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Sophie Baek has to pause several times while arranging her step-sister’s hair, because Posy is positively vibrating in her seat. But she opts to just place a firm hand on her shoulder to still Posy and continue working. She can hardly blame the girl, considering that all the planning, effort, money, and preparation for the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton’s ball was spent on Rosamund. And Posy’s natural nervous awkwardness was sure not to make matters any easier for her in catching the eye of a potential suitor. It’s not that Posy is unkind, boring, unseemly, or in any way less than the other ladies of the ton. It’s just that one has to spend some time in her presence to fully realize her worth - something that the pompous, self-absorbed, and all-important single gentlemen of the ton are not likely to do.
Not that Sophie knows anything about what the gentlemen of the ton are like - she’d been forced to serve as maid to the Li family before reaching maturity and thus never got to so much as appear on the outskirts of polite society, let alone have a proper debut. After all, Lady Penwood was hard-pressed to spend time and money on her own flesh and blood daughter, to think she’d spare any of it on Sophie is downright laughable.
In fact, Sophie’s experience with the gentlemen of the ton is limited to just one man - Benedict Bridgerton. And even though they spent less than 2 hours together, it was enough to convince Sophie that he doesn’t quite fit in with the crowd. He is more cunning, and more mischievous, if nothing else, considering how he tricked her into dancing with him in sight of the cream and crop of society. Sophie was far too annoyed with him to appreciate it then, but she definitely appreciates his subversion now. Though, she supposes, he must have some tricks up his sleeves considering he has 7 siblings of varying ages.
Posy shifts in her seat again and Sophie shakes her head quickly to rid herself of the thoughts of Benedict. She needs to prepare Posy for her suitor who must not be kept waiting more than the fashionable 15 to 20 minutes, lest Posy makes a bad impression. It will do her no good to get lost in a fantasy of a life that can never come to pass.
She finishes arranging Posy’s hair and helps her stand and step away from the vanity table without stepping on the hem of her dress and ripping it. She then follows Posy through the halls of Penwood House and up to the door leading into the formal sitting room where Posy’s suitor has been received. As much as a part, a very small part, of Sophie wishes that it could have been her receiving a gentleman caller (a Mr Benedict Bridgerton to be precise), she is as glad for Posy as can be. In fact, she makes sure her dress looks absolutely perfect before Posy goes in because if anyone in this house deserves a chance at a happy life - it’s her.
Sophie only hopes that the suitor is kind, bright, and gentle. If he is not, she might just have to commit murder. She would not let anyone hurt Posy, one of 4 people in her life who has ever showed her even a smidge of kindness, despite Lady Penwood’s explicit instruction to treat Sophie as just another servant, if not worse.
Sophie sends a last encouraging smile to Posy and watches her enter the parlour, before quickly turning on her heel and heading down the hall and back to Araminta’s blasted shoe closet.
She just reaches the midway point of the corridor, faintly hearing Posy greet her suitor, when his answering greeting has her rooted to the spot.
It is a pleasure to meet you
She would swear that she was dreaming. Surely she’s caught some kind of fever from running off in the middle of the night without a shawl. Her hand goes to pinch her own arm, but she stops herself just shy of doing so - any noise she makes is bound to alert others to her presence. The last thing she wants is for anyone to know she's in some place she is not supposed to be.
She might have been able to convince herself that she is wrong if only it hadn’t been just a few weeks ago that she let this very voice guide her around the gazebo in a waltz so magical that it made Sophie feel like she was flying. She might have been able to believe her own deception if her dreams hadn’t been filled with the most enchanting smile stretched playfully on the softest lips, most captivating eyes the colour of which seemed to dance and shift to the rhythm of their waltz from a pale blue, to a soft green, to a stormy gray, and the most tender yet electrifying touch Sophie Baek has ever known.
Benedict Bridgerton was in Penwood House, there was no doubt about it.
She doesn’t remember making the decision to go back and place herself at the door, peering through the crack and into the parlour. It’s more that her legs carry her there as if they’d been enchanted. It seems Benedict Bridgerton is leading her closer to him even when they are not dancing.
The crack in the doors is just wide enough for Sophie to see the back of Posy’s silhouette and once she tilts her head just a tad to the right - there he is, Benedict.
Sophie’s own chest starts fluttering as if it had a hundred butterflies taking flight. Yet something within her stills and then eases, as if soothed by the mere sight of his tousled hair, kind eyes, and easy smile. One of her hands comes up to rest on the edge of the door and the cool, smooth, wooden surface acts as her anchor - that this is real and not something Sophie dreamt up.
She hears Posy speak animatedly, but cannot really focus on the words that her step-sister is saying. She can only watch as Benedict nods and takes interest in what Posy has to say. Which is why Sophie recoils as if someone spilled a bucket of cold water over her when Araminta’s cold voice echoes in scolding. She was scolding Posy to be sure, but she might as well have directed it at Sophie herself.
