Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Refuge

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice.

That's the thought preoccupying your melancholic mind as you sit in bed, propped against a mass of pillows, staring out the window across the sun-drenched fields of Aubrey Hall. Wishing you could be outside, enjoying the sun's rays on your skin. Instead, you are stuck inside, boredom reaching new heights as you contemplate restarting a book for the third time.

For the past two days, a stomach complaint has left you feeling weak and without an appetite, but also frustratingly unable to sleep, seemingly worse at night. Also, you never sleep well when separated from your loves—it is all a recipe for a maudlin mood. The doctor does not think it is contagious but recommended bed rest and a foul-tasting tincture you must drink twice daily. The Bridgerton boys are coming back from business in London today, and usually, that would signify a wondrous, sensual reunion, but your traitorous body has decided otherwise.

Just as you are sullenly picking up the book you completed that morning, there is a soft knock at your door.

"Come in," you call, defeated, expecting it to be someone bringing you more disgusting medicine.

"Darling, we are home! My valet informs me you are sick. Why did you not send word to London? We could have cut short our business," Anthony's worried tone seems to inhabit his whole frame as he strides in and makes a beeline for you.

"Are you alright?" Benedict adds, appearing behind him, his face also a picture of concern, rounding the other side of the bed.

The wondrous sight of them tips you over the edge. A bloom of pleasure mixed with frustration that your reunion cannot be in the manner you would like. It breaks the dam of emotions you have been keeping at bay, all bubbling over into tears.

"Oh my love, no, please do not cry!" Benedict implores and softly takes a seat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand.

Anthony hovers, worry etched into his face but seemingly unsure what to do. Benedict frowns at him and signals for him to sit on the bed, which he does after a pause, taking your other hand.

"I've missed you both so very much," you snuffle between tears, your gaze pinging between them. "I am just so sorry to disappoint you - I am not in a fit state to celebrate as we usually would," you offer quietly, feeling guilty and biting your lip.

"You could never disappoint us," Anthony avows sincerely, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

"We have missed you too, my love," Benedict strokes your cheek delicately with his free hand, swiping a tear that falls with his thumb. "But please, you are obviously sick; we only care about you getting better."

"Yes," Anthony nods brusquely, "what can we do to alleviate your suffering? Open a window? Or is the room too cold? Perhaps a fire? Do you need more pillows? Or less? Perhaps some more tea?"

A glow behind your ribs flares at their loving concern in their unique ways—Anthony trying to solve the problem, Benedict offering sympathy. It is just so them.

"I would perhaps enjoy new reading material," you confess quietly. "I have read all the books here in this room at least twice over now," you admit sheepishly.

"I will have the staff move my entire library up here this afternoon," Anthony declares solemnly, a hand over his heart.

"No, no, please, just a few books will be more than fine," you assure with a feeble giggle, more tears welling at his outsized gesture.

"I think what she most needs from us, brother, is us," Benedict assesses, lowering himself to buss a kiss on your forehead—always the one to intuit your emotional needs more than you can yourself.

"Yes, please," you whisper, almost ashamed of your yearning to just be held by them, your weakened state making you feel fragile and in need of strong arms holding you close.

Anthony instantly pulls at his boots and then swings himself around until he can lie next to you. "Of course, how did I not see that?" he chastises himself, his lips running a soothing line over your right temple.

Benedict also takes off his boots and does the same, and a feeling like warmed honey spreads behind your ribs as they each wrap an arm around your middle, snuggling into your neck and face.

"Thank you so much," you murmur, your tears drying with their comforting presence.

"No more tears now," Anthony lectures, but with a gentle sweetness that is him willing you to feel contentment. "We are here to do everything in our power to ensure you are all better soon."

"Indeed," Benedict confirms.

"Could you possibly get under the covers with me?" your ask is timid.

"Oh, of course!" both exclaim and stand up just long enough to shuck their jackets and waistcoats, pull back the bedding and slide in next to you. The heat of their bodies is an instant balm, seeping through their shirts through the thin cotton of your nightgown.

"Darling, your body is cold!" Anthony exclaims anxiously as his hand slides over your belly.

"I have not been able to keep food down, so I am always cold," you admit. "All I can handle is weak, cooled tea."

"My poor love," Benedict sighs into your hairline. He runs gentle kisses over your cheek. "Then we will just have to stay here and keep you warm now, won't we?"

"That would be truly wonderful," you sigh, closing your eyes, feeling a bone-deep relief to be back in their joint, loving embrace. Something feels missing when they must both be gone. One is bearable; both being gone makes you ache for them. "Thank you, my loves," you murmur as you feel the pull of sleep finally taking you.

The boys share a knowing silent glance - all other things they may have to attend to can wait; paramount is you and your recovery - before settling into the pillows next to you. Their legs entwining with yours, their arms holding you, their solid bodies bracketing yours.

You sleep peacefully for the first time in days and awaken around dawn to beautiful birdsong, surrounded by Anthony and Benedict, their breath skittering over your skin in repose. During the night, your hands have ended up laced together. You feel warm for the first time this week, and your stomach rumbles, the urge to eat raring for the first time in days. It feels like you have turned a corner, although your desire to leave the bed is close to zero, snuggling down into them both - your wonderful boys.

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice indeed.