CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
a family affair.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     "SO, IT WAS BENEDICT WHO INVITED YOU to the engagement party?"

"Yes, he did."

"As his guest?"

"That's right."

Since they finished their dinner, Abigail has been questioning Winifred about her plans tonight — namely, attending Penelope and Colin's engagement party at Bridgerton House. She will be going alone, free of the need to think about chaperoning or otherwise. It is still a mystery just how long Winifred will stay tonight. Perhaps she will just show her face, make polite conversation and leave when is most appropriate...

Winifred is sat in front of her dressing table, finishing threading a blue ribbon through her never-changing hairstyle; one that she won't let the maids do thanks to its simplicity. Her gown is a powdery-blue colour, falling onto the floor like a slice of summer sky, complete with an embroidered bodice.

"Hm... that was nice of him," Abigail says finally, cupping her chin on her palm as she leans over a chair.

"It was a friendly invitation," explains Winifred, "and I'll remind you that it was to all of us at first."

"Precisely, and then he narrowed it down to you. So he must be quite eager to have you attending!"

"Yes, I suppose," she mumbles, feeling an unwelcome flush to her cheeks. She turns in her seat, shooting her sister an impatient look. "Now, are you satisfied? You seem to have coloured yourself a love expert all of a sudden."

Abigail looks down at her lap, smiling faintly. "Well, I suppose I have had love on my mind recently."

"Have you?" Winifred asks warily. She can think of only one person who fits the bill — Matthew Ribeiro.

     She rises from her chair, headed for the door when Abigail blurts out again: "But you will pass on my congratulations to Colin and Penelope, won't you? Especially Colin. I feel I owe it to him after our history."

"Of course I will," she promises. They kiss on the cheek, and Winifred is finally released. She walks carefully downstairs, stealing a wary glance at the grandfather clock on the landing. Good, she thinks, still on time. The parlour she passes has a warm glow spilling from beneath the door, Lettie and Lady Strachan's voices muffled behind it as they play card games into the night. Between them, and Abigail's prior engagement this evening, Winifred is sure she won't be missed.

Then she passes Jemima at the bottom of the steps — the person she worries about most during tonight. Winifred notices a book tucked under her sister's arm, clutched by an ink-stained hand.

"What are you writing?" she asks.

"Nothing of interest," Jemima holds it behind her back.

"Oh... I won't stay out too long."

Jemima nods, and they fall silent. They stand frozen on the stairs for a moment, the younger one appearing so small when she stands at a lower level. Winifred lets out a sigh. She lacks the right words to say to her, about her broken heart she's nursing in secret, but leaving Jemima without a single word of comfort feels wrong too. Not that either of them have ever been good at that.

She starts walking up past Winifred, gently brushing her shoulder. "Have a good ev—"

"Jemima..." Winifred stops her in her tracks; once she knows she has her attention, she feigns an air of well-meaning cluelessness; but she still means every word when she says it. "Whatever it is that weighs you down presently, just remember that it won't last forever. Broken hearts have to heal eventually."

     "I find that hard to believe," Jemima scoffs.

     "I don't."

     "Why?"

     For a moment, Winifred considers this.

     "Well, I'm here, aren't I?" she replies simply.

     That strikes a chord with Jemima — she suddenly perks up, regarding her sister who still stands tall and carries on each day, even with the immense grief she has endured. It isn't the same situation, but a broken heart is a broken heart. Winifred walks towards the door, thanking the footman who opens it on her way out, and leaves Jemima with her writing and her novels.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     TRICKLES of guests spill into Bridgerton House, to the engagement party which Winifred naively assumed was a family affair — her idea of a private celebration is clearly more trimmed-down than the Bridgertons, or at least the ton. She joins the group bewildered, not so much by their presence at first, but by the whispers she soon starts to hear amongst them:

"Who do you suppose Lady Whistledown is?"

"I'd put forward my mother-in-law. She has a tongue sly enough for such a column."

"The sooner that gabster is brought to Her Majesty, the better!"

"Oh, what one could do with the tidy sum of £5,000..."

     Winifred, mercifully, is late to the gossip yet again. But it does alarm her that Queen Charlotte is escalating the search for the writer's identity. She cannot help but feel like there should be bigger matters at stake.

