Chapter Text
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just in your wildest dreams
Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift
*
The light on the third floor makes the sound of Penelope wailing downstairs all worth it. His open space now has a corner devoted to sleeping and the rest to his canvases, his paints, his brushes, and his unpacked trunks. The room is filled with warm golden light and smells of charcoal dust and the bladder of paint he’d recently pierced and he is so happy and content.
Downstairs, Penelope moans his brother’s name.
He’s painting a landscape, which is a new endeavor for him. His focus has been mainly on the human form, which is proving to be tricky, especially in the eyes and the hands, so he’s offering himself a reprieve, inspired by the view of the neighborhood his large windows afford him. The sun rising and falling over the tops of the buildings is a serious sight to behold. God, he loves London. Why would anyone ever live anywhere else?
“Col…Colin… pleasepleaseplease yes there yes COLIN!”
And there Penelope goes, tipping into her orgasm with wild abandon. Benedict resisted the first few times he heard her come apart, but now he sighs, pressing the heel of his hand against his breeches, hoping to relieve a little of the ache, but instead it makes it worse and he abandons his more artistic pursuits to free himself from the confines of his clothing and jerk himself to completion imagining himself between Penelope’s ample thighs.
His spend spills across the wooden floor; he can hear it land like fat raindrops on a roof.
Had he played his cards right, she might be his little wife right now, no matter what his mother wanted. It would be his hands on her breasts, his tongue in her cunny, his cock kept warm at night. But no, he stepped aside for true love. He’s not a monster. He would have shared her with Colin. Colin, however, will in no way return him that favor, so instead he’s forced to listen to their constant copulation in the room directly below him.
Something he’d not fully considered when he’d invited himself into their third floor.
But God, the light. He tucks himself away and cleans up his mess from the floor and picks up his paintbrush. The bladder has been pierced, there’s no sense wasting the paint as it will dry out soon enough. He gets about two hours of good work in before he hears them start up again. Penelope’s high pitched giggle melting into a moan.
No, he has to depart. His handsome companion has returned to the continent for several months, so instead he will away to a brothel and spin the wheel of luck there, warm between some vixen’s thighs. A red head, perhaps, if one is available.
When he returns, many hours later and much sated, he finds Penelope alone in the kitchen which is an odd place for her to be. She stands at the counter, eating from a plate and looks guilty to be caught.
“Hiding away are we?” Benedict asks.
“Well,” she says around the food in her mouth before swallowing. “If I take it upstairs, I’d have to share.”
Benedict barks out a laugh and she smiles, hiding it behind her hand.
“I will bring him something later, but he’s sleeping,” she says.
“You have a staff,” Benedict reminds her.
“Yes, I know. I am still getting used to… Well, and it’s strange to have them come up to the bedroom… Anyway, I do not wish to bother them over a cold plate of leftovers.”
“You are very sweet, you know that?” he says. “Make sure you remind him from time to time to deserve you.”
“He is more than earning his keep,” she says and then realizes what she has said and then proceeds to turn bright pink.
“I’m aware, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Benedict says and leaves her to stew with that thought for a while.
***
He nearly stumbles into them intertwined on the couch in the study, though they do not notice him and he is able to back out slowly and quietly. He is not so lucky the second time, dashing toward the back door to try to avoid a sudden rain shower and finding them just inside the door. Colin has her dress rucked up and is holding her against the wall and Benedict gets an eye full of his younger brother’s bare ass.
“Don’t mind me!” he says merrily, hurrying past them. Penelope’s embarrassed shriek is a little delightful, though Benedict is not certain what they expected since this is also the entrance the servants most often use.
When Benedict comes down later for dinner, Penelope won’t look him in the eye. Colin will do nothing but look at him, glaring.
“Brother,” Benedict says finally. “It was a hallway! A thoroughfare!”
Penelope’s fork slips from her grasp and clatters on the plate.
“I do not wish to discuss it,” Colin says.
“Tell that to your face,” Benedict retorts. “Listen, I know precisely what I signed on for and am happy to pretend I saw nothing, if that suits you, but you cannot blame me when it happens!”
Colin sits up and prepares to say more but Penelope says softly, “Leave it be.”
Colin deflates again, his gaze finally dropping back to his dinner.
Benedict winks at her and she blushes anew.
***
The first issue of Whistledown Benedict delivers to the printers is still fully penned by Penelope, though it includes details gathered by Eloise and Benedict which feels like he’s had a hand in it. Even Penelope is happy looking it over, seeing her words reflecting information gathered from an event she had not even attended.
Benedict watches her reading it, focused more on the obvious lovebite on her neck, right at the curve where it melts into shoulder. Colin watches him watch it and then raises his fist jokingly. Perhaps jokingly. Very likely, Colin is joking.