Reality descends on her like a whip when she realizes that Benedict came to call on Posy. He came to call on Posy when just 12 hours earlier he’d asked Sophie how he might call on her. Benedict Bridgerton might be a second son, but he is still an aristocrat and as such he was still bound by the rules of polite society. He is in need of a good, and more importantly suitable wife. Something which Sophie most definitely is not, never mind the blood that flows through her veins. Her father being the Earl of Penwood would not signify when her mother is nothing but a lowly common maid.
Sophie might be close enough to see Benedict and hear his voice, but for anything more than that they might as well have an ocean between them.
Yet that is not enough to stop her from pressing her face to the crack once again.
She hears Benedict’s polite, yet firm, rebuke of Lady Pendwood in defense of Posy and her heart begins beating even quicker than before. His remark is a tad ridiculous to be sure, but Sophie’s lips stretch into a soft smile anyway. He is defending Posy, standing up to Lady Penwood in her very own parlour, to kindly defend a young woman who is as good as a stranger to him.
Sophie’s head whips to the right at the sound of soft approaching footsteps and her shoulders tense instantly. Getting lost in thoughts or daydreams is a dangerous thing in this house, considering the person who found her lurking could have just as easily been Rosamund.
She watches Alfie as he gently takes her hand in his and smiles kindly at her.
“He’s looking for you.” He whispers.
“He asked for Posy.” Sophie states flatly, her practical side having taken over for the time being.
Dreams are a fanciful, foolish, luxury that she cannot afford. Perhaps in a kinder life, they would have met at a ball and they would have danced openly with each other - for all the ton to see. In a fairer society her mother would have been able to marry the Earl and Sophie would have been raised as befitted for his daughter. In a more just world Benedict could have come to Penwood House to court her. In another life Sophie would have been able to accept his suit.
But ‘could haves’ and ‘would haves’ would not feed and clothe Sophie, nor would they keep a roof over her head. Dreams and wishes are futile when that is all they can ever hope to remain.
Yet, despite the fact that Sophie has always prided herself on being practical, level-headed, and logical, she turns towards that blasted crack in the door once again. Perhaps she, too, is as foolish as her dreams.
“Look how kind he is to her” She finds herself whispering to Alfie as her eyes fixate on Benedict again, unable to look away as he makes conversation with Posy and seems genuinely interested in what she has to say.
She watches Benedict smile and laugh as genuinely as he did last night as they made conversation on the private terrace in his mother’s home and the smile finds a way to sneak into her lips again because he is just as kind and gentle as he was without the mask as he was in it.
“He is there.” She whispers, her words coming out unbidden once again. “Right there in the drawing room.” she repeats, turning to look at Alfie, as if needing his confirmation that this is real. That Benedict being within arm’s reach is not a figment of her imagination.
“You should go in.” Alfie tells her, his words giving voice and encouragement to that foolish part of Sophie without him realizing it. “Perhaps he’ll recognize you.”
“He will not! It was one night, a moment.” Sophie protests immediately as loudly as she dares without being overheard by the occupants of the parlour.
“He does not even know what I look like.” She adds with the same amount of dismay in her voice, absolutely refusing to acknowledge that the only reason he does not know what she looks like is because Sophie would not let him see her.
In truth, she does not know who she is trying to convince - Alfie or herself. Either way, it does not work. Alfie remains unconvinced and that small treacherous part of Sophie’s heart remains hopeful.
“Then tell him.” Alfie insists, stating it as if it were the simplest and most obvious solution in the world.
“What?”
“Go in there and tell him who you are.” Alfie says, as if the idea itself is not preposterous. As if the consequences of it would not be the nobles laughing in her face and Araminta locking Sophie in her shoe closet again for her audacity and nerve as well as the humiliation in front of Benedict.
But instead of remembering himself and the reality of the life both he and Sophie live in, Alfie must have lost his marbles because he leans forward and takes Sophie’s other hand in his
“This is your chance, Sophie.” He tells her and squeezes both of her hands gently in encouragement.
Sophie hates it, truly hates it, that she does actually consider taking Alfie’s advice. For a split second she allows herself to dream. If this were a dream, she would have walked into the parlour to reveal herself to Benedict with her head held high. Sophie would have told him the truth and walked out of Penwood House with him, never to see or hear of Araminta Gun and Rosamund Li again.
But this is no dream and she chases these ridiculous thoughts away with a small shake of her head. This is real life and she must live in it. So Sophie opts to cling to the one thing that never fails to bring her back to reality.
“Lady Pendwood…” She states and lets the statement hang like the weak excuse that it is.
“Once he sees you, once you tell him, Lady Penwood will not signify.” Alfie states in an urgent whisper and for the first time in her life - Sophie hates him.
She hates him for making her believe him and the conviction with which he speaks. What’s more she hates herself for believing him and turning to reach towards the gilded door handle. There is nothing more she wants than to follow her heart and face Benedict, paying no heed whatsoever to the Aramintas and Rosamunds of polite society.