Upon entering Bridgerton House, she ignores the gossip and re-focuses her attention on the plethora of Bridgertons in the room. Most of the family are already stood together greeting guests. Winifred spots Benedict rather quickly — he is talking with another person, engaging in friendly conversation until he sees her over their shoulder. Before either of them can move, Violet swoops in to say hello, wearing the giddiness of a mother who is overjoyed with her son's choice of bride.

"Welcome, Mrs. Erstwhile! What a pleasure that you could come," she says.

"I had not realised there would be this many in attendance," Winifred remarks, looking around at the extra people invited. "You certainly know how to throw a party."

"That is all down to Kate. She makes quite a brilliant hostess... ah, here is Benedict!"

Having abandoned the other guest entirely, Benedict has quickly moved over to stand in front of Winifred, who gives him what she hopes is a warm smile of gratitude. He returns it, but with an edge of shyness that she isn't expecting, and that is certainly contagious. Violet half-laughs breathlessly, eyes darting between the two before she leaves them alone.

"Good evening..." Benedict says. He pauses, then adds, "You look lovely tonight."

Winifred finds herself unexpectedly tongue-tied. "Oh, thank you—"

She cuts herself off as a footman arrives, holding out a tray of tall negus glasses. They each take one, nodding in thanks and taking a tentative sip. The illusion of the drink's rapid effects loosens them up, shaking off some of the nerves that are suddenly abundant in each other's presence. Before they can speak another word, Colin stepping up to greet Winifred; the newly-engaged young man is glowing from the inside out.

"Mrs. Erstwhile," he says, "I'm so glad you could be here."

"I must congratulate you and Penelope on your engagement," Winifred raises her glass to him. "We were all very pleased to hear the news. Abigail, especially, has instructed me to pass on her well wishes."

     To hear this, Colin laughs lightly. "Well, that is very kind of her. I suppose I should be thanking her for not letting me string things further along between us." Then, upon seeing other guests arrive, he politely excuses himself and goes over to say hello.

"The man of the hour..." Benedict chuckles, shaking his head with fondness. "Have you seen Kate and Anthony yet?"

"No, I haven't yet had the opportunity," Winifred perks up.

     "Well, I shall have to escort you over then..."

     She falls into step with Benedict as they cross the room, to a large floral arrangement where Anthony is — on a rare occasion — not attached to his wife's hip, although Kate is not too far away from him. He smiles at Winifred, and she reminds herself how transformed he is compared to the Anthony she met a year ago.

     "Welcome back, Lord Bridgerton," says Winifred, "I must admit I hadn't been expecting your return so soon."

     "Extended honeymoon..." Benedict adds teasingly.

     "Well, I am certainly glad to be back," Anthony rebukes, "for otherwise I would have risked missing my brother's... swift nuptials."

     As Anthony smirks, Benedict has to bite back his laughter; both of them are just as amused at Colin's sudden change of tune. Kate then glides through the crowd, tall and gracious as ever. She takes Winifred's hands in hers and gives them a friendly squeeze.

     "I must say this is quite the spectacle, Kate," Winifred says, marvelling at the party.

     "She is right," Benedict agrees, "you have truly outdone yourself, sister."

     Kate purses her lips into a smile, illuminated with a triumphant expression where even she knows she has mastered the art of hosting. "Thank you," she replies modestly, then looking to the three eldest brothers as Colin now re-joins them. "You all look rather dashing."

     "Not as much as Gregory..."

     At this, they all turn around to the staircase, where the remaining Bridgerton son arrives — Gregory flaunts a startlingly tall top hat, wearing it with pride even if it sets his balance slightly off-kilter. But with Hyacinth in tow, it seems humiliation on his part lies waiting around the corner.

     "Brother!" Anthony cries, "Wherever did you get such a fine hat?"

     "I'll be an Eton man soon," says Gregory, jutting his chin out. "It is high time I begin presenting myself as one."

     "Perhaps Eton will make your brain big enough to fill that hat," Hyacinth quips.

     The family collectively chuckle at this, with their best intentions at heart, earning standard teenage embarrassment from Gregory. Although Winifred couldn't help but grin too, she also feels compelled to recognise his merits. "How very sensible, Gregory," she says, "I am sure being so well-prepared shall set a strong precedent for your time at Eton."

