of his head. A quick ruffle of his hair to follow it, and then he's off.

     His little brother getting married, tomorrow. Who would have thought it?

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

WEDDINGS are not always boastful occasions such as today — when Winifred and Joseph got married, only their immediate family and a handful of others came, and that was quite standard. It was probably a mere quarter of the turn-out to Penelope and Colin's wedding. It seems as though Lady Featherington has pulled out all the stops, wanting to show off to the whole ton. Winifred certainly doubts it was Violet's idea to have a wedding this lavish.

     Powder blue and gentle yellow floral arrangements abound, including at the edge of the pews. "Ah, at last! Some spare seats..." Jemima rejoices. She goes in first, followed by Abigail, and finally a preoccupied Winifred.

     "It looks so lovely in here," Abigail whispers, with a secret longing.

     Lovely, yes. But Winifred would rather be anywhere else right now; she knows that the Bridgertons are probably seated at the very front of the pews. And where there are Bridgertons, there will almost certainly be Benedict...

     Winifred spares her wandering glances instead to find the rest of her family — eventually, she locates them, Madeline waving at her from further up front. Madeline beams next to Silas, the couple sandwiched between her parents and his mother. Persephone appears to be turning her nose up at the whole Featherington display. No doubt she sees the family as beneath her, pertaining to the scandals that have followed them over the years... Winifred struggles to wilfully keep up.

     "Is Colin there yet?" Abigail asks.

     "No, I don't see him," Jemima feigns a frown. "I do hope he isn't late."

Eloise moves her head forwards, revealing a glimpse of Benedict sat beside her — oh God, there he is. The sun streams in through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the lines in his face as he beams at something Anthony said.

Soon enough, the rest comes flooding back. How Benedict ran away after they kissed, leaving Winifred with no explanation. She almost let her heart slip through the cracks. But now, is it to always feel this awkward when they meet? The armour quickly goes up again and she turns away.

If she had looked for a second longer, she might have seen Benedict searching the room, waiting for Winifred to look back at him.

"— Matthew! What are you doing here?" Abigail suddenly whispers, enthralled. Winifred snaps her stare back to the pew in front of them, where surely enough, Matthew has slipped in amongst the ton. Even if he was invited, the upper-class invitees surrounding him don't seem to regard him so positively.

"I'm here for the wedding, of course, but I had to say hello..." Matthew gazes at Abigail for a moment; the sunlight catches his eyes, illuminating them in loving amber. Then he tilts his chin upwards. "Look at the ceiling. Neo-classical. Isn't it magnificent?"

She obliges, tracking his stare to the light blue and cream ceiling above. "Yes, it's quite exquisite."

"It was designed by John Papworth, you know. Do you see those central ornaments? They were carved, as opposed to being casted in moulds. The craftsmanship of it is just... incredible."

As Matthew goes on, Abigail just watches him talk, revelling in the way he gets inspired by the architecture. But his attentions soon fall back to her. He takes a deep breath. "Abigail," he lowers his voice even further, "I must speak with you later on. There is something that I need to—"

"Ahem. Sir, would you mind?"

The imposing voice comes from a lavishly-dressed couple, eyeing the tradesman sat in their seats. Matthew senses their displeasure and tenses his body. But he won't argue with it; he vacates his seat and instead walks all the way to the back of the church. Abigail watches him leave, drawn to him beyond her control. Winifred just continues doing her good chaperone's duty, by staying silent and not stepping on anyone's toes. Although, the time may come soon to ask her what will become of this — as her sister if nothing else.

At the altar, Colin steps forward, blue and yellow flowers also attached to his lapel. He looks out at the guests congregated for his wedding day. There seems to be a strange mix of anticipation and dread. Winifred cannot understand what has come over Colin. Then again, wasn't she anxious on her wedding day?

     A string quartet starts playing, and all the guests rise. The curtains are pulled back to reveal Penelope and her mother. The wallflower blooms like a pale pink rose, after so many years of being shoved into the shadows. Lady Featherington walks her slowly down the aisle to the smiles of the guests around her. Winifred glances back at Colin to see his reaction — it seems he forgot how to breathe for a moment, lips parted in awe at his bride. It also seems with each step closer Penelope takes, she grows more confident. When she passes Winifred and her sisters, they all shoot her reassuring smiles, and she returns a grateful one.

