Chapter Text
There had been a time when Sophie had almost, nearly married.
At ten and eight, she'd received a marriage proposal from Benedict Bridgerton, a close family friend. A proposal she had been expecting.
Their fathers had been classmates once in their youths, and their families were neighbors. Technically they were neighbors, there were a few miles of countryside between their family homes, but they had practically grown up together as a result. A few summers spent at Aubrey Hall and a slow building affection towards one another as they grew led to Benedict turning up at Penwood House only days after Sophie had debuted to propose marriage.
Restraint, he'd told her, was why it took a few days. Otherwise, he would have been at Penwood House when they returned from the palace. Potentially even before.
Sophie had been ready to accept. Essentially, she had already said yes to him in her excitement, both of them giggling like children as they'd stood in one of the front rooms of Penwood House. She'd been adamant in her response, but Benedict still gave her some time to think it over as he had to get permission from her father before they could move forward.
But during the time it took for him to speak with her father, a man who certainly would have consented and allowed them to marry, Sophie’s stepmother discovered the proposal.
And persuaded her to decline.
"He's a second son, Sophie," her stepmother had crooned after Sophie excitedly told her the news. Not an ounce of happiness or enthusiasm for Sophie on her face. She'd merely sighed disappointedly. "How do you expect him to care for you? Solely by your dowry?"
Sophie had been taken aback by her stepmother’s reaction. While she had not expected much from Araminta Gunningworth, Sophie had assumed the woman would have been glad to know she would be moving out once she was married.
"He plans to become an artist," she'd argued, knowing Benedict had had his own money aside, but the older woman had only laughed.
"And how long will that take? Months? Years? Decades? And that's not mentioning how much it will cost. The time wasted waiting. He'll have spent all your money before then, and that doesn't consider whether he will be as successful as you claim," she'd said. "And you know how the artistic ones are…"
Sophie had frowned, confused before her stepmother added.
"Wandering eyes. Wandering hands. They live such lively existences as well, artists, and I doubt someone like you would be able to keep up in that world. He'll grow bored of you soon enough. And that would be long after he's trapped you in a loveless marriage solely for your money…same as your mother did."
Sophie cringed at the remark about her mother, a spark of anger and embarrassment shot through her, but no conversation with Araminta about her mother ever went well. Her mother, a well-known opera singer, had been hastily married to her father after she'd fallen pregnant, only to die in childbirth months later. It was a complicated subject for both Sophie and her father.
But even with the hasty marriage, her parents had loved each other, and Sophie knew Benedict loved her.
She thought she knew anyway.
"He loves me-" she started, defensive.
"Because you're beautiful and rich. Who wouldn't. But Sophie, your beauty will fade soon enough. It won't last forever," Araminta stated. "You deserve a title, sweetling. That's what you deserve. Is the boy's older brother not seeking a wife?"
"The viscount has expressed no interest in marrying," Sophie had replied.
"Pity. We could have at least had status with him," She'd commented quietly before her tone shifted. A forced smile on her face again. "No matter. You'll find someone else more suitable by the end of the season than Mr. Bridgerton."
"But-" she'd started, but Araminta cut her off again, glowering now.
"Sophie, come now. Be reasonable. He doesn't love you. You're just a means to an end for him. An easy income. How many seasons has he observed now? How many balls? How many other ladies has he courted while you were stitching your embroidery at Penwood Park? Not to mention the parties I've heard those artist fellows get up to," Araminta had explained.
Sophie's stomach dropped. Her stepmother's words had slowly slithered their way in like a parasite, filling Sophie with doubt and feeding her insecurities. Was she really being foolish? The insecurities Sophie had been something Araminta had only ever taken advantage of. A way for her to keep her limited power in her marriage is by controlling Sophie.
When she did not say anything back, Araminta only sighed. "At least see how the season goes. You should be allowed to see your options. No one else knows he proposed to you, correct?"
She nodded; as far as she knew, no one else outside their families knew but Benedict may have told any of his siblings. Or his mother.
"Then we have no reason to worry. Enjoy the season, and we will see if anyone else more eligible and better suited gives an offer. And if Mr. Bridgerton truly loves you, it should be no issue for him to come back and offer again," Araminta said with a smile. A smile that was not one of affection or love. She'd never held anything of the sort for Sophie.
And so, Sophie, in her naivety and distress, rejected the proposal and ended her engagement.
And broke both her and Benedict's hearts in an instance.