     Gregory's brows fly up in surprise when he looks to Winifred — a compliment without a playful joke attached to it? Then he beams (not too widely, still wanting to appear very-grown-up, but enough for his dimples to carve into his cheeks).

     Kate also joins in, announcing officially, "Well! As a man of the house, you must greet our guests." She ushers him and Hyacinth over to the entryway, where the Mondrich family have just walked in. They are slowly adjusting to their new lives in the ton, the eldest son performing a carefully-rehearsed bow to Hyacinth. Gregory proceeds to boast about his new bow and arrow, which has all the children bouncing up and down to see.

     Winifred's gaze tracks them running upstairs, and as she does, her focus lands on Violet and Lady Danbury stood at the mezzanine above. And then there is another man there — a shadow of stubble frames a dashing smile, and a spark in his eyes that seems remarkably familiar to Lady Danbury's. She hardly seems keen on the man, but Violet has her whole body turned to him, giggling at something he has said to her.

     "Who is that gentleman?" Winifred asks Benedict.

     He leans closer, following her stare. Then he half-smiles, exhaling a knowing breath. "That is Lord Marcus Anderson. Lady Danbury's brother."

     "You say that as though you are familiar with him."

     "You could say that... seeing as he keeps calling on my mother, and she has anything but objection to his presence."

     "Is that so?" Winifred looks up again, with even more curiosity now.

     She studies the way Violet looks at him — there is a youthfulness in her attraction, like the girl who first fell in love decades ago has been awakened, and still lives on in her present-day body. And yet there is a slight distance too, carefully testing the waters with her feelings. Having seen all this, Winifred glances back to Benedict, trying to gauge his reaction to the display. When she cannot do that telepathically, she resorts to words.

     "How do you feel about it?" she asks him.

     "Oh, it's too early to say whether it will last," Benedict shrugs happily. "But I do enjoy seeing her happy."

     Winifred takes his answer and buries it deep in her mind. She had asked her question deliberately — not just to understand Violet, but herself. If even Violet, who loved her husband so steadfastly and grieved him intensely, can let herself be open to passionate feelings again... then couldn't she allow herself the same thing?

    She takes an extra large sip of negus to wash that one down.

They go together to say hello Penelope when she arrives with her mother. The petit redhead is rattled by the time Winifred and Benedict reach her, after something Eloise has uttered to her in sworn secrecy. What it could possibly be about is anyone's guess. Still, Winifred takes the time to congratulate Penelope on her engagement, watching that young adoration bloom across her face.

Seeing them together makes Winifred feel older. Not ancient, heavens no, but a few steps ahead of them. She was so young when she married Joseph... younger than Penelope... and that time came and went in the blink of an eye. What was meant to be a whole lifetime was distilled to a mere few years.

     Next, it is onto the Mondrichs, Benedict being particularly keen to know how they are getting on. Winifred listens intently to their conversation; simultaneously, she finds herself losing bits and pieces. She was glad to be invited, certainly. But she can't help but feel slightly aimless too. Who should she be talking to? How closely can she intrude on such a family event? The one remedy to her doubts is having Benedict near her.

As they talk, he glances something — or someone — behind Winifred, and he nods indicatively towards them. "I believe you have an admirer," says Benedict.

Winifred turns, finding Francesca Bridgerton only a few paces away. She has another gentleman at her side, quiet and slightly rigid with nerves, and seems to be searching for the opportunity to make an introduction. Winifred slips away from Benedict and the Mondrichs, walking up to meet them. Now she sees him up close, he does look distinctly familiar...

"Mrs. Erstwhile," Francesca beams broadly, "may I introduce John Stirling, Earl of Kilmartin."

Ah! That name rings a bell. Winifred quickly makes a connection with John, to the same man she saw at the Innovations Ball; the only young bachelor who could make Francesca's smile grow half a mile wide.

     John bows his head graciously. "Miss Francesca has spoken so highly of you—"

     "— I thought you would approve!" Francesca interjects.

     "Oh... well, you seem very well-suited," Winifred laughs sheepishly, "but I hardly think I am in a position to make judgements."

     A beat of awkward silence bloats between the trio, neither of them quite sure what to say after that. However, even being in his presence, Winifred senses something essentially good-hearted about John Stirling — no boasting, no peacocking his status. He is clearly humbled to be involved in this family occasion, having gulped nervously about three times since he started speaking.

