Moments: One-Shots || Benedict Bridgerton

Moments: Benedict's Heart

Baby Amelia is not as polite as Isobel, who had the good grace to be born early in the evening so you could sleep that night. Amelia wakes you up in utter agony at 2 am and keeps you up until 7 am in labour. Then proceeds to scream the house down for the next five hours, as if being born is the worst thing that could happen, and she wants the world to know it.

"Why?!? Why did I let you persuade me to have another?" You grouse at Benedict, clamping your hands over your eyes, desperate for a reprieve from the screaming. Even your nursery maid has been unable to calm her.

"Perhaps she needs more food? Do you think she's cold? Too hot?" He sounds towards the end of his tether too.

"I have nothing left in my chest to give her, I swear. She's had plenty of milk; this seems to be a choice," you bemoan.

He gets up from the bed, looking beyond exhausted in just his trousers, and, as the hallway clock strikes midday, shuffles to the nursery next door.

You hear him gently asking Amelia to be quiet. You would laugh at him trying to negotiate with a newborn the way he tries to with James but are too exhausted even to chuckle.

Then it happens.

Blissful silence.

At first, you think maybe you've lost your hearing after enduring so many hours of screaming. But no, you can hear footsteps. There in the doorway stands a stunned Benedict... with a newborn baby propped on his bare chest, one hand holding her bottom, the other cradling her head.

"She stopped," he whispers, his tone almost disbelieving.

"How did you manage this miracle?" you murmur, equal parts jealous and impressed.

"The minute I put her like this, it happened," he answers, slowly making his way to the bed, cradling the most precious bundle and kissing the wispy hair atop her head.

"I tried that hold earlier," you pout, "I got nothing but more tears."

He shoots you a sympathetic look as he sits on the bed with the baby on his chest, propped up by pillows.

"Let me see her face?" you beseech. He twists slightly, and you see two peeping eyes watching the world, calm and curious.

"I think maybe she was bored and wants to see the world?" he is making guesses.

"Benedict," you whisper, "look at her hand!"

You both watch her little fist flex, spasming in a familiar-looking pattern. Tiny, perfect fingers curled over that make your heart clench with how precious and fragile they look.

"That's my.... that's timed with my heartbeat," his voice is full of wonder. "I think she's listening to my heart."

The way he says it is so laden with emotion that you reach out on instinct and touch his face.

"Congratulations, my darling. I think your new daughter is already stupendously in love with you," you smile indulgently. "And I'm very sorry, but there's only one answer here, for peace's sake; you will just have to sit with her on you, just like that. Possibly forever." You point out over a stifled yawn in that dramatic way that only sleep-deprived emotionally-drained people do.

He looks at you askance. "I'm sure she's fine now," he assures and goes to place her in the bed between you. Almost instantly, her little face screws up, and she starts to fuss and then wailing cries, her cheeks going bright red.

"Pick her up again!" you implore.

The instant he does so, and she is back on his skin, she quietens, and her little fist moves in that rhythm again.

Benedict sighs heavily. "Dash it; I think you're right,"

"I hope you enjoy sleeping sitting up, my love, because that is your life now," you chuckle, patting his shoulder affectionately and then turning over to sleep.

"Wait, are you actually going to sleep right now?" he laments.

"Yes, when you have pushed a 7-pound creature from inside your body, you may judge; until then, hush, husband," you answer drily.

Suitably chastised, Benedict nuzzles Amelia. "Don't mind mummy; she is merely jealous you love me more than her," you can tell by his tone it is in jest, but it doesn't stop you from twisting back slightly and sticking your tongue out, which makes him laugh heartily as he shuffles down to lay horizontal.

"She doesn't mean that, my heart." he chuckles, stroking Amelia's back.

"Not to her, I don't, you're right," you shoot back drolly, and he just laughs more. "Is that your name for her, heart?" you inquire sleepily, your back still turned.

"It feels appropriate, given what she is doing, does it not?" he lilts, and you can hear the joy in his voice.

He has his love (James), his sweet (Isobel) and now his heart (Amelia). You close your eyes and drift off, wondering what other pet names he will come up with should you have more children—you already know it will happen. You told him no more after Isobel, but then he shot you a smouldering look at Eloise's wedding reception and next thing you are in the walled flower garden being taken hard under the moonlight to the heady scent of honeysuckle and roses. Something about this man at weddings always gets you pregnant—it's your last idle thought as sleep claims you.

——-

You blink awake, and it's three hours later, the late afternoon sun blazing through the windows. Everything in the house is quiet; James, Isobel and their nanny are visiting grandmother Violet while you adjust to your new arrival.

You twist over, and the tableau before you makes your heart melt. You clutch a hand over your ribs without even realising it.

In a shaft of sunlight is Benedict, snoring softly on top of the covers, still shirtless, a five o'clock shadow now dusting his strong jaw. On his toned chest is Amelia, also fast asleep, her ear right over his heart, her little fist balled tight as before, her tiny mouth open.

You almost don't have the heart to disturb them, but she needs feeding again. After a few moments of watching them - so peaceful - you reach over gently as you can and pluck her off him. He barely stirs, so exhausted from the last few hours, just as you are.

She is also out until you hold her to your breast, and on instinct, she nuzzles in and starts to suckle, not even opening her eyes. You hum gently to her as she feeds, lovingly touching her face and hair. So happy to be blessed with another child. Once she has had her fill, you murmur to her as you gently burp her. You should call the nursemaid to change her or do it yourself, but she seems dry. When she begins to fuss, you shush her but realise there's probably only one place she wants to be.

So you softly place her back on Benedict's chest just as she was before, and instantly, she calms, her little fist moving to his heartbeat again until she falls asleep. He stirs slightly in his slumber, and one large hand wraps protectively over her entire body as he smiles without waking.

His heart indeed.