     Winifred follows Penelope's long journey down the aisle, catching the reactions of guests around her. Soon, she passes the Bridgertons, and Eloise looks on teary-eyed. The others also look proud to welcome her into the family, including Benedict.

     Then, over the bride's head, he and Winifred finally meet eyes.

     She finds all her attempts to keep Benedict at arm's length a waste. Because more than anything, Winifred's first thought is how much she missed him. She has felt his absence in Mayfair greatly. Something bubbles to the surface in him too, his whole body rising and falling with the surprised breath he takes. There is a fleeting flash of pure joy and desire between them.

     Benedict smiles at her softly, but with nervous hope. Then Winifred cannot bring herself to do the same; the music stops, and no sooner than the priest tells them to be seated does she plummet back down.

"Dearly beloved," says the priest, "we are gathered here in the sight of God and this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

It occurs to Winifred somewhere into the priest's opening words, that it is the first time she's hearing them in full since Joseph died. She would have at Anthony and Edwina's almost-wedding, before chaos broke loose. But the likelihood of that happening today is slim — as nervous and tense as they seem to be, Colin and Penelope appear to have every intention of marrying one another. Winifred was the same age Penelope is now when she married Joseph.

     "... Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou forsake all others, keeping thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Colin's answer comes after a pause for thought. His gaze softens, and he nods to Penelope. "I will."

When Penelope answer is the same, the bride and groom take their hands. "I, Colin Bridgerton, take thee, Penelope Featherington, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward—"

"For better or for worse, in sickness and in health," Winifred finds herself mouthing the words from memory, barely at a whisper.

"— To love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part..."

     Till death do us part.

Winifred feels the skin under her sleeves turn to goose flesh; the lump in her throat chokes tears into her eyes, which she blinks back quickly. Even as she feels joy for Colin and Penelope, a wave of anticipatory grief hits her. They don't know what's coming. She feels awful for thinking it as soon as it enters her mind. Are weddings always going to be this difficult? Will she always mourn what was cut short with her husband?

     Colin finishes her vows, and Penelope says hers. Winifred takes a breath that manages to calm herself again. The exchange of the rings commences. "With this ring, I thee wed..." says Colin, sliding the shining band onto Penelope's finger.

Her stare shifts only briefly to the Bridgertons, where Benedict glances at Eloise dabbing her tears away. Then he notices Winifred looking over and becomes caught up in it.

"With my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

Winifred peels her gaze away, her mind and heart torn in every direction, just as the priest leads them into the prayer for the final part of the ceremony. Benedict also turns his attentions back to his brother, who stands hand-in-hand with his new bride.

"And by the joining of hands," concludes the priest, "I now pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Unable to wait a moment longer, Colin leans forward and crashes his lips softly into Penelope's. The guests all rise in their seat and applaud the newlyweds, the sound echoing through the great halls of the chapel. Smiling but feeling somewhat fragile, Winifred admires the couple stood at the alter together. Suddenly she feels a hand gently tap her arm — Abigail is tilting her head at her, seeming to check on her. Winifred nods back at her sister to ward off her worries.

     The celebrations then move to Featherington House in Grosvenor Square, the pastel yellow walls splashing light into every room. This is apparently a wedding breakfast, but many guests are still in attendance. Winifred is surprised she is even stood here now. The sweet fragrance of an obscenely tall wedding cake greets her upon the entrance, layer upon layer frosted to perfection.

     "Ah, there you are, girls!" Octavia comes sweeping through the crowds, Charles following quietly behind her.

     "Where's Madeline?" asks Winifred.

     "Oh, I think Lady Danbury caught her and Silas for a chat."

     Charles looks around, raising his eyebrows at the packed rooms. "This is quite the turnout for a wedding breakfast, is it not?"

     "The more the merrier, I suppose," Abigail shrugs; she already seems distracted, scanning the rooms for someone. It doesn't take a genius to guess who she is looking for.