     Winifred tilts her head at him. "Family gatherings are rather daunting, Lord Kilmartin, are they lot? Especially when you cannot yet call them your own."

     "Yes, I dare say they are," John admits. He looks like a man who could use a distraction, or at least any excuse not to be the one leading a conversation; she knows that feeling.

     "When I got engaged, there was a modest celebration with my husband's family, but even still I shook like a leaf. I was so set on making a good impression. I felt like an imposter sitting in their home, bringing myself into their conversations as a family. Then they invited us all out for a game of battledore and shuttlecock in the garden, and my brother-in-law was taken aback that I was slightly too good at thrashing my competition..." Winifred watches the pair chuckle at her anecdote, while enjoying the memory herself. It's not usually a story she would share with strangers, but it is innocent enough and so are they.

     John asks, "How did you come to feel accepted by the family in the end?"

     "I think it is important to remember to embrace their traditions, and yet to stay true to yourself. Marriage is not just the joining of two people, after all. It is the link between two families..." Winifred pauses, seeing their worried frowns spread across their expressions. "But do not let it frighten you so. I think you are in good hands with the Bridgertons."

     Francesca squeezes his arm attentively at this. The contact, and perhaps the advice, bring John some comfort as he lets out a sigh. They wander off and so does Winifred, keen to seek a quick moment's solitude at the party. All of this talking has her feeling rather peckish... until she spies Violet coming downstairs and, upon spotting her, heading straight in her direction.

     You can never walk too far without meeting a Bridgerton.

     "I'm working my way slowly around the room," Violet giggles. She takes on a motherly tone next, checking up on her. "I hope you are enjoying the party."

     "I am," Winifred reassures her. "I must confess, I was not expecting an invite in the first place."

     "Ah, that was Benedict's idea. He was so keen to have you here—"

     Winifred's heartbeat rumbles like distant thunder in her ribcage.

     "— but of course, we are all glad you could come, if not with your sisters too!"

     She and Violet then look over to Benedict, who is laughing at something Mondrich has said; a real, hearty laugh that creases his face, not the kind he manufactures sometimes around the ton.

     Violet gives him a doting look that he cannot see, before lowering her voice to a confidential whisper: "Between you and me," she says, "I think it did him some good to step into Anthony's shoes for a while. He did remarkably well. You see, I sometimes feel that Benedict... floats off, and I do not know where to."

"Well I think for all of your son's love of freedom, he enjoys having a purpose," Winifred replies, still staring at Benedict. "And he did for a while with his art, until that awful business with the Royal Academy diminished his inspiration. I only wish he would pick up a pencil or paintbrush again. There is an artist in that man, I know it..."

She waits for Violet to say something, but she doesn't. When Winifred looks back at her, she is met with the strangest expression, almost blank of a reaction. Lady Bridgerton blinks rapidly. Her brows quickly bunch and un-bunch in confusion.

"I– I thought he simply lost interest."

"He did, I suppose, after hearing about the donation—" Winifred says, but it hits her. Violet is hearing this for the first time. "Oh! Did you not...?"

"Benedict never told me about that part," Violet murmurs sadly.

Meanwhile, the guilt and embarrassment washes over Winifred for saying it. "Lady Bridgerton, I am so sorry. I only assumed you knew already. I did not mean to... oh, God—"

"Please don't worry yourself, you couldn't have known," the mother waves one hand through the air, the other clutching her abdomen. Violet takes a meaningful pause for thought, before glancing back to Winifred. "Yes... well, I am glad that my son has someone like you that he can confide in," she tells her softly.

Violet's genuineness catches her so off-guard, that Winifred finds herself unable to look the matriarch in the eye. Even still, she can feel the mother looking right through her as if she were transparent.

"Good evening, everyone," Colin announces, tapping his glass, "if you will allow me a few words..."

The party starts to quieten, just as Benedict returns to Winifred's side. He seems completely oblivious to what the two women just spoke about, and does not seem to notice them being left in a daze by it. They try to re-return their focus by listening to Colin instead, who leads the room with his declaration of love:

"Most people, when they fall off a horse, are counselled to get back on it again. I say stay down, for in the mud, you may happen to be blessed with your future bride."