Yet, the broken and battered pieces of her heart and soul rise up to remind her that in the real world, in her own life, Sophie does not have the luxury of doing as she wishes. She hoped that the Earl would embrace her as his daughter like he tried when it was just the two of them. Instead, she became invisible to him once he re-married. She hoped to have a mother and sisters in the face of Araminta and her daughters once. Instead, she became a downright slave in her own house. She hoped to one day leave the Li family and live in freedom and dignity. Instead, she was reminded over and over again that leaving and surviving on her own would require money that Araminta purposefully refuses to give her. Each dashed hope had broken her heart a little further, but Sophie still continued on.
If she goes in there now in the hope of revealing herself to Benedict and he rejects her, she fears her heart might never recover. Sophie’s hand freezes just above the door handle and she pulls it back sharply, her shoulders tensing with determination.
“He could be here for any reason, not for me.” She says, though she cannot bring herself to look Alfie in the eye.
Her words seem to have no effect on him whatsoever, in fact she may have had better chances speaking to the wall.
“He is clearly looking for you.” Alfie says slowly, enunciating every word as if Sophie is hard of hearing.
For a moment, Sophie wonders whether he knows something that she does not. She also feels dismayed at how clear he is that there is no one in this house who might impress Benedict Bridgerton other than Sophie. That is, she cannot see him being impressed by Rosamund beyond her pretty looks. But to imply that sweet and kind Posy could not catch someone like Benedict Bridgerton is unfair. Posy is beautiful - both inside and out, she only lacks the chance and courage to step out of Araminta and Rosamund’s towering shadows.
“Go in there.” Alfie tells her and Sophie briefly wonders if he can see the future, to sound as certain and unyielding as he does.
But Sophie is both uncertain and fearful, perhaps more so than she has ever been in her entire life.
She chances another glance through the crack and soaks in the sight of Benedict. She wills herself to memorise everything about him - his attire, his posture, the shape and colour of his hair, the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles in response to something Posy says, and the way his eyes shine in the mid-day sun.
He is a dream, her dream, and this is all he is ever going to remain.
“He does not want to find me. He wants to find the lady in the silver gown. And she is not real.” Sophie sighs in resignation once she forces herself to look away.
There is definite truth to her words and Sophie knows it. By the way his shoulders droop, Alfie knows it too. It is a testament to how right she is when he does nothing to stop her when she pulls her hand out of his and takes a step back from him and away from the door.
So Sophie does what she must and breaks her own heart before anyone else gets the chance to do it for her.
“I have work to do.” She tells him flatly and turns around, ready to walk away, not realizing that had she stayed just a second longer she would have met Benedict’s eye.
Sophie never makes it three steps down the hall because suddenly there is a pair of strong arms around her waist and suddenly her feet are off the ground and in the midst of this flurry of movement all she registers is a quiet forgive me at her ear before she is thrust forward through the very doors she was just standing in front of.
The arms around her waist disappear as quickly as they’d held her and, as she tries to find her footing in a desperate attempt not to fall face-first onto the hardwood floor, Sophie wonders if perhaps she did not invent the whole incident.
Sophie stumbles several steps forward and the only thing that stops her from completely falling over is being able to brace herself onto the back of the sofa Posy is sitting on. She looks back towards the double doors frantically, but they have already swung shut, as if they had never opened in the first place. Alfie (because who else could have done this) is nowhere to be seen, the traitor.
Sophie hears the swishing of fabric and closes her eyes as she turns back to face forward at a glacial pace. If she gets out of this alive it would be a miracle. Involuntarily, her hands clutch at the backrest tighter, the tips of her fingers sinking into the plush upholstery.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Araminta’s voice might sound calm to someone who is listening in, but Sophie does not fail to detect the ice cold edge to it.
In all the years they’ve lived under the same roof, Sophie has never heard Araminta be this furious. Knowing well that there is no way to escape what is coming her way, Sophie bites back a sigh and squares her shoulder before daring to look up.
The first person she sees is Posy who is looking at her wide-eyed with equal parts confusion and fear. Sophie can only give her the tiniest shake of her head. While Posy, too, is no stranger to her mother’s anger, she has never quite had to deal with the spite, bitterness, and malice that Sophie has been subjected to since the day Araminta set foot in Penwood House.
Next her eyes land on Rosamund whose face is scrunched in a most unbecoming grimace, and who, like her mother, has risen from her seat. Sophie does not linger on Rosamund, for fear that their silent staring will not last long before Rosamund gets over her shock and says something nasty. Not that this is what scares Sophie right now, barbs from Rosamund is something she has grown quite immune to. What scares her is the fact that Sophie realizes perfectly well she is doomed - she knows she will not be allowed to remain in this house after this incident, no matter the outcome of it. As such, for the first time in her life, she finds herself with nothing to lose - and if she has nothing to lose, there is no reason for her to bite her tongue any longer.
“How dare you, a lowly common nobody of a maid, barge in here!” Araminta hisses from the left of Rosamund.