     Meanwhile, Jemima becomes distracted by a table decorated with small cakes and various sweets. She plunges her hand into a crystallised bowl of fruit drops, popping one into her mouth. "Mmm... where do the Featheringtons get these?" she asks, eyes widened in delight. No one answers her as she helps herself to more.

     Winifred is about to tell her to save some fruit drops for everyone else, when she notices two familiar faces at the other side of the room — Lord and Lady Lymington, the family who put out the advertisement for a governess. Two days ago, Winifred took a chance and wrote to them, and she has ever since been wondering whether she did the right thing. She knows it is a wedding today, but perhaps this could be a moment to see whether the Lymingtons seem like a good family.

     "Papa, I just need to slip away for a moment," Winifred whispers to her father.

     Charles nods. "Certainly. Meanwhile, I think I shall find a place to sit down."

     Winifred departs from her family, now squeezing past the other guests in order to reach Lord and Lady Lymington. They have just finished a conversation with another couple when she approaches.

     "Lord and Lady Lymington?" Winifred says, and they turn to look at her; their disposition is already very warm and friendly to be around. "Pardon me. My name is Winifred Erstwhile. I– I know this is not the occasion, but I wrote to you regarding your advertisement, and I thought it might be polite to introduce myself in person. I apologise if it is forward."

     "It is not forward at all, my dear!" Lady Lymington smiles, jovial dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Thank you for answering the advertisement."

     "We had been meaning to write back," Lord Lymington adds, "but seeing as you are already here..."

     His wife quietens her voice for a moment, still linking arms with her husband as she leans closer to Winifred. "First of all, I must tell you that I was so sorry to hear about your husband. I know you did not express it in your letter, but– well– word travels fast in Mayfair."

     "Oh... thank you," Winifred replies, taken aback by her generosity.

     Now, Lord Lymington comes in with the pragmatics, although still incredibly approachable. "About the role, you do seem very qualified to be a governess, and a responsible enough lady too. But... my wife and I are not entirely convinced that it would suit you."

     She digests this information slowly. "Yes, I understand," Winifred replies. Internally, she imagines a list in her head, crossing 'governess' off the options for where her future could go. Perhaps it was for the best. Maybe her mother had a point, that she was reaching too far for a new life—

     "In fact, we would like to offer you a different role. We wondered if you might consider being a lady's companion instead, to our eldest daughter?"

     Companion? She blinks at them in surprise.

     Lady Lymington continues with this thought. "She is due to debut in society next year, and she could use all the help she can get. We have noticed you with your sisters, and how well you have guided them throughout the season."

     "But– but they were my sisters," Winifred says, still stunned, "and they have not even found a match in those two years. I was merely doing a favour for my family to chaperone them. I– I am not so familiar with Mayfair as other lady's companions would be."

     "You can be modest, Mrs. Erstwhile, but it is plain to my husband and I that you have been a steady pair of hands. In fact, it is a testament to your temperament and guidance, to see how your sisters have held their heads high despite being outsiders to the ton..." Then Lady Lymington lowers her voice to a scandalous whisper, adding: "And we all know how vicious the ton can be."

     "Some of the conditions still stand," Lord Lymington interjects. "You can live with us between Somerset and London, when we are here for the season. Unlike a governess, you would have your own room in the house, instead of in the servant's quarters. Much more suitable for someone from the gentry of your standing, wouldn't you agree?"

     "I—"

     "You do not have to agree to anything immediately. We understand this must be rather a turnaround from what you were expecting."

     "Yes, it is..." Winifred manages breathlessly.

     "You would have a couple of months to decide," Lady Lymington says. "Any time before Michaelmas, we were thinking. Please do contact us with what your decision is... you know how to find us now."

     All she can do is nod, still trying to remember all the information just fed to her. The Lymingtons remain cheerful and unaffected, Lord Lymington suddenly gaining a sparkle in his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe there is a slice of fruit cake over there with my name on it."

Left alone again, Winifred considers it all. The role does hold a great deal more appeal than previously. Nevertheless, she shall have to think about it.

She passes into the next room, where a tall figure is stood talking to Eloise Bridgerton. Winifred realises who it is too late.

"— Love is not finite, Eloise," she hears Benedict say. "The friendship you have with Penelope is a lucky thing. As is the one you have with Colin."