“There’s an exhibition hosted by the Hamptons next week,” Benedict mentions lightly, focusing instead on the swell of her pink bottom lip instead of the lovebite. He remembers the feel of his younger brother’s knuckles making contact with his cheekbone and drags his gaze up. “I wonder if a sketch of one of the statues might bring your words to life?”
“Illustrations?” she murmurs, tilting her head in consideration. There is another bruise behind her ear that he can see when her hair falls away. It is not that he is suddenly attracted to Penelope. She’s always been a very pretty girl. But there is certainly something more to knowing what a woman sounds like deep in her pleasure and she’s got a bit of a glow about her now from the constant tupping. Like it’s brought her to life, somehow. She does seem more sure of herself, more confident. “Yes, I think that might be a wonderful addition.”
Benedict attends the exhibition alone, finding an out of the way sculpture to sketch surreptitiously. Honestly, this subterfuge is more difficult than he thought it would be. Openly sketching the very same statue that will appear in the next edition of Lady Whistledown is hardly keeping a low profile, so he spends a lot of time committing the lines of the thing to memory and then sketching up close details that he hopes he can put together later. There is, of course, a more impressive sculpture in the center of the main room, but it is always surrounded by people.
Penelope cares not for greater splendor when she sees what he has to offer. She is effusive with her praise, both to his talent in sketching and his idea to do so in the first place. He does think the ink drawing has come out nicely.
“It is more expensive to print an illustration, but this is absolutely worth it,” she says and leans up to kiss him on the cheek.
“Pen!” Colin says, deeply affronted by her show of affection.
“He is my brother,” Penelope says. “Am I not to ever touch him?”
“No,” Colin says. “Not ever.”
“Don’t forget, she’s mine if you die!” Benedict says cheerfully.
Penelope giggles, her little nose scrunching up and Colin glares at them both.
***
“How is it?” Eloise asks, when they attend another god awful Smythe-Smith concert. Benedict does not mind them so much when he gets to accompany a single sister. His unmarried sisters are dwindling rapidly now that Francesca is engaged. He imagines Hyacinth will marry her first season out, as she’s always been eager to grow up quickly as the youngest. But Eloise has made herself quite comfortable on the shelf and Benedict wonders if any chap will ever wander by that will catch her fancy or if she’s more like him than she’s willing to admit. Nursing, secretly, an appetite for the fairer sex. They’ve never discussed it. Eloise is not one to press.
“You have two ears and a brain, you do not need me to tell you this is out of tune drivel,” Benedict murmurs. The one good thing about these concerts is that absolutely no one looks more miserable than the musicians and that is some comfort.
“Not this,” Eloise says. “Living with Penelope and Colin.”
“Oh,” he says. “Well the light on the third floor is lovely.”
“And?”
“And while I have heard the phrase ‘honeymoon period’ before, I had not fully grasped what that meant before now,” he admits.
She looks a little lost and then the realization of what he means hits her and she goes a little pale. “Disgusting.”
“What part of it disgusts you, exactly? The people? Or the act?”
She is saved from having to answer him by another song beginning and they do not pick up the thread of the conversation again until they are back in the carriage which carries them toward Number 5. The gossip gathered was unremarkable. The Smythe-Smith sisters being bad at music is a given, not breaking news.
“I do not find the concept of Colin and Penelope as troubling as once I had,” she offers. “As they do seem to truly be enamored with one another.”
“You have no idea.”
“However, I find the act itself to be off-putting.”
“I doubt you know enough about it to make such a harsh judgment,” he counters. “Unless your close friendship with Penelope, a surprising minx, has rubbed off on you.”
“Penelope has explained the act to me,” Eloise admits. “I know about what goes where.”
“And that does not excite you?” he asks, leaning in a little. It is so rare for Eloise to open up about something meaningful like love. He does not want to spook her.
“I do not see the need for that sort of vulnerability,” she says. “Why bare yourself, figuratively or literally, when most human relationships fall apart inevitably?”
“What should make you believe that?” he asks, genuinely curious. “You are surrounded by happy marriages.”
“The Featherington marriage was certainly not, nor was the Cowper marriage. In fact, I’d wager if you looked past the marriages in our own family, you would see that most people wed not for love but for financial security and it is us who are the exception to the rule.” Eloise huffs. “I do not wish to be forced into a union like that and I cannot fathom the concept of love as it has been displayed to me. Except perhaps Francesca and Lord Kilmartin, but the one relationship I find somewhat reasonable, our mama treats like it is somehow below the others!”
“Does she?”
“Yes and it is driving Francesca to distraction. Why should she have to perform ostentatious acts of love to please her mother when she and Lord Kilmartin are perfectly happy with the way things are?”
“You are far more observant than I have ever given you credit for,” Benedict says. “I assure you, mother will not force you into an unhappy union.”
“She tried with you!” Eloise points out.
