Moments || Benedict Bridgerton

Chapter 6: Moments from a garden

Benedict turns up the next day, barely as you've finished breakfast. It's a lovely sunny London summer day already.

"Y/n," his voice is warm and makes your spine tingle. The fact you have already dropped formal names again makes you inordinately happy. The urge to walk up and embrace him in greeting is so strong you have to grip the chair arms to avoid moving.

The revelations from Lady Danbury's card night ring strong in your ears - he is willing to sacrifice finding a true love match as he believes himself incapable of moving on. From you. And now he knows he's a father to your son. You invite him to spend time together, and he turns up less than ten hours later. The ties that bind you are so much tighter than you ever could have imagined could have hoped.

"Benedict!" James' face lights up, dropping his toy train. "Did you come to paint today?" He positively rocks back and forth with excitement at the idea.

"Yes, James, I have!" Benedict smiles indulgently. "Shall we set up in the garden? I think it's a lovely day to paint some flowers."

"Brilliant!"'James peels with enthusiasm as Benedict nods to his valet carrying his easel and supplies, who moves ahead towards your garden.

James springs up from his toys and runs to Benedict, grabbing his hand on instinct, always so free with his affections.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of them together, holding hands, almost a silhouette against the intense sun beaming in through the French doors.

You watch as Benedict freezes, and a look of something so meaningful washes over his face. You see him swallow heavy like it's challenging to do so. James has no clue about the significance of his simple action - grabbing his father's hand for the first time.

Benedict's gaze moves to you, and your heart clenches harder. His gaze is soft and questioning, silently asking if this is acceptable. You smile indulgently and nod; it is one thousand times more than okay.

"Right, lead the way outside, James," Benedict says, looking down with a smile.

James starts marching onwards but suddenly turns back, not letting go of Benedict's hand.

"Mama, are you not coming too?" He asks.

"Oh, it's okay, love, you spend time with Benedict. He can teach you amazing things about art; I would just be in the way."

"You would not be in the way," Benedict replied far too quickly; James twists to look up at him.

"Yes, Mama come with us" James looks back over to you, and he stretches his other hand towards you, waggling his fingers in a come hither motion.

So you close your book and walk over to them, letting James slip his free hand into yours. The reflection of you three in the door glass holding hands like a family stares back at you. It's something you did countless times with John without thought. This feels so significant your chest feels tight.

You move your gaze from your joined hands, over your son, to Benedict. He is looking at you in a way that knocks you off your axis. If the eyes are the window to the soul, his soul is endless. You can't look away. Butterfly under glass yet again.

"Mama, why are you staring at Benedict?" James' voice cuts in, "you always told me it's rude to stare."

Never a truer word than from the mouth of babes.

You cast your eyes down, suitably called out by your son; you know your cheeks are aflame. Benedict chuckles.

"Don't worry, James, she wasn't being rude. I was just talking to your mummy silently in a way only she could hear." Benedict assures him, squeezing his hand gently.