She'd regretted it the moment Benedict had left Penwood House. The heartbreak she'd seen on his face as she'd told him she wanted to see how the season went and was subsequently ending their engagement before it began. It made her almost throw herself into the Thames. The slow fade of his beautiful crooked smile to shock, disappointment, and betrayal had made Sophie unable to speak further.
Dejected, Benedict had left London immediately, and by the end of the season, Sophie found no other suitor remotely close enough to Benedict to even contemplate accepting an offer.
Araminta seemed to care little of her continuous rejections of other suitors, one or two did upset her (given one was a Duke). But convincing her stepdaughter to decline the proposal from Mr. Bridgerton had never been about his second son's status or desire to become a painter. Araminta wished to guarantee her stepdaughter's dowry and inheritance for herself, an inheritance which included Penwood House. All of which would go straight to her husband if Sophie were to marry. And with the crumbling relationship between her and Sophie's father, the only power Araminta had left in accessing the Penwood accounts was through Sophie and Sophie’s kindness.
But, if Sophie had to marry, Araminta much preferred she marry someone with money, which could be easily swayed and more than willing to welcome and assist his in-laws without question. Which would never happen with the Bridgertons. Araminta knew they had no wish to include her, only Sophie, in their family. It had been like that since she’d married the earl. Indeed, Lady Bridgerton certainly did not want her around.
If Araminta could not benefit herself from Sophie's marriage, then Sophie would not marry.
Sophie had hoped Benedict would return to London, so she would have the chance to explain – to apologize – but she quickly learned Benedict hadn't just left London.
He'd left England entirely.
An offer to study art in Italy had arisen, and he'd taken it, was what his sister Francesca told her when they ran into each other one morning while their family’s promenaded.
Francesca and Hyacinth, as well as Lady Bridgerton, were the only Bridgertons who conversed with Sophie after the season. Benedict’s brothers were still polite with her whenever she ran into them, but Sophie was sure they knew. Because either they did not know of the failed proposal or did not judge her for declining. Sophie wasn't sure. It made no sense that Benedict would not have told them all.
Eloise certainly knew. A sudden coldness from the second Bridgerton daughter had become quickly felt almost a week after she told Benedict 'no.' Eloise hardly spoke to her now unless forced into conversation.
Not that Sophie believed she did not deserve it.
She tried to write to Benedict, knowing the risk as a single, unmarried woman writing to a gentleman but found she could neither fathom the words to express how sorry she was or free herself from the fear and anxiety that overtook her each time she sat down and tried to write something.
The days spent trying to finish a letter turned to weeks, which turned to months, and then years. Sophie had two more seasons but had the same result each time; no proposal she wished to accept but the one she'd so stupidly rejected. She'd finally informed her father to stop spending the coin on giving her another season, which he reluctantly agreed to, and when he asked if she wanted him to find her a match she declined.
The letter she had finally written during that time now lay sealed and unsent in her desk drawer.
And the years passed. Now, at twenty and five, Sophie was no longer considered a young beauty by the gentleman of the ton. As the daughter of an Earl, she was still an eligible catch, but any man who asked or tried, she'd always decline. She was essentially an old maid now, bordering on spinsterhood. A life she had acquiesced to.
Rosamund had married. After struggling through six seasons with no offers and only brief courtships, she'd married to a Mr. Philip Cavender.
Cavender had initially tried courting Sophie and had proposed too, but she turned him down on his morals and behaviors alone.
He was a spineless man. A man who believed women to be nothing more than their husband's property, that they were expected to do whatever their husband told them to do, and he only wished to marry her for her money. She hated how he would leer at her, watching her as though she were a piece of meat hanging in a butcher shop window and he was a stray dog. He made her stomach curl, and she'd thought herself rid of him when she declined.
But Cavender and Rosamund had been caught in the gardens of Lady Elliot's estate almost a week after Sophie rejected his proposal, and the two were forced to marry.
Even so, they were somehow perfect for each other. The exact same amount of vanity and cruelty. And Rosamund was not a lady who allowed Cavender to order her about. But Sophie did not believe Cavender was as surprised as Rosamund to be caught together unchaperoned. He’d latched himself to a woman who would never give him what he wanted, except for access to her stepsister-in-law.
Both were always more than welcomed to belittle and mock her (and Posy) over the smallest of matters. At times, Sophie did not know whose verbal barbs were worse. And neither personally cared about getting too physical with her either. Rosamund still scratched and pinched Sophie as though they were still children and Cavender —
Well, there were reasons why Sophie decided to lock her door at night whenever he and Rosamund were visiting.
