Chapter Text
Let it be known that Benedict Bridgerton was not by nature a snoop. That particular character trait belonged a bit to Eloise, but most alarmingly to Hyacinth. The youngest Bridgerton had a sneaky knowing look to her eye and sometimes blurted out things hinting that she knew much more than she ought to.
“You should be in bed,” Benedict admonished his sprite of a sister as she tiptoed into his bedchamber. She was undaunted by his tone. She only ever heeded Anthony and as he was currently mooning over his fiance, Hyacinth was unbridled. She plopped herself onto his bed beside his discarded paint supplies. Her eyes glazed over it, contemplating, but there was something else that was burdening her. The reason why she was calling upon him.
“Have you noticed that El is a bit melancholy these days?”
Benedict straightened and glared at her, “melancholy? More so than usual?”
He had noticed. She had not spoken about it though they had spent the last few nights on the swingset. She had hardly said anything at all. He had not pushed. She’d recoil inside of herself. For her braveness, she felt a lot.
“Mama is starting to notice,” Hyacinth continued ignoring him. She fiddled with an old book on her lap, “please do not scold me but I did something kind of bad,” she stood from the bed as he let out a groan. Her voice grew in octaves, “I snooped in her room but solely for the purpose of discovering the reason for her mood,”
“Solely for that?” He stood folding his arms and glaring down at her.
“Well if you must know I grew so terribly bored with Gregory as my lone company. Francesca is in Bath with Aunt Winnie and Eloise sees nothing more than a child in me!” The outburst was laced with true emotions. While angry with her for snooping, Benedict could relate. He spent his first few days at Eton trailing behind Anthony and Simon, desperate to be included. They saw only a child and there was only two years between them. Composing herself she said, “all season she has been sneaking off to flower arranging! As if she could not find a more suitable cover,” Hyacinth was shaking her head in an excellent imitation of their mother, “she loathes flowers and she always returned from those classes with ruined gloves and happier!”
“Please get to your point before I tell Eloise you’ve been threw her things,”
He had slight satisfaction in watching the girl gulp. There were so few things that truly frightened her. Benedict blamed it on her being the youngest. She was doted upon by Mama and Anthony.
“She has all of these books with the name Theo scribbled in them. I thought nothing of it until I picked up this one,” she held up the offending book, “and this fell out,”
Benedict pinched at his temples. Eloise was going to murder Hyacinth. He was watching his youngest sister dig her own grave. Deeper and deeper she went. How could she have no regard for anyone else?
Hyacinth blanched, “I did not read all of it brother. I am not truly so wicked but she has thousands of notes in her waste bin. All with his name on it. Brother, I think she is heartbroken,”
“Hyacinth you are too young to speak of such-
Hyacinth stomped her foot, “I am not too young. Perhaps, I have never witnessed the truest and greatest love our Mama had for Papa but I do know about love. I have not yet had the chance to fall in love but I watched Daphne fall in love with the Duke and Anthony with Kate! Benedict you need to help her,” She marched forward shoving the book and the letter into his stomach, “tell Eloise. I’m sure she’ll conjure up some dastardly punishment for me. I deserve it but I do not want to see my favorite sister moping about looking as if she’s broken inside,” By the time she was finished with her tirade, Hyacinth was out of breath. She was staring up at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushing with exhaustion and embarrassment, “you cannot tell her that she is my favorite. I shall never hear the end of it,”
***
Discovering the print shop that employed Mr. Sharpe was simple enough. Ordering a carriage was also of an easy nature. Trying to conjure up a reason why he’d be visiting a print shop was proving even more challenging. Though most challenging of all was assembling the restraint to not punch the young apprentice for breaking Eloise’s heart.
“That’s him Mr. Bridegrton,” Footman John has the decency to bow his head and look sheepish. Benedict liked John, but now, he liked him less for taking his younger sister to the more grimy parts of town. He had surmised most of Eloise’s pin money was going towards bribery.
The apprentice has his head bowed hauling large stacks of papers. His head is covered by a cap but there are strands of dark curls peaking out. He rests for a moment allowing the first glimpse of his face. He is young, maybe Eloise’s age or a year or two older at most. For some reason Benedict pictured him as older and more experienced. The apprentice’s face went comically blank upon seeing the carriage. He recognized it. His eyes searched and his face fell. He’s looking for Eloise, Benedict realized with another fresh pang of heartache. Though he still wishes to plant a facer, maybe, it was Eloise who ended things.
Though Benedict had taken care to dress in his most worn and least fashionable attire, he had not factored in the carriage or the footman. He re-buttoned his last button and approached the apprentice. Theo, for his part, kept his head lowered and continued on hauling large parcels into the shop. He cleared his throat loudly. Dark eyes brimming with a mixture of sadness and apprehension met him. Though there was something more brazen in his stance. When standing tall, the boy was nearly as tall as Benedict was, though of a thinner build. For a long while, neither said anything at all.
“Do you know who I am?” Benedict asked. The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. Of all the inquiries or statements he could have said, this is what he led with? C’mon Ben , he thought, if you’re going to be digging your grave with Hyacinth make it worth it .
***
Theo pondered the question for a moment. His mind had been very blank and more concerned with the fact that one of Eloise’s brothers was standing before him. He would’ve not needed a carriage to be sure of it. The siblings had the same color eyes for one and very similar face shapes. Eloise had spoken only in generalities about her siblings. The rest he gleaned from reading Lady Whistledown , which he only read for mentions of her. His heart leaped at each mention of a Bridgerton family member. The papers frequently mentioned the Viscount whose name was Anthony. But something about not having already been punched, told him it was not the eldest.
