Chapter Text
It starts when he's young. Seven or so and he falls ill with pneumonia.
He is, somehow, not as hearty as his siblings, and it nearly kills him, scaring the wits out of his parents. He remembers the way his father held him after it had passed. As if he would disappear from the house forever, Edmund's strong arms holding him tightly in place. A hand tousling his hair gently before taking his chin in hand to look into Benedict's tired eyes.
It had taken forever to bounce back. Falling back into fevers and coughs for months after, but he did.
It's just that now, when he falls ill…colds are not merely colds, and while Sophie and the Crabtrees took great care of him at My Cottage, his body falters again once back in London.
His mother notices first.
“Dearest?” Violet Bridgerton asks as she looks on him. “Perhaps a rest?”
“I'm well,” he promises weakly, feeling a cough begin to rise. “I-”
“You are not,” Violet argues firmly. “To bed with you before you-”
The coughs that wrack his tall frame nearly rattle the house, and he leans heavily on the fireplace to steady himself, vision swimming a little.
It's then that Sophie enters the room with Violet's tea service. She spots him right away, and recognizes the dazed look in Benedict's eyes immediately. She doesn't mean to say his name the way she does but the wave of worry that crashes over her at the sight of him is overwhelming. “Benedict?”
Violet is on her feet quickly, taking the tea service from Sophie and setting it down. “Fetch a hot water bottle from downstairs, along with a cup of hot broth and meet me at Benedict's bed chamber,” she orders, before going to her son to help him up the stairs. “And inform Eloise.”
When Sophie stays frozen in place, taking in Benedict's stooped shoulders and tight grip on the railing, she only snaps out of it when Violet yells “now, Sophie!”
*****
Sophie does as she's told and once she reaches Benedict's bedroom door, she stops, hearing soft voices beyond.
Benedict's voice is delirious, slurred with fever. “Father will know what to do,” he states confidently.
“Of course, Dearest,” Violet responds quickly, her voice a bit broken. “Close your eyes and rest, Benedict. This will soon pass.” She turns and spots Sophie, waving her in. “Thank you. Please settle the hot water bottle inside the mattress.”
Sophie does, leaving the broth on the bedside table. She watches Benedict worriedly. His breath is shallow and he shivers a little, rolling onto his side to face her.
Their eyes meet then, and his soften, even in their daze. His hand, clammy and cold, takes hers, squeezing her fingers gently. He says nothing. No joke or witty flirtation.
It takes every ounce of willpower she has not to climb into that bed with him and hold him through what looks like agony.
“He's had spells like these since childhood,” Violet explains gently. “With rest and care the fever will break and he will be fine.” She doesn't sound so sure. “I was concerned when he told me he fell ill in the country. I should have kept a closer eye…” she gets to her feet, obviously refusing to comment on the way her son holds her lady's maid's fingers. “I'll ask the footman to fetch the doctor. Watch him.”
It's only once his mother leaves that Benedict speaks. “If I am to die today, I am very glad to hold your hand before I go.”
“So dramatic,” Sophie accuses, trying to tease him. But she's worried. So worried. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, and chances it, leaning in to press an unhurried kiss to his brow. “You will not be going anywhere.”
His body relaxes, his eyes closing. “Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Please stay.”
She nods, and settles next to the bed, his fingers still gripping hers.
*****
Something is very wrong, Kate realizes as their carriage pulls up to Bridgerton house.
They'd come home from India as a surprise, to introduce Anthony's family to their son properly. Little Neddy is a surprisingly good traveler, and Kate is grateful that he takes to seafaring and carriage rides so well.
Anthony, too, loves the freedom that travel provides. But his expression, light and content moments ago, has turned dark.
“Husband?” Kate asks gently.
“That is the doctor's carriage in front of our home,” he tells her with a wavering voice. He frantically bangs on the carriage's ceiling, causing Neddy to jolt awake. “Stop! Stop now!”
When they do stop, Anthony dives from the carriage and for the door.
*****
Eloise was two months from being born that first time her brother took ill, and since then, she was rarely allowed to see him during his spells.
It's been years, honestly, and the fact that he's been overtaken so suddenly has her head spinning.
She is of age now, though, and her mother is less protective, more focused on keeping Hyacinth and Gregory away from Benedict's rooms.
Sophie, a relatively new and honestly quickly beloved lady's maid, had exited the room just moments before Eloise had arrived, much to Benedict's protests. But the doctor needed to look in on him. Sophie had looked distraught; positively brokenhearted at having to leave him. When she'd noticed Eloise standing there, she'd done her best to compose herself, given her a short bow and rushed off.
It is hardly important now that her brother is seducing their favorite lady's maid into oblivion but it is something to file away for later admonishment. When Benedict is better.
Because he will get better.
He will.
Eloise peeks inside now, studying her brother's too-pale skin and tired eyes. She isn't sure what she was expecting, but something icy settles in her belly and sends her running down the stairs, away from the reality of this.
The reality is that his body is ill-equipped to bounce back from simple illnesses, and that someday soon may be the last time she sees his smiling face. The last time they share a chat and a smoke in the garden. The last time he tells her a joke he should keep to himself, or shares a midnight snack or-
When she gets to the front hall, it is to find her oldest sibling storming through the door, skin sun-kissed and hair grown out from travel.
“Eloise, what has-”
She doesn't let him finish, throwing herself into his arms and gripping him tightly. Honestly, Anthony has always exasperated her, but if anyone can look after their brother, it's him.
“You, for once,” she sniffles against his coat. “Have very good timing.” She pulls away to attempt to compose herself. “It's Benedict.”
Alarm fills Anthony's eyes and he grips her arms for just a moment before he tears off up the stairs.
“Eloise?”
