𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 || 𝑨 𝑩𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

02. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏

Chapter 2.

‎ .˚ * ꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

July, 1811

"YOURE GOING TOO far!" Genevieve called, her voice strained between warning and reluctant laughter as she chased after Benjamin across the Bridgerton gardens. The sun blazed high, casting golden light over the trimmed hedges and rows of white hydrangeas, but her joy was tinged with nerves.

Benjamin didn't slow. His messy curls bounced as he ran ahead, gleeful and completely heedless of her worry.

"That's the whole point, Genny!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Come on!"

She slowed near the edge of the property, breath catching as she watched him bound toward the ancient oak that loomed near the back wall. It was the tallest tree in the entire estate-older than the house itself, some said. Its branches twisted high into the sky like arms reaching for the clouds.

"Benjamin-Mama says I'm not supposed to climb that one!" Genevieve called, half-heartedly. But her feet betrayed her. They were already moving.

He had stopped beneath the tree, looking up in admiration, hands on his hips as though surveying a kingdom. "Then don't tell your mama."

She skidded to a halt a few feet behind him, dress sticking to her legs with sweat. "You're impossible."

Benjamin turned, his grin wide and bright. "I'll go first. You'll see-it's not even that high."

Before she could argue, he had already gripped the lowest branch and pulled himself up with the ease of someone who had done it many times before.

"Benjamin!" she hissed, scanning the gardens behind them. There were no servants in sight, no chaperones. "If we get caught-"

"We won't. No one comes out here till supper. I've done this loads of times."

That didn't calm her nerves. Still, as he climbed higher and higher, a strange thrill fluttered in her chest. Her fingers itched to follow. She bit her lip, glancing down at her skirt-dusty blue muslin, already grass-stained at the hem.

Against every proper instinct instilled in her, Genevieve stepped forward.

The bark was rough against her palms. The skirt tangled around her knees almost immediately. She gritted her teeth and hooked one leg up, clambering as awkwardly as she could manage. Her arms trembled with effort. "This is ridiculous," she muttered.

"Don't look down!" Benjamin called from above. "Just up. Keep coming."

It was harder than she'd expected. The fabric snagged on a stub of bark and tore slightly, but she didn't stop. There was something wild about the air up here-something deliciously different from piano lessons and embroidery hoops.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she reached the thick branch where Benjamin sat, legs swinging freely, his face flushed with pride.

"I told you!" he said, grabbing her wrists to help steady her. "You're braver than you think."

Genevieve collapsed beside him, breathless, heart thudding against her ribs like a drum. "I'm going to be killed when they find out."

"They won't," Benjamin said, waving a hand. "Look at this view."

They sat side by side, their shoulders touching, as they gazed out over the Bridgerton grounds. The garden stretched endlessly, dappled in sunlight, with dragonflies zipping lazily above the water in the distant fountain. From here, the house looked smaller, like a toy version of itself.