Eloise blinks at him, eyes shimmering with tears. "A lot of dust in here, too," she mumbles, clearing her throat. Then Eloise seems to spot someone in the distance — other than Winifred — and her lips wobble. "Excuse me, I am going to find some champagne."

     She walks off, leaving Benedict to take a sip of champagne himself. Winifred anticipates him turning around; she suddenly panics, and her foot is already halfway through the doorway when she hears her name being spoken:

     "Winifred?"

     She freezes. There is no ignoring him now. Winifred cannot look him in the eye yet, but she takes in the wholeness of him stood there. It is difficult to decide how she wants to feel in this moment. "Benedict..." she murmurs. It becomes impossibly difficult to ignore what you feel for someone, once you have tasted their lips.

     "I thought that was you," Benedict sighs, though it hardly relaxes him. He swallows thickly. "I... I'm glad to see you."

Winifred says nothing.

Fortunately, it isn't lost on him that she shouldn't be thrilled to see him again. "Could we– could we talk?"

"Not here. There are too many people."

"Somewhere else, then."

"It is your brother's wedding. You cannot simply sneak off—"

"Colin is too wrapped up in Penelope away, even if he pretends not to be," Benedict takes a step forward, desperation creeping into his voice. "Please. I just– I need to explain myself."

Winifred wrings her hands together, each one suffocating the other. She would like some answers... but she isn't sure what she plans to say in return. With the slightest pivot of her head, she gestures towards the open doors on the other side of the room. Benedict immediately understands. They walk towards them inconspicuously, not looking as though they are escaping together. They have slipped away from ballrooms a fair few times — only this time, the feeling is different. It is not usually the case that Winifred wishes to escape from this scenario.

Once they are out on the landing, they trot downstairs, pretending to be admiring the decorations. "Eloise said you went away for the week," Winifred throws out as bait.

"Yes... to the country," Benedict says, somewhat guiltily. "I have recently acquired– well, not acquired, but discovered that a property had been left to me by my father. I had been looking to go and explore it ever since."

"Oh. Well, good for you," she hums, dissatisfied.

To this, Benedict lets out a sharper sigh. They have just reached the drawing room. When the coast is clear, they slip inside, greeted by the pear-green walls and giant portraits of past Featheringtons hung above the fireplace. He shuts the doors behind them and presses his back to them. Winifred stands in the centre of the drawing room, staring at him. The sooner he comes out with it, the better, for they shouldn't be alone in here.

"Listen, about that night..." Benedict grimaces; he doesn't seem to know quite how to begin.

"I do not know what you want me to say," Winifred shakes her head, calmly but firmly. "You ran away. Quite literally, in fact."

"I know, and I am so sorry. Believe me when I tell you that I regret it a million times over."

"So, why did you do it?"

"Because... well, I got... scared. I did not know what to say."

"Neither did I," she replies. "But did you have to go so far as leaving town, and leave me hanging in the balance?" Winifred watches the shame flash across Benedict's face again. She can't help the emotion creeping into her voice now. "I would not have minded talking about it with you. I needed to talk about it with you."

"Then let us talk about it now, please..."

Benedict walks forward slowly, careful as he enters Winifred's space. She locks eyes on his pleadingly. The sunlight baking through the window feels too hot on her skin. And yet, she also knows how the comfort of being near him fights through all of that.

"Winifred, for the longest time, I convinced myself that you could never feel anything in return for me. I took your word that you had no interest in pursuing anything with anyone. Even as things have become more hazy, more difficult to discern between friendship or more, I believed that." Benedict takes a breath, his pupils dilating. "But then... you kissed me."

     She did, didn't she? Winifred feels her stomach blossom with butterflies. Suddenly, she gets the impression that she is being met with an important decision; however, she feels her armour solidifying around the fragile insides with her heart and soul.

     "So, what do you suppose happens now?" Winifred asks hesitantly. First, she wants to see what Benedict says.

     "I... don't know, truly," Benedict admits. He reaches out, ever-so-softly taking her hands in his. "What I do know, is that I have never felt this way about– about anyone before. And, if I am not mistaken, I think... you have felt something too. But I also know that you will not be rushed into anything."

