It is said that second-born sons have all the fun. This much is certainly true for Benedict Bridgerton, free from the burdens held by his eldest brother, the Viscount. One must wonder, how does the second eldest Bridgerton spend his time?
To the to...
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"Benedict Bridgerton!" Lady Bridgerton gasped and turned to give him a stern glare, swatting playfully at his arm with her glove.
Benedict had made another one of his sexual innuendos, a habit he had picked up around the age of fourteen, much to Violet's dismay.
He pretended to be offended, feigning innocence as Colin laughed from his seat at the table across from his older brother, even though he didn't get the joke. He thought his older brothers were the funniest people in the world.
Benedict couldn't help but smile as he looked down at his plate. His mother was not pleased with him at the moment, but he much preferred it to the state she had been in the three months since his father's death. He couldn't help but feel that things were getting back to normal, and he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. His mother noticed it as well, and unknown to him, smiled a bit herself at the thought.
One thing had not returned back to normal, and it was like a cold chill that everybody in the family felt.
Anthony.
Since the day of his father's death, Benedict had not seen Anthony show a single emotion. No happiness, no anger, and what scared Benedict the most, no sadness. He had been there the moment his father died, he and his brother had cried in each other's arms. Yet, since that moment, Anthony had been stone cold. He had not made any of his cheeky jokes, he had not teased his younger brothers, he had not run around playing with the little children.
After dinner, Benedict purposefully dawdled behind, knowing that his mother was typically the last one to leave the dinner table. She always insisted on helping the maids clean up afterward. Once everyone else had left the room, she noticed Benedict standing by the door.
"Dearest, is everything all right?"
He looked at her, before glancing into the hall to make sure everyone was out of earshot.
"Mother, may I speak to you about something?"
"Yes, of course. I can see that something has been bugging you this evening." She took a seat the table, gesturing for him to sit with her.
"I must admit I'm beginning to worry about Anthony. I know this must be harder for him than any of us children, but I can't help but feel that he's no longer the same Anthony that I have known all these years." Benedict sighed, sitting down. His mother was not at all surprised by this sentiment. In fact, she was relieved that somebody else had the nerve to say what she had been thinking the past few weeks.
"It has been three months since your father died, we must all try to be happy again. For some of us, that might take longer than others." She put her hand on her son's cheek, smiling lovingly at him. "You have been so very patient during this trying time. Do not think the hours you sat by my bed talking at me incessantly these past three months went unnoticed. You must try to give Anthony a little more time now as well."
