Compromised

Title: Compromised
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom(s): Bridgerton / Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga
Pairings: Benedict/Bella, (one sided) Bella/Edward, (slight) Georgiana/Wickham
Rating: PG
Word Count: 6.7k
Warning(s): historical vampires, attempted elopements, stalking, forced weddings
Prompt: for haru: Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton/Isabella Swan. Isabella (Mr. Darcy’s ward) is clumsy. She accidentally trips and ends up in a compromising position when Benedict catches her, which leads to them being married via special license. At first, they’re just trying to get to know one another, but then love blooms.

Compromised

Benedict was feeling a little worse for wear.

The night before he and his brothers Anthony and Colin had gone to White’s and had been in their cups.  Anthony had held him back and reminded him that he was to be married in the morning, but Benedict had certainly had more than two glasses of fine French brandy.

It had all gone so wrong, so quickly.

This was the season his sister Eloise was presented to the queen and, decidedly, not been declared the incomparable unlike their sister Daphne, now the Duchess of Hastings, had been the year before.

This was also, it turned out, the season that Miss Isabella Swan was presented to Her Majesty.  However, she had never gotten that far.  Benedict had gone back to the waiting room to check on Eloise after Lady Whistledown had arrived and a young lady in white silks had tripped on her own train and fallen into his arms, tearing her gown up to her thigh.

Her sponsor, the Countess of Matlock, had seen, along with her guardian, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, and many other witnesses, and Miss Swan was well and truly compromised.

She had been rushed into a carriage before her modesty could be further impugned and Darcy had nearly thrown a glove at him.  Now, three days later, he was getting married to a girl he had never even spoken to.

“Buck up,” Anthony said from beside him.  “At least you know she’s pretty.”

“Do I?” Benedict asked, feeling a little morose.  “I don’t remember much underneath all the feathers.”

He heard Anthony sigh.  “I never caught sight of the girl.”

No, neither of them had when they met Darcy at Darcy House.  She could be plain.  She could be a troll.

He looked over his shoulder.  His entire family had turned out, even Daphne and her husband.

Miss Swan had a nice little turn out as well.  Lord and Lady Matlock.  Viscount Lacock.  Lady Susan, the daughter, who was in her third season.  The small looking girl who was still in shortened hems must be Miss Darcy.  She still had her companion with her.  There was also a military man.  It was a nice turnout.  Mr. Darcy was missing, but he would be walking Miss Swan down the aisle.

Benedict looked at the doors down at the back of the church and knew Miss Swan would be appearing very soon and his throat felt like it was closing.

“How am I getting married before you?” Benedict asked Anthony only somewhat seriously.

“I didn’t catch the girl,” Anthony griped back.  “You should have stayed in the receiving room.”  And wasn’t that just the truth?

The sound of the doors opening reached his ears, and Anthony tapped him on the shoulder.  “Eyes forward.”  He wrenched his eyes up toward the altar and only caught sight of a bonnet and a yellow slipper.

It was an interminable length of time that it took Miss Swan to make it up to the altar and when she finally appeared she was wearing a yellow gown and a fashionable bonnet.

Benedict blinked.  She was actually quite pretty with large brown eyes and fashionably pale skin.  Her eyes were flicked down but she did glance up at him like a shy fawn and that’s when his breath caught in his throat.

Darcy stared him down when he transferred Miss Swan’s hand from his arm to Benedict’s hand, but Benedict was too busy looking at his pretty little bride to notice.

The service went by too quickly for him to pay attention to anything but his quickly spoken vows.  He was too busy staring at his wife, noticing how her darker than dark hair complimented her pink mouth.  When it was time for him to kiss his bride, he watched her anxiously as she licked her lips and glanced up at him nervously.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” he murmured to her.

That seemed to frighten her even more.

Thinking there was nothing for it, Benedict leaned down and kissed her cheek, and a tension seemed to leave his young bride.  The girl couldn’t be more than seventeen, which was a little young to be presented.  He’d have to ask her about it later.