     Light laughter ripples around, and so Colin continues.

     "It was my atrocious riding that led to Miss Featherington, Pen —" Colin's gaze drifted over to Penelope, who stands watching as if in awe that they are in this moment, "— and I am so grateful to be here with her tonight. I look forward to our life together, to knowing each other fully, and to never taking a single day with you for granted."

     Even the coldest of hearts could be melted by his speech. The room erupts into exclamations and toasts to the couple, including Winifred (who still cannot believe how rapidly this is happening for Colin and Penelope).

     "Congratulations to you both," Eloise projects her voice above the masses, raising her glass. "Here's to truly knowing each other. Completely. Before the clock runs out..."

     That felt off. A misplaced bitterness was present in her voice, which puzzles the other guests. The only one who reacts otherwise is Penelope, who has turned so pale she could blend in with her bridal gown in weeks to come. Eloise senses all the eyes on her and quickly tries to amend her statement.

     "... The clock of life. Ticks for us all. To your good health!"

     Winifred clinks glasses with Benedict again, a little more hesitantly this time. Then suddenly even Lady Featherington has something to say.

     "I should like to add how... proud I am of my lovely daughter, Penelope," Portia says, somewhat sycophantically, as she raises her glass to Violet stood in discomfort beside her. "To the match of the season and the Featherington-Bridgerton family!"

     Instead of toasting this time, Benedict leans in and whispers to Winifred, "I cannot tell if this party needs stronger drinks or weaker ones." She exhales sharply, almost a laugh.

Luckily, Kate takes the reins in diffusing the offbeat feeling now present. "Now, perhaps some dessert and charades in the drawing room!" she suggests, ushering the guests up the stairs.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     ANTHONY explains the Bridgerton edition of charades to the small gathering in the drawing room — if it is your turn, you shall select a riddle from the book, and the other players must guess what word the riddle is describing. Whoever guesses correctly takes the next turn. Then, in his words, they shall "keep swapping around the room, until the intellectual genius of the group reveals him or herself." It seems straightforward enough.

Winifred is stood behind one of the sofas with Benedict, and Newton curled up by her feet. She gets a brief sense of being part of the woodwork, from her inclusion in this family game, to feeling the corgi's fur brush her dress with each rise-and-fall of breath.

     "Who shall go first?" Benedict asks.

     "Ah, I think Penelope," Kate says, "it is her night, after all."

     "... Vert well." Penelope clears her throat nervously, stepping up to the crackling hearth behind her. She steals an anxious glance at the clock ticking on the mantelpiece before focusing back on the game. She reads out the first riddle:

    "My second is conveyed to my first by the company of family.
My whole is a product of spring."

"A product of spring... surely a flower of some kind?" Alice suggests.

Anthony starts barking out answers: "Lilies! Forget-me-nots! LILACS!!"

"Ugh, shhh!" Benedict winces at his brother's loudness.

As Kate tries to rein Anthony back in, Eloise speaks from the shadowy corner by the window. "Ease is conveyed to one's heart by the company of family. Heart's-ease, the flower."

"Eloise is right," Penelope says weakly. Then the frostiest of exchanges ensues as they swap the book, and it is Eloise's turn to read out the next riddle:

"My first is a contraction for society.
My second denotes a recluse.
My third forms a part of the ear.
My whole is but a quibble."

"Something 'nun'," Anthony sits up in his seat, already pouncing for an answer.

"Yes," Kate nods, "exactly—"

"Earlobe! Earlobe!"

"No!"

"I know this..."

Just as Winifred has the last two parts, opening her mouth to take an educated guess, Penelope gets there first. "Is it not, um.. a conundrum?" she asks.

Of course, Penelope is correct again. And then so is Eloise, again. Back to Penelope, back to Eloise, back to Penelope... it goes on like this for the first many rounds. It feels like a secret battle between them, more vicious on Eloise's side, and Winifred cannot fathom why they are still feuding and over what. Benedict simply whispers to her at one point that they should let them go back-and-forth until they lose steam.

That moment comes on one of Eloise's turns, when Winifred's answer overlaps with Penelope's:

"Nightcap!"

Kate sits up straight, eyes widening. "Ah! I think... that might have been Winifred first."

"Well done," Benedict grins at her, "someone had to break the cycle eventually."