Sophie knows she cannot avoid Araminta’s gaze or Araminta’s wrath. A quick glance behind Rosamund reveals Matilda, her fellow maid, who is frozen to the spot near the window. She steels herself quietly and stands ramrod straight, as prepared as she can be to meet Araminta’s eye.
“Are you alright?” The question snaps Sophie’s attention to the one person whose eyes Sophie was avoiding like the plague.
But as has been the case since the very first time she heard it, Benedict’s voice beckons her to him and demands nothing less than her full attention.
Looking at Benedict, Sophie finds him on his feet and having taken a couple of steps in her direction, one arm still slightly outstretched towards her. If she did not know better, Sophie would think that Benedict intended to help steady her on her feet, but the very notion of it is ridiculous. His arms steadied the lady in silver readily at the masquerade ball. But right now, in the light of day, Sophie was a common maid at best and a noble’s bastard at worst. Still, she cannot afford to ignore his question without insulting him, not when he posed the question to her directly.
She meets his eyes, that seem greener in the light of day than the light grey they appeared in the moonlit terrace of his mother’s home, and finds herself unable to look away from him. She cannot hear or register anything above her racing heart that’s thundering in her ears. Sophie opens her mouth to speak and finds that she cannot even make words come out, so instead she nods and watches as Benedict’s outstretched arm falls to his side.
Sophie can feel his eyes on her, looking her up and down carefully as if to verify that she is indeed alright and she cannot help the rush of affection that she feels towards him. She is virtually a stranger to him, someone he is supposed to pay no more attention to than, say, the wallpaper lining the walls of the parlour. Yet he takes the time to address her, to look at her - as if she is an actual person and not someone’s possession. A notion that after so many years of living under Araminta’s thumb feels almost wholly foreign to Sophie.
She cannot look away as Benedict’s brow furrows and his head tilts ever so slightly to the left. She watches him in silent horror and hopeful anticipation and he opens his mouth and then closes it without saying a word. Sophie swallows the bitter laughter that bubbles up her throat - she knows what he was going to ask and she also knows perfectly well why he did not ask it.
Had Sophie not lived it herself, she, too, would have likely dismissed the idea that a housemaid and an elegant lady at a ball could be the same person. It is simply not done.
“Explain yourself!” Araminta demands, not used to being ignored for the favour of others, surely.
Sophie tears her eyes from Benedict, finally, and looks at Araminta at long last. The coldness of her voice is a sharp contrast to the fire blazing in her eyes. Whatever the most miserable punishment Araminta has dealt to Sophie has been to this point, Lady Penwood is sure to surpass herself with her next sentence.
“I…” Sophie says, but the words die on her tip of her tongue.
She can hardly tell the truth because that will mean getting Alfie in trouble, as well. What’s more, it will force Sophie to explain that she snuck into the masquerade ball without permission, that she knowingly shirked her duties as a maid, and worst of all - that she wore a pair of Araminta’s precious shoes without her knowledge or permission.
“Quiet! Do not speak in the presence of your betters!” Araminta scolds her, whatever mask of politeness and good manners she has been putting on for Benedict’s sake so far clearly forgotten.
Sophie looks her in the eye and bites her own tongue, reminding herself not to rise to Araminta’s bait.
Benedict chooses this precise moment to clear his throat far too loudly than necessary and Sophie finds herself looking his way again. He, however, is fixated on Araminta and is wearing a displeased expression.
“Pardon me, Lady Penwood, I do not mean to overstep,” Benedict says with the fakest smile Sophie has ever seen him wear ”but must you treat her so harshly?”
Araminta takes her eyes off of Sophie and stares indignantly at Benedict.
“I will not be lectured on how to keep my staff in line in my own home!” She says imperiously, barely bothering to disguise her condescension at all. “Besides, what would you know about running a household, Mr Bridgerton?”
Sophie bristles on Benedict’s account and feels an itch in her palm. Her eyes narrow in Araminta’s direction, her thoughts racing as she considers how to get both herself and Benedict out of this mess.
“I meant no offense, Lady Penwood, but surely you can at the very least let her answer.” Benedict replies, having now dropped the polite smile. “She might be a maid but she is also a person.”
“She is a maid and she is of no concern to you.” Araminta states with a cold finality.
“Do not take your hatred for me out on him!” The words are biting and indignant and are out of Sophie’s mouth before she can so much as realize her actions. It seems her words had no trouble coming out to Benedict’s defence instead of her own.
Four pairs of eyes land on her and Sophie has to fight the urge to crumple under their weight, but Sophie does not dare take her eyes off of her step-mother. She watches Araminta’s eyes widen with surprise at Sophie’s audacity and then narrow with fury. She watches as Araminta takes two steps forward and raises her hand towards Sophie, her intent crystal clear. But Sophie does not move. She is past any and all boundaries at this point. Whatever reasons Araminta has had to keep her all these years, they will be null and void after today. Sophie leaving this house is no longer a question of ‘if’ or ‘when’ but rather a question of ‘how’ and she refuses to leave it with her tail between her legs. Sophie will leave her father’s house with her dignity intact even if it means she can never find employment in London for the rest of her life. Araminta is definitely petty and cruel enough to ensure that much.