     Her mind stretches to an imagined future, her and Benedict together. Then it goes too far. Winifred envisions losing him, not being good enough, always being stuck in the past. Her mouth goes dry.

     "Which is why I'm not speaking of forever. Perhaps we should think about what we have right now, without the pressures of having to choose."

     "No, no," Winifred shakes her head, not liking her interpretation of his words. "I cannot float in the in-between, or dabble passions like you can, Benedict."

     "That wasn't what I meant—" He stops, registering what she said. "Hold on, is that really all you think I am capable of? Passing dalliances?"

     "Well, is it?"

     Winifred feels awful as soon as she said it. But the look on Benedict's face is worse — he retracts from her, blinking quickly in shock. Oh God, she hadn't meant it like that. It just slipped out with her frustrations. She gathers her thoughts again, determined to smooth out her bluntness while getting her point across.

     "Benedict, forgive me. I just meant..." Winifred sighs, stepping closer to shorten the gap he re-opened between them. "For as long as I have known you, all you do is complain about the marriage mart. You have proclaimed that you would be quite happy being a bachelor for life. It is perfectly acceptable that you should have felt that way."

     He starts shaking his head, not believing his own words anymore. "Yes, but that was—"

     "I also do not doubt that you have an abundance of love to give. There are plenty who would happily receive it. But for me, love is not something that I take lightly. It is something very finite. And I– I just think that... for one lapse of judgement we had, we should not risk ruining what is a perfectly good friendship. I am not sure I could afford another loss."

     She isn't sure that was any less brutal. Once Winifred's armour is up, it is difficult to pry off, and it sharpens against those who try to break in. Not only does she need time, she also wants to manage her expectations — and maybe his, too. Now it is her turn to run away from themselves.

     That doesn't make it any easier to watch Benedict process everything she just told him.

     "Right. Well..." Benedict clears his throat, avoiding her eyes. "I'm glad we spoke."

     He stays silent then, his hands rigidly fused to his hips. The ticking grandfather clock in the drawing room sets Winifred on edge. They look at each other again. This time, it feels more distant.

     "They'll be wondering where we are," he adds. His fingers graze the doorknob absentmindedly.

     Winifred nods solemnly. When he opens the door, she walks out, and Benedict follows behind her. The journey back upstairs feels like they are returning with wounds. At the same time, there is not any anger between them — just an inexplicable sadness. She doesn't know which is worse.

     Back in the ballroom, a string quartet plays a romantic tune. Penelope and Colin are bucking tradition by dancing in broad daylight before everyone. Some other couples have taken to the floor, including Francesca and John. Another pair soon join them — Abigail leading Matthew onto the dance-floor, dancing as if no one else is watching them. Their bodies press closely together, their gazes wandering closer to their lips...

     Winifred cannot spare a thought for them in her mind right now. She sees Madeline across from her, watching with Silas. She beams and waves at her initially. Then, detecting something is the matter, mouths "What's wrong?" to her sister. Winifred shakes her head softly, owing to tell her more later if she feels like it.

     Watching the young lovers dance, Winifred reflects.

Love, she learned many years ago, is a free fall at first. All the dizzying emotions, she feels every single one. But there comes a point when the free fall must stop. That love must be steered into something more solid; it could be an ending or a beginning. For Penelope and Colin, it is just beginning. For Winifred and Benedict, she feels she has done the opposite.

     At least, for once, Jemima is not the sister wearing a frown. "You know," she smiles, "I think as far as weddings go, this one could not have gone any better."

     Suddenly, an announcer's voice cuts through the song ending: "Her Majesty, the Queen!"

     The Queen?! It is soon seen and therefore believed, all the guests gasping and curtsying or bowing, as Queen Charlotte swoops straight into the wedding breakfast. The couples dancing stumble apart in bewilderment. It even shakes Winifred and Benedict out of their stupor.

     "Lady Featherington," Queen Charlotte acknowledges the hostess.

     "Your Majesty," Lady Featherington curtsies back.

     Then the queen turns to the room. "Everyone who is not a Bridgerton may go. Now."