Posy was still unmarried but, at twenty and two, still had a chance of securing a match during yet another season. Giving them all an excuse to spend the spring and early summer in the city, except for Lord Penwood.
Over the years, Sophie's father, an overall distant character who found money to be the easiest way to show his affection for his daughter, had developed further and more significant business deals and ventures. Ones that had forced him to travel both in and outside of Britain for long periods.
Sophie thought he was just trying to find an excuse to be away from his wife. He had cut her yearly allowance in half after Rosamund's rushed wedding, leading to an overt feeling of bitterness and disappointment within Penwood Park when both were home.
He had left for Scotland at the beginning of the summer, planning to be gone for the next month or so, leaving his steward and Sophie to run Penwood Park and House in his absence.
Leaving Sophie at the whims of her step-relatives.
"The summer has been so dreadfully boring," Rosamund declared to no one in particular, draped over the settee like a cat, fanning herself. "Nothing remotely interesting has happened."
Sophie glanced up towards her stepsister, but only briefly. It wasn't unlike Rosamund to seek an audience in her complaining, and Sophie felt no need to indulge it. She assumed Rosamund's husband or mother would help with that. And catching Rosamund's eye meant being at risk of her tongue.
"Not even Whistledown has been able to mitigate it," she added.
"Whistledown has barely reported anything of substance this year," Araminta stated dismissively. Sophie suspected she was still bitter over the gossip monger's remarks about her 'lackluster' ball hosted at the beginning of the season.
Sophie shared a glance with Posy from across the room, both smirking subtly at one another, before quickly returning to their tasks; Posy with her reading and Sophie with her embroidery. They listened as their relatives continued.
"Cannot just one person have a scandal? So, we may all have something to finally speak about?" Rosamund asked to the ceiling.
"Someone will inevitably get caught," Cavender commented. "There is always one."
Rosamund glared at her husband. “Obviously.”
The butler, Jameson, entered the room as they continued with their chatter, heading towards where Sophie was sitting.
"Lady Sophia, a visitor for you, is here," he informed her.
Sophie opened to ask who it was, but her stepmother, like usual, beat her to it.
"Who?" Araminta snapped, sitting up.
"Lady Stirling," Jameson responded curtly. Francesca?
"What on earth is she doing here?" Rosamund asked annoyed over the interruption.
"Send her away, Sophie," Araminta ordered, waving a hand as if she had received the worst news possible. "I have no desire to interact with windows today."
Sophie frowned. Francesca was her friend, a close friend, and she hated how her relatives spoke of her. And the other Bridgertons.
Tragically Francesca's husband, Lord John Stirling the Earl of Kilmartin, had passed unexpectedly in his sleep almost three years prior. And it had only been a year after they had married when it happened. Sophie had written to Francesca after she heard the news to express her sympathies, after which the two ladies had begun corresponding with one another.
"Tell Lady Stirling I will be there in a moment," Sophie told Jameson, placing her embroidery down and rising from the settee. Jameson nodded before departing the room.
"Be quick about it, Sophie," Araminta ordered with a disappointed sigh.
Sophie took a deep breath. She'd take as long as she pleased with her friend.
"And tell Ms. Gibbons to prepare some sandwiches and more tea," her stepmother added with a huff. "The pot she brought us is ice cold. Infernal woman. I do not know why we keep her on."
Because she could do her job perfectly well, Sophie thought. And the tea had been warm almost an hour ago when it had been brought into the room. Araminta would have realized if she had drunk it when Sophie had poured her a cup then, but her stepmother would find any little thing to complain about and was not one to ever consider herself in the wrong.
Exiting the room, Sophie made her way towards the front of the house, stopping one of the maids to ask for another pot of tea to be warmed and some sandwiches brought to the lounge. In the foyer, she found her friend wearing a beautiful lilac and robin blue dress and swaying happily from side to side.
"Sophie!" she beamed when she saw her and quickly moved to hug her.
Sophie wrapped her arms around Francesca, giving a quick squeeze and saying 'Hello' before the two pulled back. "How are you, Francesca?"
"Oh! Wonderful, truly wonderful," she replied. "I apologize for dropping by unannounced, but I won't be long, and I come bearing happy news. I wanted you to be one of the first to know."
"Know what?" Sophie asked.
"Michael proposed!" Francesca squealed.
Her brows shot up in surprise. Michael Stirling was John's cousin, a rather charming and incredibly handsome man whom Francesca had confessed to having developed feelings for after John's death. She'd written to Sophie about her guilt and fears over her budding feelings towards her dead husband's cousin, a man who had only just returned to England from years in India. Francesca had also expressed how she wished to start a family. Hopefully, with Michael.