But the sting of Araminta’s palm never comes. Instead, Benedict is suddenly in between her and Araminta herself, half facing each of them. And he is currently holding Araminta’s wrist above her head.
“Maid or not, I cannot, in good conscience, let you abuse another person in my presence.” Sophie hears Benedict say through gritted teeth. “Now, may I have your word that should I let you go, you will not hit her?”
The tension in the room is so dense that Sophie finds it hard to breathe, but eventually Araminta nods at Benedict stiffly.
Benedict lets go of Araminta’s hand and turns to face Sophie fully.
“I know it might sound ridiculous, but I can swear I’ve heard your voice before. Have we met?” he asks her.
Sophie’s breath hitches at the question and she curses herself for ever opening her mouth. After all, she was able to recognize Benedict’s voice earlier just from hearing it, it stands to reason Sophie’s own voice would be familiar to Benedict as well.
A part of her desperately wants to run out of here, to let Benedict retain his fantasy of the lady in the silver gown and disappear because what good could possibly come from telling him the truth. Yet there is also another part of her, one that is getting louder by the second, that screams at Sophie to be honest. She has already lost her home, the closest people she’s ever had to family, and her employment. She will already be forced to seek employment in the country, as far away from London as possible. What else does she have to lose by telling Benedict the truth? Her heart is already lost to him and has been since their waltz to nothing but Benedict’s voice.
“What a ridiculous notion!” Rosamund laughs incredulously. “Why would her voice be familiar to you? You certainly do not move in the same circles. That is, she does not move in any circles whatsoever.”
Rosamund’s attempt at humiliating her ends up making up Sophie’s mind. She might get her heart broken when the man she loves rejects her, but at least she will get the pleasure of seeing Rosamund’s sour face when she reveals that she knows Benedict was nowhere near her during the masquerade, because he was with Sophie the entire time.
So Sophie stands up straight and keeps her eyes solely on Benedict, completely ignoring Rosamund and what she said.
“You seem to have a talent for accomplishing the impossible, Mr Bridgerton.” She says calmly, hoping to God that he would catch the hint that she is throwing him.
Sophie watches with bated breath as Benedict’s brows scrunch with confusion as he thinks over what she just said. He tilts his head again and Sophie can all but hear his thoughts racing. So she decides to throw him another hint, a more obvious one this time, because while his silence might have lasted a few seconds in reality, to Sophie it seemed like an eternity.
“I gave you neither my name nor my address, yet here you are today.” She says, voice a bit quieter and more uncertain now.
She can see the exact moment that Benedict pieces her clues together. His emotions are openly displayed on his face, untypically so for a member of nobility such as he. She sees his brows rise as high up as they can go on his face, his eyes widen in such a way that would be comical if the circumstances had been any different, and the way his mouth opens ever so slightly again.
Sophie’s fear comes back with a vengeance. She finds herself unable to move, unable to breathe, under Benedict’s gaze. With each following time Benedict opens his mouth only to close it again, the embers of hope within her diminish further. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other in hopes of dispelling the tension both in the room and in her own body.
“You are the lady in silver?” Benedict whispers at long last.
Sophie hears Rosamund break out in laughter and Posy’s gasp. Despite that, she only has eyes for Benedict and finds her tongue twisted again. Sophie grits her teeth to an almost painful degree.
She nods.
“But you’re…” Benedict begins saying and Sophie’s heart drops at the incredulity in his voice.
“A maid?” Sophie finishes his sentence for him with a bitter laugh as she realizes that she might have just made a grave error.
Sophie can bear Araminta’s wrath and Rosamund’s hatred. She can bear any workload that she is given. She can bear going hungry, she can bear being left in the cold. But she cannot bear the idea of Benedict walking away from her which he is certainly going to do now.
Whatever he fancied himself feeling towards the lady in silver is bound to disappear in the blink of an eye, because she is willing to bet that never in his wildest fantasies did he imagine the lady in silver is not a member of the ton.
“Why should I believe you?” Benedict’s question feels as painful as that time, years ago, when Sophie managed to slice her palm open with a kitchen knife.
It is not, however, an unreasonable question. Sophie bites the inside of her lower lips as her thoughts race in an effort to answer Benedict in any way that would make him truly believe her. She is beyond hope of him reciprocating her feelings, but at least she can give him honesty, regardless that it will only end up hurting them both. The easiest way would be to refer to anything they discussed on the terrace, but Sophie finds herself reluctant to reveal anything quite so personal about either of them in the presence of Rosamund, Araminta, and even Posy.
Those couple hours they spent together may have been too few to her liking, but they were precious and Sophie realized she refuses to share them with anyone but Benedict.