“A Bridgerton?” he tried weakly. That answer made the brother’s face go sour. Folding his arms across his chest he hesitantly added, “you’re one of Eloise’s brothers,” And then maybe a bit too hopefully he asked, “did she send you?”
It was such a stupid question to ask. She had more ways of contacting him than he had at his disposal. John had not ventured out since the last time. He had spent more time than he wanted to admit trying to conjure up ways of delivering a message. Even if he could somehow make it to Mayfair, it was not as if he’d know where she lived.
“My sister is none the wiser to me being here,” His voice was full of grimness, “care to tell me how you and Eloise became acquainted?”
“No I do not care sir,” this earned him a raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head, “Eloise is my..,” and the word became stuck in his throat. Friend? Former acquaintance? For someone who prided themselves on their vernacular, his words were failing him, “Eloise was my…,” He fiddled with the cloth of his apron. It was not helping at all that the same cornflower blue eyes were staring down at him, “I cared-..``Now he felt heat rushing to his cheeks. Finally, he settled on, “I respect your sister very much. I will not betray her. You’ll have to ask her yourself,”
“We can’t,” a younger female voice interjected, “she would never tell us,”
“HYACINTH?!” the elder Bridgerton roared out. His voice deep and eyes bulging. John is behind the girl, simultaneously tugging at her arm and shaking his head. The ashen color of his face and the wideness of his eyes indicated that the footman had no idea of the apparent stowaway, “you cannot be here!”
Hyacinth rose her shoulders to her ears, “you’re here. As my older brother, you shall not allow any harm to come my way,”
“And if Whistledown writes of another Bridgerton in improper company?”
The girl could not be more than twelve. She must be the youngest. Eloise had termed her an officious busybody once. Did Eloise look like this once? He could imagine that she once used to bounce back and forth on her heels.
“Whistledown does not write of children Ben,” the smile that graced her face was crooked. It stunned her elder brother into silence. His mouth fell open and closed, much like a fish. She ignored him, turning her focus to him, “I am Hyacinth Bridgerton, Eloise’s youngest sister,” Her pigtails bounce with her, “though she’ll probably kill me if she ever found out we spoke,”
“How did she-
“She was under the seat Mr. Bridgerton,” John said.
Ben buried his face in his hands. Theo had to fight the urge to laugh at the absurdity that was now the beginning to what would probably be an unusual day. Any urge though was being stifled by the intense glare of Hyacinth. She was examining his clothes, his face, and though he knew it was not possible, he felt she was trying to search deeper.
“Ben probably came here to punch you, Theo,” this was said in a much too chirper voice, “he and Eloise are very close,” She tilted her head then, “may I call you Theo? You see, when I read Eloise’s letters and yours, it always addressed you as Theo,”
Vaguely, he was aware of how the ton was adverse to using one’s Christian name. The same policy was loosely followed in the lower society but not as strictly. One would not offend by not curstying or calling someone your grace where he came from. Though he’d been careful to call her Mis. Eloise or Miss. Bridgerton. But mostly his mind fixated on letters that were apparently addressed to him. One that she had not sent. Perhaps there was hope after all.
“Hyacinth Grace Bridgerton, you will not be using that name. You will go sit in the carriage silently until I conclude my conversation,”
The younger girl huffed but did as she was told, slamming the carriage door. His glare returned to Theo.
“Tell me one thing Mr. Sharpe. Were you in any way improper with her?”
“No!” He did not fancy telling her brother that he once tried to kiss her. But as there had been no kiss he was not lying.
***
I beseech you forgive me . Did that sound too desperate? Eloise stared around her piles of crumpled up notes and her dwindling candle to realize that she was indeed that desperate. Each time she tried to close her eyes she either pictured wicked Penelope or Theo’s heart broken face as he walked away. Do not worry, I have discovered Lady Whistledown . Was my nearest and dearest friend. She could not force herself to write down those words. It ached her heart too much to put into such concreteness. For fleeting moments she could still have the divide of Penelope and Whistledown but their faces and their words were merging in her head. She could ruin Penelope. Part of her thought was yes , off with her head . Would the Queen do so with a guillotine or would she send for a French swordsman as Henry the 8th did with Anne Boelyn? But death was too final a damnation to wish for her former friend.She could not bring herself to tell anyone. She had come so undone by the revelation that in the first week she found sleep near impossible. She could not even voice it to Benedict. She made excuses as to why she and Penelope were not seeing each other. She ignored mother’s pinched look of concern or Colin’s sad expression or Ben’s teasing.
“Ben!” she had not heard him knock or his footsteps. She immediately jumped over her letter shielding it from his view, “you did not knock,”
“I did several times,”
“Oh I have been a bit distracted,” she gestured to the pile of crumpled up notes. Thankful that her effort to crumple them up had been so successful because most of her words were hidden. There were a mixture of hateful notes addressed to Lady Whistledown Featherington and the others Theo. Ben sat himself beside her. He always looked funny sitting in her dainty bedchamber chairs. His legs are too long for them. It made her smile for the first time in days.
“Eloise, might I offer a bit of advice?”
“Even if I say no you’ll give it. So please enlighten me brother,”
Benedict began to fiddle with one of her feathers. His eyes did not meet hers but firmly he said, “send one of the damn letters. Be brave,” he laid the feather back down. Its tip now dipped in ebony ink, “oh and burn the rest,”