She sniffles again and turns to find Kate standing there with a three-year-old in her arms. “I promise I do not cry at your return and that I will be nicer to your child than I am to Daphne's.”
Kate huffs out a strangled laugh. “What has happened?”
“Benedict has always…he's always…” Eloise takes a breath to compose herself again. “It's been years since he's had a spell, but-”
“He has had one,” Kate finishes gravely. Anthony had told her about his brother's health struggles. That their father warned them he would never be cured. Not really. “Our poor brother.”
“And here I stand,” Eloise blurts out. “Cowardly. Unable to bring myself to sit with him.”
“You are far too hard on yourself,” Kate admonishes her. “It is no easy thing to sit with an ill loved one. To watch them suffer and to only be able to offer a shaking hand and empty platitudes.”
They stand in silence, Eloise obviously remembering Kate's parents’ fates.
“I am glad we are home now,” Kate says finally, rocking Edmund in her arms. “It is clear we are needed.”
*****
The doctor leaves the room with a nod, and Benedict rests back against the pillows. Through half-lidded eyes, he spots a man in the corner of the room, watching intently. He almost looks…
“Father…?”
Anthony huffs out a breath and takes long steps to Benedict's side. “Your fever truly has you delirious, brother.”
Benedict squints at him. “Anthony?”
“I come home, to introduce the family to your nephew and you steal the spotlight,” Anthony tries to joke.
“If it is a comfort, I wish I had not,” Benedict tells him, looking positively miserable. “It has…it has been a challenging month. I hadn't noticed how run down I was feeling.”
“You must be more careful,” Anthony chides gently.
He doesn't get a response.
“Benedict?”
“You have a son now,” Benedict states quietly. “Colin, too. If I am not more careful it will hardly matter.”
Anthony snorts. “You are most definitely delirious.”
“I am superfluous,” Benedict corrects him.
“You are my brother,” Anthony snarls, anger at his brother's flippant attitude bubbling up.
“What I am,” Benedict responds. “Is tired.”
“Then rest,” Anthony orders, heading for the door. “And we shall never have this insane conversation again. Ever.”
“Whatever you like, Viscount Bridgerton.”
With that, Anthony storms out of the room, rage still simmering in his guts. He's so angry he runs right into the lady's maid hovering outside the door.
“I am so sorry, my lord!”
“It is fine!” Anthony cries, also startled. “Wait, who are you?”
“Sophie?”
Both look to the doorway, finding Benedict standing there, teetering on his feet.
“What do you think you are doing?!” Anthony cries. “To bed with you!”
He gets no response as his brother and the lady's maid stare at each other.
“Your brother is right,” the maid says. Her voice is gentle; tender even, as she takes a step towards Benedict, almost reaching a hand out to him. “Rest.”
Benedict takes a shaky breath. “But-”
“Rest,” she insists. “Regain your strength.”
Anthony watches as they stare at each other (longingly?), before Benedict nods, and wanders back into his room. He turns back to the maid slowly. “Sophie, was it?”
Sophie bows her head quickly. “My lord.”
“Why is it?” Anthony asks. “That my brother listens to you when he so rarely listens to anyone else?”
Sophie stammers for a moment. “I…I do not know, my lord, I…I helped to care for him when he was ill in the country. Perhaps as a…a…a nurse maid, he-”
“Anthony?”
His mother's voice calls from down the hall and he eyes Sophie quickly before moving past her.
*****
By the time night falls, he's feeling much more like himself. Still chilled, but no longer dazed and feverish. A little bread and broth helped to stabilize him a bit more, and now he sits on the floor in front of the fireplace in his bedroom, watching the flames and feeling their warmth.
In his exhausted state, he wishes for Sophie. The sound of her voice grounds him to the earth like nothing else. The feel of her hand like a tether to the here and now.
“You should be in bed.”
She's there, then, standing by the door, and Benedict grins at her tiredly.
“It's no longer comfortable,” he explains.
She crosses to him, settling on her knees. “Then we will fetch someone to change out the bed clothes and the hot water bottle.”
“It's nice by the fire.”
Sophie sighs and turns his head towards her, inspecting his eyes; his parlor in the firelight. “You never mentioned this struggle when you were ill in the country.”
Benedict shrugs. “It had been quite a few years since this happened last…I wasn't thinking. You make it difficult to think.”
“Now I know you're feeling better,” she jokes gently.
He goes quiet then, relaxing into her closeness, his eyes drifting shut.
“Your family knows there is something between us,” Sophie whispers. “The Viscount. Your mother. Eloise. They all noticed today.”
“Let them.”
“I could lose my job,” she argues quietly.
“My offer still stands,” he bandies back without opening his eyes.
She huffs out an annoyed breath. “And my objections remain the same, and now that I know of your health struggles, I even have new ones.”
The room goes silent for a long moment then.
“Thank you for staying with me earlier,” he finally says.
Sophie nods, her fingers reaching out to ghost lightly at the side of his head. “I should go. I will be missed.”
She doesn't move, though, watching him lean into her touch.
“Tell me your new objections,” he says.
She takes a breath.
“Go on,” he encourages, finally opening his eyes to look at her again.
“I would still be your secret,” she explains, her voice remaining soft. “I would not be permitted to care for you during your spells of illness. And once you marry, there will be someone whose place it would be. And I will have to watch.”
Benedict gives her a terribly confused look. “But why would you want to take care of-”
Sophie shakes her head. “You still do not understand me. I do not just want the fun of you, Benedict Bridgerton. I want all of you.”
Silence falls over them yet again as Benedict sits frozen, staring at her, stricken.
She's about to tell him again that she should go. Get to her feet and slip down the stairs. But he takes her hand, gripping it tightly as he did earlier in the day and she can't bring herself to leave him just yet.
Outside Benedict's bedroom door, his siblings stand together, shocked into silence at what they've just heard.