Sophie had written back to Francesca telling her to follow her heart, that she would have to live with wondering 'what if' if she did not do anything, and that Sophie would support her in any choice she made. They'd even spoken of it in person almost three weeks prior while promenading.
Sophie surprised expression slowly turned to one of delight as she smiled, quickly hugging her friend again. "Francesca, that's wonderful!"
"Isn't it?" Francesca replied. "I have found myself unable to stop smiling since. I've already informed my family, but I wanted you to know before the banns were read."
"I'm so happy for you, Francesca," she remarked.
"Michael and I are planning for a small ceremony with just family and a few close friends, and I wish you would be one of those who attend," Francesca informed her.
Sophie's stomach tightened, and she forced herself to keep smiling. Attending a Bridgerton wedding meant seeing the other Bridgertons, and possibly seeing Benedict. The last she'd heard, he was now in Paris, but his sister's wedding meant the possibility of his return to British shores.
"If it had not been for your advice, I never would have told Michael how I felt," Francesca told her, eyes shining with hope. A silent plea. "I truly want you to be there, Sophie."
Francesca never pushed her about the proposal, not unless Sophie brought it up (which was never), and she never asked for Sophie’s side of the story. She knew that Sophie regretted her actions deeply and had picked up quickly who had actually been behind the decision, even before the two reconnected. Francesca would write brief updates on Benedict in some of her letters, without Sophie asking, letting her know where he was. She was the one to tell her Benedict was now in Paris.
And unbeknownst to Sophie, Francesca had found her wedding to be a perfect opportunity to try and reunite the pair. Having seen how both parties had become over the years.
"Please, Sophie," Francesca said, brown eyes hopeful.
Sophie wanted to say no because saying no would be easy, the coward’s route, but Francesca was her friend and the only escape from her family she had besides Posy.
So, against her better judgement, she nodded. "Of course, I'll be there."
Francesca brightened, and Sophie was sure she'd set the room alight from her happiness. "Thank you." She hugged Sophie again, squeezing her tightly. "I'll send an invitation with the information by the end of the week. Your family is welcome to attend as well."
Sophie only nodded, trying to not let her anxiety overcome her as she bid her friend goodbye. Congratulating her again before Francesca departed from Penwood House.
The banns would be read over the next three weeks, which was how long Sophie had to prepare. Something deep in her gut told her Benedict would be there, even if she prayed and hoped he would not. He would.
It had been almost seven years since they had last seen each other, and her heart still ached for him.
"What did she want?" Rosamund's shrill voice snapped Sophie out of her thoughts. She'd wandered back into the lounge without realizing.
"Hopefully, something good," Cavender smirked, looking at Sophie with wolfish eyes. She ignored him as she always tried to do.
"Lady Stirling is engaged," she informed them.
Rosamund sat up. "To whom?"
"Lord Stirling," Sophie replied, taking a deep breath as she prepared herself for the remarks.
"She was already married to Lord Stirling," Rosamund snapped. Sophie could hear the unspoken idiot in her tone.
"The new Lord Stirling. Lord Michael Stirling," she clarified.
Silence.
"She's marrying him!" Rosamund nearly screeched, causing both Posy and Sophie to flinch.
"Well, that is certainly something," Cavender commented.
"She just wants to keep her title, I'm sure of it. Disgraceful, isn't it?" Araminta tutted as if she had not married Sophie's father for the exact reason.
Sophie took another deep breath. "She has invited us to the wedding."
Silence. Again.
"Absolutely not," Rosamund stated.
"That sounds wonderful," Posy said.
"Who else will be there?" Araminta asked.
"She said it was to be a small affair. Family and a few friends," Sophie answered.
Araminta mulled the information over for a moment. Sophie could practically see the wheels spinning in her stepmother's head as she weighed the pros and cons. Attending a private event from the Bridgertons was suitable for appearances and status but attending an intimate Bridgerton event also meant being outnumbered and being stuck playing the submissive. Violet Bridgerton had justifiably never forgiven Araminta for the remarks she’d made about her when they were young debutantes.
And so, Sophie watched as an expression of dissatisfaction crossed Araminta's face, and she shook her head.
"No," she said.
"Alright. Posy and I will-" Sophie started.
"You will not be going either," Araminta stated.
"But mama-" Posy began, but a glare from her mother silenced her.
"Francesca is my friend and asked that I be there," Sophie informed her stepmother.