Winifred glances over at Penelope, who exhales a sigh of relief. She seems relieved to be free of the game. Eloise hands over the book, and storms over to the other end of the room with a cold look at the ticking clock.

Winifred flips to a riddle she likes in the book, clears her throat and speaks:

"My first dispels the darksome gloom.
You love my next wherever you roam.
My whole with cheering ray from far,
gives comfort to the wandering tar."

"Roaming, it must have something to do with travelling," Kate thinks aloud.

"Any ideas, Pen?" Colin asks Penelope, who had been staring at the clock looking nauseated. She just shakes her head.

"Cheering ray—"

"A lighthouse, perhaps?" Benedict pipes up, sounding unsure of himself.

"I was going to say that!" Anthony hollers.

Winifred smiles back at Benedict, nodding. "You're right, it is a lighthouse," she says, and there is light clapping as he walks over to retrieve the book. Their fingertips brush together briefly during the exchange, her heartbeat thickening its pace for a split second. Then she wanders back, finding a spare seat where another guest has now stood up. Newton comes to nuzzle himself at her feet again, and Winifred strokes his fur while watching Benedict's outline lit by the fire.

"My first is in harvest rarely known, nor would it welcome be.
My next in country or in town, each miss delights to see.
And when drear winter's dress is shown, in joyous play my whole is thrown."

"What sort of whole is meant to be thrown?" Portia ponders, after a few moments.

Benedict performs a ball-throwing action, and Winifred exclaims, "Don't mime, that's cheating!"

"Why are you complaining?" he laughs incredulously. "This is meant to help you!"

"Well, don't. I wish to win fair and square... it is a snowball, though, is it not?"

"Aw. Well... yes."

Winifred steps up to the mark again, locking eyes with Benedict as she says, "No clues this time." She performs her try, and it is Mondrich who gets the next one right. Then Portia has a go, then Colin, then Kate, all the while Anthony is beyond frustration that he has fumbled every single answer. Penelope excuses herself at one stage when the conversation swerves to Lady Whistledown, interrupting the flow of the game (Winifred does not blame her, since she finds it all uninteresting too).

     Winifred cannot know how long they have played for, but eventually she is rather parched. She quietly exits the game to fetch herself a lemonade. As she does, she has a moment to let her minds retreat back to Berkeley Square and her sisters... particularly Jemima. Winifred is lost in thought when Benedict joins her and also pours himself a drink.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks.

     "Nothing, it's just..." Winifred trails off, cautiously wondering whether to confide in him; she has an underlying instinct that Benedict, as open-minded as he is, could be able to understand. "I was thinking about... a friend of mine."

     "Oh, yes?"

     "They have been unlucky in love, as of late. Love that society might consider... misplaced."

     That last word earns an involuntary roll of the eyes from Benedict — not at Winifred, but at everything else. She only hopes he understood what she was trying to get at beneath all the metaphor.

     "Well, the way I see love — even though I cannot pretend to preach it from experience — I see it as something freeing. Or it should be, anyway. It is society who draws these lines to dictate how one should feel or behave. I don't think you can control a thing as pure as that."

     "For someone who claims not to know anything of love," says Winifred, "you make some very strong points."

     Benedict shrugs. "Oh, I don't know about that. I suppose I'm just thinking of it from my eyes. The way I see it, the way we present ourselves is simply... details. It is a person's soul I really care about. Beyond that, it could quite literally be anyone on the outside."

     She is nodding along with what he is saying, until she suddenly stops and thinks about it. It is something Winifred never would have considered a few weeks ago; learning about Jemima's secret and the reflection afterwards has made her think more broadly. It could be anyone. Maybe Benedict did not even mean to suggest anything, but she gets a glimpse of some deeper, more hidden part of him.

     "Anyone?" Winifred asks again, curiously.

     "Mhmm..." Benedict takes a sip of his drink.

     She stares at him while he does, her mind churning like clockwork. She can't quite put her finger on it, not purely based on gut feeling.

     "Penelope looks rather pale, don't you think?"

     Watching Benedict's expression crease with concern, Winifred turns to see Penelope clammy and ashen-faced. She clings onto Colin as her chest heaves with hyperventilation. What brought this on? thinks Winifred, wanting to ask if she can do anything when Anthony raises his voice—

     "Excuse us, everyone—"

     "— I have an announcement."