He tilts his head, unsure as to whether he should come clean. Yes, he was perfectly willing to marry Penelope Featherington if it came down to it, however it seems wrong to lie to Eloise when she has been so forthright and honest this evening.
“What?” she demands at his hesitation.
“Things are as they ought to be,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means sometimes people need a nudge,” Benedict says with a chuckle.
“And was this nudging your idea?”
“I was amenable to either outcome,” he says.
“Unbelievable,” she says.
“It has worked out for the best! You and I are often at a loss for purpose and now we have a platform with which to express ourselves.” He shrugs. “And I pay the price for good light with admirable fortitude.”
She pretends to retch. But then after a moment of thought, she says, “Perhaps Lady Whistledown might have some thoughts on the marriage mart.”
“I’d wager if you wrote them up, Lady Whistledown would be more than happy to polish them off and publish,” Benedict says.
“Huh,” Eloise says, leaning back, her head resting against the plush wall of the carriage.
***
Two months into his residency on the third floor, Benedict suggests over tea that perhaps Colin and Penelope should take a proper honeymoon. Penelope is flushed and her hairline shows frizzy curls that indicate sweat and Colin looks too smug to stomach. Even without the visual indicators, Benedict is not deaf so he knows quite well what has made them ten minutes late to tea.
“You mean travel?” Colin asks. “Those days are behind me now that I am a husband.”
“They might be behind you but have you asked your pretty wife if she would like to see the world?” Benedict asks.
Colin looks at Penelope, his brow furrowed. “Would you?”
“Oh,” Penelope says. “Well, what with Whistledown growing…”
“The season is over,” Benedict says. “If there were ever a time for a break, I suggest it is now.”
“Pen?”
She sets her knife gently on the side of her plate, her scone covered in jam and clotted cream. “I suppose I should like to see Paris someday.”
“Would you?” Colin asks, sounding legitimately surprised.
“Suppose the two of you talked to one another as opposed to, well. You know,” Benedict says.
“We talk,” Penelope scolds.
“When you marry your best friend, you already know everything,” Colin says.
Penelope rolls her eyes.
“Paris is a short sail,” Benedict says. “ A wonderful trip for new travelers.”
“You know, one might think you were trying to be rid of us,” Colin points out.
“Don’t worry about the house, I shall take such very good care of it.”
“If we go for the season, we could be home in time for your mother’s winter ball at Aubrey,” Penelope says, excitement growing. “What’s her theme again this year?”
“Why would I know that?” Colin asks.
“Masquerade,” Benedict supplies helpfully. “Some of us listen.”
“Some of us have been distracted with better things,” Colin says, gazing stupidly at his wife. She giggles. “I shall send out some inquiries about travel preparations in the morning then.”
Later, when Benedict is in his third story sanctuary, lighting candles to ward off the darkness, listening to Penelope whimper one floor below is suddenly less disruptive than normal. With the knowledge that they will depart and leave their home to his care, will he even grow to miss the sounds of her chasing her pleasure?
When she screams out his brother’s name, he decides that he will not.
***
The final Whistledown issue of the season has a few extra inches and includes a piece entirely penned by Eloise and it’s fitting, Benedict thinks, to end on that note. Eloise happy and headed for Scotland with Francesca, Colin and Penelope packing for a long trip, Anthony and Kate in India and Benedict has once more made it through the season unmarried and largely unscathed.
His mother invites him to the country, but he can think of little out there that tempts him more than the solitude of London when the ton is away, so he declines. “I will attend your winter ball,” he promises. He does love a masquerade.
Penelope and Colin are the last to depart London and Benedict offers to ride with them to Dover, though there is no space for him and they must decline the company. Instead, he must send them off from in front of the house. He embraces Colin for perhaps a touch too long, feeling very proud of him for being such a devoted husband, but Colin does not shake him off and even allows him to kiss his temple.
“Be safe,” Benedict says. “And take care of her.”
“It is my life’s work, taking care of her,” Colin reassures him.
He hugs Penelope too and kisses her knuckles and she blushes very prettily. “Take care of him,” Benedict says. “He’s stupid.”
“Stop,” she chastises, though with a smirk. “You will miss him greatly.”
“I will indeed,” Benedict concedes.
The servants make sure their trunks are loaded and then there is nothing to it but for them to climb into the carriage that will take them to Dover, where they spend the night before embarking across the channel to the continent. The last he sees of them is Penelope, leaning out the window to wave at him, the bright blue fabric of her sleeve catching his eye in the sun.
When they are gone and the solitude is his own, he stretches a new canvas and spends some time mixing that particular shade of blue. And then the blue for the sky and the blue for choppy ocean waves. He paints Penelope on the ship, sailing away from him, off on her honeymoon as the new Mrs. Bridgerton.
But how else could it have played out, Benedict muses a little wistfully. She can be Mrs. Colin Bridgerton, or no Bridgerton at all.