Araminta laughed as though Sophie were merely a silly, stubborn little child refusing to go to bed. "You will not be going."
Sophie opened her mouth to express her adamance in attending, but the darkened look that crossed Araminta's face stopped her. Her stepmother's rage was something Sophie learned at a young age not to tempt, especially when her father was not home. Submissiveness had been how Sophie survived all these years living with her.
"I refuse to be caught dead at a widow's second attempt," Araminta announced, rising from her seat. "It is neither worth the time or effort to be present. And no benefit will come from being there."
Sophie could list the benefits Araminta would gain from being there (and list the different hypocrisies of her statements), but when Araminta's mind was set. It was set.
"I'll bet you two shillings she forgets," Posy whispered as Sophie had taken a seat next to her, defeated. Sophie gave her a small smile.
"Don't think I will forget," Araminta sang as if hearing the two as she waltzed out of the room. Rosamund and Cavender only snickering, sharing snide glances, as they followed her out.
<+>
Araminta forgot.
And Sophie gave Posy the two shillings she owed.
Almost two weeks after stating they would not attend Francesca Stirling's wedding, Sophie's stepmother suddenly declared one morning that she, Rosamund, and Cavender would stay with some cousins in Bath for the remainder of the month. Posy, hating Bath and the cousins her mother planned to stay with, while also knowing how her mother operated, feigned illness so Araminta would not waste a moment attempting to drag her along.
Sophie, expectedly, was not invited.
However, the invite to Francesca's wedding had arrived prior to that announcment. Hastily handed to Sophie's ladies’ maid by Jameson before Araminta caught sight of it.
After many years of convincing her father to not fire whichever servant Araminta had temporarily directed her rage towards and suddenly wished gone from the premises, Sophie had gained immense good favor with the staff. And the staff did what they could to help Sophie when they could.
The invitation now sat snuggly underneath the mattress of her bed, and with the news of her step relatives' soon departure from London, Sophie planned to pen a letter informing her friend of her attendance in the coming weeks.
The joy of being able to attend Francesca's wedding had temporarily smothered the fears of potentially seeing Benedict. Fears which immediately returned in full force when the carriage carrying Araminta, Rosamund, and Cavender disappeared down the road, and her letter was sent to Francesca.
"He may not come," Posy said in an attempt at assurance. Sophie was touched by the effort, but they both knew it was a lie.
A lie which was only confirmed to be one when a week later, while assisting the maid with picking up dresses from Madame Delacroix's. Sophie overheard Mary Jennings and her mother speaking of how the Grandville's had commissioned Benedict for a portrait given his imminent return to England.
And so, Sophie spent days leading up to the wedding planning exactly how long she would attend, the pleasantries she would exchange, and with who. She planned to try and spot Benedict first and quietly find a place as far away from him as she could. The greater the distance the better. And Posy would be there as a support and hopefully a shield.
And once the event was over, Sophie would return to her simple little existence. Her set spinsterhood.
And so, when the day of the wedding finally arrived, Sophie and Posy walked to the church from Penwood House, dressed for the ceremony. Posy in pale pink which went well with her black hair and crème skin, while Sophie wore a dress of white and navy blue.
The church had a small, recognizable crowd of people. Lady Danbury, standing in her bold ruby reds and with her identifiable cane, stood out amongst them all. She nodded to the pair, giving her greetings, as they walked by, which they returned before heading into the church.
Entering inside, Sophie immediately spotted members of the Bridgerton family, specifically the matriarch, the Dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton, and the new Viscountess Bridgerton. Both were standing near the doors leading into the auditorium.
Before the collapse of her engagement with Benedict, Violet Bridgerton had essentially been the closest thing Sophie had had to a mother. It was probably the second worst part of saying no to Benedict. Sophie felt as though she could speak to the dowager countess after. She struggled to even look the woman in the eye now.
"Sophie!" the dowager viscountess smiled as she saw her enter. "And Miss Reiling! It's been too long."
"Lady Bridgerton," she said politely as the two hugged.
Violet huffed, waving a hand flippantly as though she was swatting a fly away. "How many times have I told you, Sophie? You are more than welcome to call me Violet."
Sophie nodded, knowing she would still do the opposite of what Violet had asked.
"Miss Reiling, don't you look lovely today," Violet remarked as she moved and hugged Posy.
As the two exchanged quick, small talk next to her, Sophie spared a quick glance into the larger room ahead of them, trying to see if she could spot Benedict before he spotted her. No recognizable faces stood out and she took a small step to try and get a better look.