     It takes a moment for everyone to comply, perplexed by the command — but no one is about to dare question Queen Charlotte. Winifred shoots a confused glance at Benedict, despite everything, and he seems just as clueless. In the havoc, Penelope almost follows the Featheringtons out, before Colin reminds her that she is now a Bridgerton as well.

     The rest of the guests file out of the room and downstairs, left to loiter and gossip about what could possibly be going on. Winifred soon reunites with all her family, including the Osbornes.

     "What makes Queen Charlotte interrupt a wedding breakfast, just to have a private audience with the Bridgertons?" Persephone questions aloud.

     "Mother, if I didn't know any better, I would say you were jealous," Silas smirks.

     "I highly doubt the queen is in good spirits for this meeting," Octavia adds with a scoff.

     "But why?" Abigail asks, looking up to Matthew, who stands beside her still; Charles has been staring him down the whole time.

     As the family debate together, Jemima seems awfully quiet, stood in the dark corner of the room by a table. Winifred would have thought that she'd enjoy such a conspiratorial discussion. Then she notices her sister's arms folded firmly across her chest, her hands tucked under her armpits. All of it looks highly suspicious.

     "What are you hiding?" Winifred interrogates her, cornering her.

     Jemima wears an awkward expression on her face. "Oh, Lord... will you just promise not to make a scene?"

     Make a scene? She furrows her brows at her sister.

     Appearing paranoid, Jemima checks that no one is looking at them. Then she unveils her arms, which have mysterious bulges in her sleeves. She shakes them out onto the table; a trickle of boiled fruit drops clatter onto the table from each sleeve. Winifred watches with her jaw dropped; she doesn't know what she expected, but it was not this...

     And that's not the end of it. Embarrassed, Jemima sneaks a hand into her stays, scooping out a handful of even more fruit drops in wrappers. Just when Winifred thinks she is done, she bends over and slips another hand beneath her skirt. Oh no. She didn't. Indeed, Jemima unveils four more sweets that she had slipped under her garter ribbons on her legs. How she snuck them under there in the first place is something she'd rather not know. In total, there must be about twenty fruit drops that Jemima smuggled out of that wedding breakfast.

     Winifred slowly sinks her face into her hand, her sanity hanging on by a thread.

     Jemima finally interrupts the awkward silence: "In my defence, I was going to share them with you all. But the Queen's entrance threw me off and I panicked."

     She can't help it — the whole thing is so ridiculous, that Winifred's lips wobble reluctantly into a grin. Realising she may not be in trouble, Jemima smiles too, chuckling.

     "But for God's sake, don't go flashing them around," Winifred then hisses, glaring at the fruit drops.

     "The fruit drops, or my garters?" Jemima asks.

     "Both!"

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

AFTER the wedding, Winifred and her family had gone to Osborne House in Grosvenor Square to spend the evening. Amongst the chatter tonight was the reason for Queen Charlotte's visit; rumours only abounded once the Bridgertons had re-surfaced, all seeming rather rattled. The bride and groom looked especially ashen. But even gossip cannot persist the whole evening. Soon, Osborne House quietens down.

The children are the first to go to sleep. Winifred takes it as her cue to leave, until Madeline asks that they go to the nursery together. It is slightly smaller than the one in Denham Hall, but still brimming with various toys and cribs. In the crack of light that sears into the room, she sees her nieces and nephews fast asleep — Adrian hugging his pillow, and Natasha's little arms outstretched in the cot could make even the coldest of hearts melt.

"Isn't it the most gorgeous sight?" Madeline whispers, doting eyes checking on all four children. "I don't know how so many parents can hand their children over to a nanny all day. Given the choice, I might just spend my time playing in here with them. They see the world so innocently."

"I know," Winifred agrees. A pang of bittersweet longing reverberates through her chest. At least I can be an aunt, she reminds herself.

"But I wouldn't choose to have any more. Not after... last time."

"Yes, perhaps that is wise. The birth was much more intense than what you have previously said."

"There's that, and also..." says Madeline, trailing off for a moment. Regret paints her features in the shadows. "For a while after Natasha was born, I haven't felt quite like myself. I felt so detached from her, and yet incredibly anxious to see her at the same time. And there were some days where I simply couldn't get out of bed. Sometimes I would cry, and cry, and cry. Other times, I would lie there and feel completely... empty."