“Pardon me, Sir, but...” Alfie’s crisp Lancashire accent startles Sophie to the core.
She can only watch mutely as Alfie steps up to her side, his hands firmly behind his back, as he addresses Benedict.
“Perhaps this will convince you.” He says evenly, still with that infuriating conviction of his and, to Sophie’s horror, pulls out none other than Sophie’s own silver mask and hands it over to Benedict.
“I assure you it is real, Sir. She spent weeks sewing it together and I personally helped put the finishing touches on it.” Alfie continues.
The horror and surprise Sophie felt at seeing Alfie and hearing the words out of his mouth quickly dissipate and are replaced by anger. Anger at him putting himself, his livelihood, and his income at such risk for nothing but an impossible dream.
Alfie was the son of farmers from Greater Manchester whatever ideas he had of the upper class are ones that he conjured himself, aside from what he witnessed in his job as footman. He has never actually gotten a close look at what the upper class is really like. It is why he seemed to genuinely believe that Sophie’s dream can turn into a reality. That someone like her can marry a respectable and admired gentleman of the ton, who in addition to everything else is also the most popular “catch” of the season.
But Sophie? Sophie knows perfectly well the levels to which high society will stoop to reject her. She has been on the fringes of it her entire life, only ever looking in, but never being allowed to participate. Her status as a bastard branding her as visibly as an actual mark to her skin may have. Sophie knows that she will never be accepted among Benedict’s peers no matter how popular or beloved he may be. And most importantly, she knows she has no right to ask him to make the sacrifice of having to choose between his family, the only life he has ever known, and her.
“What are you doing?” Sophie hisses at Alfie as he falls in line beside her.
“I’m doing what you won’t.” Alfie replies in a whisper.
“She will throw you out!” Sophie says in clear distress now at how flippant Alfie is with his life.
“It will have been worth it.”
Sophie doesn’t get to say another word in response because at that moment she catches a whiff of a familiar cologne - Benedict’s cologne. Benedict who is now standing close enough to her for her to be able to smell his preferred soap off his skin.
“Turn around.” He tells her.
“Face me.” He repeats when Sophie does not move.
Sophie does as she is told before Benedict gets the idea to spin her around himself. Once she’s standing fully facing him, she does not meet his eyes. Instead, she fixes her eyes on her mask and the way the silk ribbons fall over Benedict's large fingers. Her eyes track the mask in Benedict’s hands as he lifts it high enough to reach Sophie’s hairline.
She watches Benedict’s feet as he takes a step back, just far enough for his hand to be fully stretched towards her. She does not dare take her eyes off his feet when she hears him inhale sharply through his nose. She does not dare lift her eyes when she sees his hand come down to rest at his side with her mask still in it. She stills completely when she feels his other hand come rest at her chin.
“You’re shaking.” Benedict’s voice is barely above a whisper.
She feels his fingers press ever so slightly into her chin and acquiesces to his silent request to meet his eyes only to find the last thing she was expecting to see. Instead of the disgust or anger or rejection that she expected she finds nothing but wonder. And perhaps, unless she has gone mad and is imagining it - hope.
“I did not mean to deceive you.” Sophie says so quietly that she fears he might not hear her. “I simply wanted a single night where I could…”
“...Enjoy yourself.” It’s Benedict that finishes her sentence for her this time around. “You told me as much. I remember.”
Sophie watches as Benedict balances her mask onto the armrest of the sofa and then reaches into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of silver silk.
“I have spent weeks looking for you.” He says and lets her silver glove unfold in the hand that is not holding onto her chin.
“You kept it?” Sophie asks, genuinely surprised. She would have thought it would have been discarded by the Bridgerton staff when they were tidying up after the masquerade. She certainly did not remember leaving it with Benedict until she was back at Penwood house and in a hurry to take off her costume.
“It was the only thing I had of you.” Benedict confesses with a small smile.
It is a good thing that he was holding onto her or Sophie fears she might have melted to a puddle on the carpet.
“It was you!” A sharp gasp to the side of them made Sophie turn towards the sound.
She forgot Araminta and the others are still in the room with them. But it seems Araminta has reached her limit of being ignored.
“You’re the one who scuffed my shoes!” She says, her voice rising in anger, “You stole my shoes! You ruined them!”
Sophie opens her mouth to reply but is never given the chance, because Araminta continues raving at her.
“You are just like your mother! A common maid who has deluded herself into thinking she could be more! A fool who thought she could ever be worthy of a noble!”
“Sophie is not a maid!” A new voice intervenes and Sophie whips around towards its owner - Posy.
Never in a million years did Sophie ever think that Posy would find the courage to stand up to her mother, least of all on Sophie’s behalf. But it seems today has been deemed a day of never-ending shock and surprise for Sophie.
“Be quiet!” Araminta scolds her harshly.
“What does that mean? If she is not a maid, why does she wear a maid’s uniform?” Benedict asks and his hand on her chin drops.