"You must be Lady Sophia," another voice said, and she stopped. Sophie turned to see the new Lady Bridgerton standing before her. She stuck her gloved hand towards her. "Kathani Bridgerton."
Sophie took it. "Sophie. I prefer Sophie."
"And I prefer Kate," the viscountess told her with a smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Sophie informed her.
"Oh please, the pleasure is all mine. I've heard so much about you," Kate said, still smiling.
Try as she may, Sophie still felt the panic begin to claw its way inside her. Kate was married to the eldest Bridgerton, Anthony, who was not only the closest to Benedict in age but also the brother he was closest with. She had no idea how much Kate already knew of her and of what precisely she it was knew. The nasty little voice in Sophie’s head whispered that Kate knew everything and hated her for what she had done.
But Kate looked so sincere in her smile and kindness.
"Hyacinth speaks non-stop about you,” she added, helping prove Sophie's anxieties wrong.
"Oh, she's practically driven everyone mad since Francesca mentioned you were attending," Violet added jokingly, glancing into the auditorium. "I'm not sure where she's gone off to…She'll be so happy to see you."
Sophie could count on one hand the interactions she had had with the Bridgertons over the past seven years. It was challenging at times, given how close she had been to the Bridgerton sisters growing up. She'd been close with Francesca and Eloise, but Hyacinth had always held a special place in her heart, even with the age gap between the two.
"I have to go check on Francesca. Make sure she’s doing alright. And I'll let you two go find your seats," Violet informed them before heading off to a side room where Sophie assumed her friend was.
"We should be starting soon," Kate told the pair, stepping aside so they could pass.
Most of the Bridgertons had taken their seats on the bride's side of the room. The first couple of pews filled with the siblings, their spouses, and their children. Sophie thought briefly of sitting on the groom’s side, but she knew Francesca, not Michael, and Posy was already leading her to a pew near the back.
Sophie tried scanning the room again, spotting the viscount and Benedict's younger brothers, Colin and Gregory, along with the sisters at the front. The duchess, Daphne, was wrangling her three spirited daughters, her youngest son being bounced by his father, the Duke of Hastings. Sophie made regrettable eye contact with Eloise, who seemed equally as surprised and possibly embarrassed to see her, before turning away dismissively, and back to the conversation she was having with Penelope Featherington, her childhood friend. Penelope gave her a sympathetic smile and wave as Sophie took her seat in the pew next to Posy. She still hadn't spotted Hyacinth, who by now was soon to be debuting herself, but Sophie was confident she would still be able to recognize the youngest Bridgerton sister if she saw her.
But still no sign of Benedict.
Had Mary Jenning's been wrong? Was he not yet in London? Mary had said at the modiste that Benedict was set to return, but not when. Or if he had even arrived. Maybe he was not yet in London. Perhaps Sophie was being graced with incredibly good luck from God himself, and Benedict was delayed in his travels. That he would be unable to attend.
She shivered suddenly, strange since it was rather warm inside the church. She felt almost overcome by a buzzing sensation flowing through her body. Glancing around again, Sophie still could not spot her former betrothed anywhere in the room.
"You should relax, Sophie. Maybe they were wrong," Posy whispered, the sounds of shifting fabric and movement behind them signaling another guest was taking their seat in the pew. "Maybe Benedict could not come."
The sudden clearing of a throat behind them made Sophie freeze up. Her muscles stiffened, turning to stone, as she recognized who it was. It could not possibly be.
It appeared that there was no good favor with God or good luck for her today because even without speaking a word, Sophie knew precisely who was sitting behind them.
Posy, dark eyes wide and cheeks going as pink as her gown, glanced slowly over her shoulder to see who it was behind them as Sophie stared dead ahead at the altar, refusing to take her eyes off it. The look on her stepsister's face confirmed to Sophie what she already knew.
Sophie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her bubbling nerves. Her hands were shaking.
"You look well, Lady Gunningworth," the voice of Benedict Bridgerton, a man she thought she would never see again, remarked behind her.
His tone was utterly void of any emotion. Not an ounce of care to be heard and it sent chills up her spine, which she desperately tried to suppress by clenching the fabric of her dress.
"Mr. Bridgerton," she whispered back, cringing as her voice pitching up a few octaves.
She did not dare look back as the organ music suddenly became louder, signifying the bride’s coming entrance. Everyone stood up, and it took Sophie a moment to do so herself. Her knees shaking as she used the pew in front of her to hold herself up.
It was going to be a long ceremony.