Winifred shuts the door slightly. She stares at her sister, taken aback by her confession. "Do you– do you still feel like that?"

"It isn't a new feeling, as such. I experienced something similar after Adrian was born. In fact, I think it was worse that time. I thought it made me the worst mother in the world..."

She starts to remember the letters Madeline wrote to her a few months ago. They were filled with joy about Natasha, but surprising bursts of anxiety and melancholy also broke through. And to think she has felt this way before? Winifred just feels awful for only hearing about this now.

"I had no idea," says Winifred, "I– I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Madeline rests her head on her shoulder. "And do not feel guilty. I kept it from you on purpose, whether you like that or not."

"You aren't mad. And you can tell me in the future. I shall not ever judge you for it. Will you promise not to feel the need to hide from me?" she asks firmly.

Madeline smiles warmly at Winifred. "I promise. And I have actually learned that it is not such an uncommon feeling, after all. Though I do hope you never experience it."

"I would have to have a child first, Madeline."

"Oh, Win..."

Her elder sister squeezes her arm sympathetically. Together, they walk down the hallway, past portraits of Osbornes and eventually Madeline herself in one of them. It has been a while since they could share a moment, just the pair of them, and it feels sorely overdue for them both.

"Speaking of woes," Madeline treads carefully, "you seemed like you were struggling today. Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just... weddings feel different these days," Winifred shrugs; it is partially true, after all.

A beat passes, where her sister considers this.

"Was there something else? Perhaps, concerning Benedict?"

Eyes fluttering shut, Winifred lets out a sigh of defeat. How does Madeline do that? It becomes increasingly annoying when she has her finger right on the pulse. She doesn't even know where to begin, when it comes to explaining anything.

     "I saw you two that night at our ball, when you danced together. I saw the way you looked at each other..." says Madeline softly. "I'll just say it. Do you love him?"

     Winifred slowly stops in her tracks. "I do," she murmurs quietly.

     It is difficult for Madeline to hide her happiness at hearing this. But still, she realises that there is far more to consider for Winifred. "So, what do you think you will do about it?" she asks.

     "I think it would be best, for both of us, if we didn't take any risks." Looking at her sister urgently, Winifred says: "Madeline, I didn't imagine I could ever consider being with someone else again, let alone this soon. And there are so many reasons why it wouldn't work anyway—"

     "What about the reasons that they would work? Winifred... you are allowed to be happy again. I hope you know that."

Winifred stares down at the floor, holding her breath. She thinks back to being alone with Benedict today — it could have been so easy to cross that threshold, to fall into him completely. Part of her wishes she could take back what she said to him. But open hearts are vulnerable ones. Every time she almost thinks of being with him, she thinks of how easy it would be to lose him too. Losing Joseph awakened her to that possibility. That grief still follows her in waves, too... it is a constant battle in her head and her heart, and she doesn't know who wins at the end of it all.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

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

—

Dearest readers...

2 chapters of Act Two left to go!! Can you believe it?

So... Benedict and Winifred have finally reunited, but it was not the grand reunion we might have dreamed of. I feel like they are both scared to commit for different, yet similar reasons — Winifred, in the scene we saw, has her guard up because she KNOWS she could love Benedict, but is scared of the hurt it could equally bring (what if she loses him too?). As for Benedict, I feel like his commitment issues are partially fear, being scared of what it means to have someone love you FULLY, not parts of you (Luke T kinda touched on this in an interview, I think). I know this is a slowww burn, but trust me when I say we are getting closer than we have ever been to the happy ending. Just hang in there...

Although the Lymingtons are some last minute side characters I added, I do like them a lot. I like to think they are a family of friendly faces in the ton. But it will be interesting to see how Winifred considers their offer. It is perhaps more desirable than a governess role would be, and Winifred would be treated better by the family. And what would Benedict think? HMMM.

Speaking of companions, I would like to recommend a Netflix series I just watched: it's a Spanish show called 'The Lady's Companion', and it almost feels like a mix of Bridgerton and Fleabag. It's a fun, colourful and breezy watch if you need to switch off! Really hope there will be a season 2.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter 😇

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 15/04/2025