Moments: One-Shots || Benedict Bridgerton

Moments: Picnic

You shelter your eyes from the sun as you sit in the grass by the lake, watching Benedict walking back hand-in-hand with Amelia and Isobel. They have spent a few hours out in the woods, foraging and exploring while you have been reading.

"What are these again, daddy?" Amelia asks, twisting to look up at him as she clutches a beautiful little bunch of blue wildflowers.

"Those, my heart, are forget-me-nots," he explains with a smile. "Aren't they beautiful? They symbolise true love and respect. Why don't you give them to mummy? Say they are from you, Isobel and me," he stoops to whisper conspiratorially into her ear.

She lets go of his hand and scampers ahead towards you. Her gait is carefree, her white dress glowing in the sun, the hem bouncing around her knees as she giggles and runs along the grassy lakeside.

"Mummy, mummy, mummy," she tumbles breathlessly onto your outstretched legs, "Daddy says these are for you. From us."

"Oh, thank you, Amelia, they are so beautiful," you compliment, taking the bundle and patting her hair. "Take off your boots to sit on the blanket, my dear. Did you learn lots of things out in the woods with daddy?" You query as she curls up in your lap and wrestles off her little laced-up leather boots, flinging them away and then snatching a strawberry from the picnic you have laid out for their return.

"Yes!! We saw a family of red squirrels. And a heron's nest! It was almost as big as me!" She exclaims, throwing her hands high as she reaches for another strawberry.

"Would you like a sandwich instead, Amelia?" You gesture at the pile of triangular sandwiches Mrs Crabtree had prepared for your little lakeside feast.

"Cheese!" She exclaims happily as she abandons the strawberry on the blanket and reaches for one, mashing it slightly in her enthused grip.

Just then, Isobel and Benedict arrive, removing their boots and dropping onto the blanket to join you. Benedict brushes a kiss on your lips, sitting down next to you.

"How was your reading time, my love?" His tone gentle.

"It was wonderful. So very peaceful. How was your afternoon with your daughters out in nature?" You pluck a burr off his shirt near his shoulder, your fingers lingering there, enjoying the feel of his warm skin under the thin cotton layer.

"They are perfect little exploration partners." He smiles indulgently, then looks over at Isobel, who has sat down neatly cross-legged and is happily helping herself to a glass of apple juice. "My sweet, show mummy everything you foraged."

She tilts the basket and points out the foraged items one by one—pine cones, fern fronds, some feathers and unusual leaves. "I'm going to make some art with them," she states, and you can see out of the corner of your eye the pride on your husband's face, so happy that she loves to create as much as he does.

"I'm going to write a story about the big heron," Amelia asserts, pulling all attention to her. "You will all have to act out the story with me. I will be the pretty heron, of course," she crows, deadly serious in her dedication to the craft. "Mummy, you can be the red squirrel that I make friends with. Daddy, you can be, hmm, you can be a big fish that I catch and eat for my dinner."

Benedict laughs happily and nods, accepting his assigned role in Amelia's play.

"What about me? What about me?" Isobel cries indignantly, leaning to pick up a sandwich, not wanting to be left out.

"You can be a tree," Amelia offers with a shrug, reaching for the strawberry she abandoned earlier.

"I don't want to be a tree," Isobel pouts between chews.

"Well, you can't be the heron; that's my part," Amelia frowns.

"Amelia, what if Isobel is the squirrel?" you offer to placate them, "I will be the tree."

"Hmm, alright," Amelia concedes.

"What about James and Thomas? Do they get parts?" Isobel inquires, ever the family diplomat.

Amelia looks thoughtful for a moment then her eyes light up. "James can be an owl; he can sit on mummy's shoulder. And... and Thomas can be a wiggly worm!! By mummy's feet!" She giggles loudly.

As the girls eat their picnic and debate the detailed narrative of the heron and the squirrel's adventure, you turn to Benedict.

"Thank you, my love," you say solemnly.

"Whatever for?" his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement.

"For giving our girls this," you gesture at them as they gesticulate and grab things from their foraging basket to fuel the story they are now co-creating. "This memorable day—look at the stories it has inspired in them. They truly are creative little souls, and I don't think that comes from me," you demure, "that's all you, Benedict."

He looks at you with such devotion you have to swallow hard and look away briefly.

"Do you know why I told Amelia to pick those for you?" Your gaze back to him as he nods to the bunch of forget-me-nots you still hold.

"Tell me," you breathe, unable to look away from his handsome face.

"They represent a promise," he begins, touching one of the tiny blooms, "that the person you give them to will always be in your thoughts, even when you are apart for a few moments. They are considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness from the giver. I couldn't think of a better flower for you, my darling," he ends quietly, his hand moving to cover yours, his eyes soft.

"You utter menace," you whisper, your eyes welling with happy tears; you swipe one away from the corner of your eye and lean against him with an affectionate bump.

"I love you too," he chuckles, turning his head to kiss your temple.

"Fish don't kiss trees, Daddy," Amelia scowls over at you both, breaking your intimate moment, annoyed you are pulling focus from her theatrical musings.

"No, but maybe... they nibble on heron's toes!!" Benedict exclaims and suddenly pounces on his youngest daughter, pretending to nibble at her feet as she rolls around, squirming and squealing in the grass with laughter. "And squirrels, too!" he cries, pulling Isobel into the melee.

"Mummy!!" Isobel shrieks, "come rescue us from the big scary Daddy fish!!"

"I'm but a tree," you laugh loudly. "I'm rooted to the spot, girls. You will have to face the big scary Daddy fish alone."

You watch as the three of them peal with laughter and roll around in the grass, strawberries somehow being mashed into their clothing so there are bright pink spots on their dresses. Isobel eventually breaks free and drops into your lap.

"I'm safe on the Mummy tree!" she pronounces, winded.

"Me too! Me too!" Amelia yells and barrels into you, knocking you over.

"Oof!" you exclaim, suddenly staring up at the azure blue summer sky, forget-me-nots now tickling the underside of your chin.

The girls clamber off you and run excitedly towards the sound of a carriage approaching, likely their visiting grandmother Violet returning from her day out with James and now two-year-old Thomas. Your field of vision is then filled with a husband-shaped face, almost a silhouette in the dazzling sunshine above.

"Mummy tree is felled—oh dear," he murmurs, shooting that crooked grin that melts your insides.

"Oh dear indeed," you retort with a matching expression. "Are you going to help me up?"

"Hmmm, not yet," he declares, a fingertip tracing your cheekbone softly. "My mother may have afforded us just a couple of moments of peace alone together," he adds, raising an eyebrow.

"Has she indeed?" you return coyly, eyes fluttering closed as warm lips trace where his finger had just been.

"Yes, how would you like to spend that time, Mrs Bridgerton?" he simpers, delicately removing the flowers from your grasp and placing them aside.

"Just like this," you hum, grabbing his jaw to bring your mouths together, powerless to his charms even after seven years of marriage.

Some picnic moments are very precious indeed.