     Anthony is completely cut off by Cressida Cowper rising from her seat. Her flamboyant silhouette stands in front of the fire, a triumphant grin twisting her lips.

     "It is time that I put an end to the speculation. You would like to know who Lady Whistledown is? You shall know..."

Cressida waits for a dramatic pause.

"... I am she."

A couple of other shocked gasps break out through the room, while most other guest's faces sour. Winifred can only glimpse Kate's reaction, for starters, remembering some of the names Lady Whistledown called her back when she was the formidable sister of the season's diamond. Winifred cannot say she has a particular warmth towards whoever holds her identity, either. But still... something feels off about it.

"Miss Cowper, surely you jest!" Portia scoffs.

"I jest not," Cressida replies. "I am Lady Whistledown. And you are right. I can do whatever I want."

"Colin, I cannot breathe..."

Winifred has only just heard the whimper from Penelope, when she sees the girl collapse to the ground, the thud only softened by Colin's grip.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     WHAT a night... when Benedict thought this evening could do with some action, he did not mean that. What started as a lovely party has now ended with Penelope resting on a chaise lounge, Colin holding her hand and dabbing her temples with cold towels that the housekeeper brought. As for Cressida... well, who knows what she was thinking in making that announcement. Benedict isn't quite sure what to believe.

But at the end of it all, once things have settled, the thing that suddenly hits him is that Winifred has vanished from the room.

Benedict practically gallops downstairs to find Winifred speaking to a footman, retrieving a shawl she had worn on her way in. It's the same colour as her powdery blue dress, which really is quite pretty. That, and the way he felt that she was enjoying herself somewhat tonight, especially during the charades. She had been laughing, in that way Winifred seldom did, with that deep, warm sound as the bridge of her nose wrinkles. So why is she leaving so soon?

"Sneaking out, are you?" he asks, and she freezes on the spot.

Turning around guiltily, Winifred replies, "That was not my intention. I only saw the time, and realised I had stayed far longer than I intended to."

"That's alright," Benedict chuckles, now stood right opposite her. "I apologise for the dramatics this evening, that was not part of the plan."

Winifred shakes her head, lips sealed but in a broad smile. A paper-thin strand of hair slips next to her ear, and Benedict's hand fidgets at his side to suppress the urge of brushing it away.

"I had a wonderful time," she says. "It was good to see Penelope and Colin so happy. Well, earlier on, anyway. And... I could have easily stayed at home, but perhaps I needed this. So, I suppose I should thank you for making sure of my invitation."

"I'm just happy you wanted to come," Benedict shrugs.

"Well, we're off to the country at the weekend, to the Colchester Ball," Winifred says, after a pause.

Benedict's memory awakens at the name. "Oh, yes, so are we! That was quite a pleasant surprise to see in our mail."

"So, you will be there?"

"That is the plan, yes."

"Good... good." Winifred nods, almost saying "good" one more time before she resolves to moving on. "In that case, I will see you there. Goodnight, Benedict."

His heart squeezes inside his chest to hear his name again. It feels even closer here, in his home, when he knows his family and a handful of the ton are only upstairs. "Goodnight, Winifred," he whispers back.

     Benedict watches her go. And as he does, he wonders how many times he can do this, and not feel something changed between them.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

Well done for getting through this chapter, because to put it simply there was a lot of "chatting" between characters. Not gonna lie, I was really self-conscious that all they were doing was talking and smiling lmao. In spite of that, I absolutely loved writing it! It was so fun to play with how Winifred interacts with each Bridgerton (*cough* future in-laws *cough* I mean what??)

There are a couple of bonus bits I wanted to share. Firstly, this is the dress I imagined Winifred to be wearing, which is deliberately blue because it's (un)officially the Bridgerton family colour...

And secondly, the riddles I used for Benedict and Winifred's turn in the game of charades are real examples! I got them from this website, which explains how the regency game worked; I remember looking it up after watching episode 3x05.

https://sharonlathanauthor.com/regency-era-charades-test-your-riddle-solving-skills/

Next time, it's another brief departure from the show for one chapter, as Madeline & Silas have their countryside ball. I think you guys will like this one... heehee 💞💖💕

Thank you for reading! Have a great day.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 18/01/2025