“Sophie is the late Earl’s daughter that my mother forced into servitude after his death. She was educated and raised as a daughter of the house while the Earl still lived.” Posy says, lowering her eyes at the shameful confession she just gave, though none of the shame is hers to bear.
“Bite your tongue, you ungrateful, horrible wretch!” Araminta screams in outrage. “I regret the very day I brought you into this world!”
“Sophie?” Benedict asks and his fingers return to Sophie’s face to turn her away from Araminta and Posy and back towards him. “Sophie?” he asks again once they make eye contact.
“Sophia Maria Baek.” Sophie replies weakly and gives Benedict the tiniest of curtsies.
“Sophie.” Benedict repeats and Sophie watches a small smile bloom on his lips. “Sophie. It suits you.” he murmurs for her ears only.
They stare at each other for a few seconds and Sophie finds herself returning his smile. Whatever spell they seem to have cast over each other is rudely broken by what can only be Alfie clearing his throat.
Benedict, too, seems to remember himself and clears his throat.
“Is what Miss Li said true?” Benedict asks her, his voice at a normal decibel now.
Sophie nods.
“But if you are the daughter of an Earl, you should have been in society. You would have been presented in society. We would have run into each other at one event or another!” He says, his voice catching onto a slightly manic edge. “I would definitely remember having seen you before my mother’s ball.”
“The Earl passed away a year before Sophie reached the age for presentation.” Posy supplies next to Sophie.
Sophie finds herself shaking her head at her step-sister’s words. While she is grateful to Posy for saying the words Sophie cannot bring herself to say out loud. And Posy is being very graceful about the truth of Sophie’s background by skirting around the issue of her parentage.
As much as she is loath to admit the truth to Benedict, she cannot have him believing that she is the Earl’s legitimate daughter.
“Mr Bridgerton,” Sophie says, pulling Benedict’s eyes back to her “What Miss Li is too polite to mention is that…” Sophie pauses and swallows the thick ball of anxiety that has suddenly found itself obstructing her tongue.
“She is a bastard!” Rosamund declares suddenly.
“Rosamund!” Araminta scolds her without missing a beat.
“What?” Rosamund protests “It is true! We have all known it since the day we set foot in this house! She certainly knew it by the time the Earl married you! The Earl himself made no secret of it! The entire staff knows it, too! It is without fail the worst kept secret in this house!”
Sophie watches as Benedict’s free hand reaches to comb into his hair and feels when his other one falls away from her person. She watches as he mulls over the latest revelation about her identity and finds it impossible to keep her eyes on him. She lowers her gaze to his boots again, if only so that no one sees the way her eyes are quickly welling up with unshed tears.
The silence stretches over the room and Sophie feels like she is liable to burst into tears if she remains in it for another minute. She takes a step back from Benedict and closer to Alfie.
She only makes it two steps back when Benedict’s arm reaches out with surprising speed and grabs onto her forearm. Sophie stills under his firm hold on her and chances a quick glance to find him looking Araminta squarely in the face.
“I imagine that after what has transpired she is no longer welcome in your house.” Benedict states.
Araminta glares at him. “This… disgrace has never been welcome in my house.”
“I was referring to the younger Miss Reiling.” Benedict counters through greeted teeth and Sophie recoils slightly at the ice in his tone.
“My statement stands.” Araminta replies, sticking her chin up defiantly.
Sophie looks up at Posy and finds her also fighting back tears. She wishes she could hug and apologise to Posy. The only thing Sophie has ever brought her is trouble and now she is getting booted out for simply standing up for her.
“Very well.” Benedict nods.
Sophie watches as he shifts on his feet and addresses Posy.
“Miss Li, I wonder if you’d be so kind as to pack whatever you wish to take with you and come stay with us at Bridgerton House.” He says resolutely.
“P-Pardon?” Posy stutters and Sophie cannot blame her.
“With so many of my siblings married and my youngest brother being away at Eton, Eloise and especially Hyacinth can use a friend. I am sure they would be honored to have you stay with us.”
Sophie cannot help the way her jaw drops ever so slightly in shock. She is quite certain that Benedict made this decision without consulting neither his mother nor his sisters, let alone the actual Viscount Bridgerton whose house he is inviting Posy into for an indeterminate period of time. Yet his statement is so certain as if he were the sole owner of Bridgerton House.
Sophie didn’t know that it was possible, but she feels like she has fallen in love with Benedict Bridgerton all over again in that precise moment.
“What about your mother?” Sophie asks, her inner thoughts once again slipping through her teeth without her permission.
Benedict looks down at her with the brightest smile she has seen him wear since she crashed through the doors.
“My mother would love to have more people to spoil. The house has become quite empty in the absence of so many of my siblings.” Benedict tells her.
“I would be honored Mr. Bridgerton, b-but only if you’re certain that my stay would not inconvenience anyone.” Posy says meekly.
“I am quite certain, Miss Reiling.” Benedict assures her kindly.
“I will have Irma pack your things, Miss Posy.” Alfie says helpfully with a curtsy to Posy and turns on his heel to leave the room.
“Footman!” Benedict calls out.
“Alfie.” Sophie supplies quietly beside him.
“Alfie,” Benedict repeats. “Am I right in assuming that you will be needing a new job after we leave?”
Alfie spares a quick glance to Araminta and looks back to Benedict in a hurry.
“I imagine so, Sir.” he says.
Benedict nods thoughtfully.
“I have a cottage in Wiltshire and my caretakers are not getting any younger. They could use a pair of helpful hands if you’re amiable to it.”
God, Sophie feels her hands start to itch all over again only this time they itch with the desire to kiss Benedict right then and there.
Alfie nods immediately. “That’s very kind of you, Sir. I’d be infinitely grateful to you.”
“Then it is done.” Benedict declares. “Besides, I have a feeling we will be spending much more time there soon enough.” he adds, looking down at Sophie.
“We?” Sophie asks, not quite believing his implication. Surely, he cannot mean it.
“We.” Benedict repeats and takes her hand in one of his.
Sophie’s skin feels instantly warmer at Benedict’s touch, like a swarm of buzzing bees have settled under her skin - just like it felt when he held her ungloved hand at the terrace.
“After everything I went through to find you, surely you don’t believe I will let you go again?” Benedict asks her with a raised eyebrow.
“But-but…” Sophie stutters. Out of everything she imagined for this reveal, this was the absolutely last thing she thought would happen.
“I am not saying things will be easy and there is much we have to discuss.” Benedict tells her and squeezes her hand once again. “But I would rather do that in the privacy and comfort of my home.”
“I…” Sophie hesitates, “Mr Bridgerton…”
“We will go to Bridgerton House and we will explain it all to my mother. She is sure to have some advice on what our options are.” Benedict explains.
Sophie’s heart drops. Of course, she has read nothing but good things about the Dowager Viscountess in the Whistledown sheet over the years. Sophie is sure that Lady Bridgerton was the picture of kindness and maternal love, but even those would have limits when faced with the least possible choice she could have ever imagined for her son.
“What if she disapproves?” Sophie whispers, unable to shake away the fear.
“She will love you.” Benedict declares.
“How can you be certain?”
“Because she will see what I see.” he tells her with a soft smile. “She will love you because I love you.”
Sophie shudders at his words and the tears that she has been holding onto for what feels like ages now finally fall freely down her cheeks. Her throat feels swollen with emotion and her heart is once again trying to flutter out of her own chest. She is quite certain she would have swooned had Benedict not been holding onto her.
“Who do you think you are to give orders to my staff and my daughter in my own home, Mr Bridgerton?” Araminta exclaims in affront. “I will make you regret ever coming here! You will never be welcomed at a society function again!” she threatens.
“Do so, Lady Penwood.” Benedict tells her with as much fake politeness that he can muster. “And I will personally make sure everyone knows just how horrendously you treat your staff as well as your own daughters.” he vows.
“You would not dare!” Araminta gasps.
“Oh, but I would.” Benedict states with a smirk. “What’s more, my mother the Dowager Viscountess, my dear sister and brother the current Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton as long as my dearest sister the Duchess of Hastings and her husband the Duke will all back me up on it.”
For the rest of her life, Sophie would swear that there is barely anything as satisfying as watching Araminta Gun, bane of Sophie’s existence, open and close her mouth like a fish as a result of being bested at her own machinations.
“What’s more, Lady Pendwood,” Benedict continues, his smirk turning more predatory now. “Both my sister and mother are quite close with Lady Danbury, who I am certain you know has the ear and friendship of Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“I am sure Lady Whistledown will also find the information quite useful.” Sophie supplies with a smile beside him.
Benedict turns his head to face her and his smile is downright beaming.
“You are absolutely right, dearest.” he says.
Sophie is quite sure she stops breathing at the term of endearment he uses for her. She wants to make note of it, but is not quite sure he even realises that he used it.
“Now, I do believe I have outstayed my welcome. Ladies, whenever you are ready, we can depart with my carriage.” He declares.
Posy nods quietly and rushes out of the parlour and towards her room, no doubt.
“I only have a handful of things to pack.” Sophie tells him. “I will only need a few minutes.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Benedict offers.
Sophie loves him for asking but she has absolutely no desire whatsoever to have him see the condition of her living space, which she is sure is far below what he is used to and is able to imagine.
She settles on shaking her head and asking him to wait outside for both her and Posy. Once he acquiesces, he pulls Sophie out of the parlour, leaving Araminta and Rosamund behind without another glance, and lets Sophie pull him through the corridors of her childhood home. She deposits him in the entry hall and rushes to her own room with her footsteps echoing loudly off the marble floor.
Sophie starts laughing as she runs, feeling more free and more relieved than she has in a very long time. With every following peal of laughter easing some invisible weight in her chest that she did not realise has been weighing her down.
And for the first time since the day her father brought Araminta Gun home, Sophie allows herself to hope.