He walked out of the church with his head held a little higher, his new bride on his arm.

The wedding reception didn’t reveal much.  The new Mrs. Isabella Bridgerton was swarmed by his sisters and his mother, the shy Miss Darcy joining them, and Benedict was left with the men.

“Well,” Anthony said, slapping him on the back.  “Isabella is quite pretty.”

“Pretty?” Gregory asked, puffing out his chest just a little.  “Our sister is quite beautiful.—Quite right, Benedict.  I wouldn’t suggest catching any other debutantes as you’re already married, but I can see why you caught this one.”

Benedict rolled his eyes at his youngest brother.  “I wait until you begin to meet debutantes, brother.  Then we’ll see if you feel moved to catch any.”

Gregory looked thoughtful.

It was then that the officer approached them.  “Bridgerton,” he greeted, offering his hand.  “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

“Ah—” Benedict greeted, unsure how the Colonel fit into the greater Darcy clan.

“I am a Darcy cousin,” he offered.  “I am the second son of the Earl of Matlock.  I heard of all the recent commotion just yesterday and I insisted on coming. I don’t know Miss Swan—forgive me, Mrs. Bridgerton well, but she is a close companion of Georgiana’s so I thought I’d put in an appearance.  I understand your wife is terribly clumsy.”

“Yes,” Benedict agreed.  She had tripped on their way back down the aisle and out of the church.  It was quite something that she had managed to only be compromised on her debut and not when she was a young girl walking in Hyde Park with her companion.  “She wasn’t even out and she tripped and tore her dress.”

“She hasn’t ripped this one,” Anthony pointed out.

“No,” Benedict agreed.  “Not yet.”

“Your bills at the modiste are going to be astronomical,” Anthony teased. 

At the look Benedict gave him, Anthony placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Forgive me, brother.”

Benedict silently accepted the apology.  He turned again to the Colonel.  “She is close companions with Miss Darcy?” he checked.  “That is fortuitous.  I have sisters, of course, but a woman should not give up everything for her husband’s family.”

The Colonel looked surprised.  “Not all men would think thus.”

“I’m not all men,” Benedict answered, taking a sip of his champagne.  “And Lady Susan?  Are they friends?”

“Not so much as I understand it.  Lady Susan prefers titles, and Miss Swan’s father was only a baronet, though a wealthy one, I understand it.  You’ll be more in a position to know that than I am.”

Yes, Benedict was aware.  Isabella’s dower was ten thousand pounds and an estate in Kent worth six thousand a year and a small townhouse in London they were repairing to later that afternoon.  Darcy had ordered it opened for them.  The new Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton would have their own establishment in Hanover Square while Benedict waited for his application at the London Academy of Art.  Isabella could go calling and accept callers as she pleased and in the evenings there would hopefully not be horrible silences.  They would be expected to sequester themselves for a good fortnight before they could accept invitations in the evenings.

“I wonder with your position in the family, you did not snap her up yourself and retire—as a second son.”

The Colonel at first did not answer his question.  “You are a second son yourself.”

“I am.”

“Then you understand that it would have been a wise military decision.  You forget, however, she hadn’t even been presented when you compromised her.”  There was a slight warning in his voice.  Gone was his affability.

“You forget, Colonel Fitzwilliam.  She tripped and I caught her.”

“Lucky you were there.  I’ll be sure to be present when Georgiana is presented so I can catch my own clumsy socialite.”  He shifted his gaze over to where Miss Darcy was drinking a sip of champagne as she was speaking to an animated Eloise.  Ah, his mind was turned to his cousin Miss Darcy, then.

“Does she come with an estate?” Benedict asked affably.

The Colonel turned to him and smirked.  “Only if Darcy doesn’t marry, but he is only nine and twenty.  There is still much time for him to find a wife.”  He said this ironically.  Darcy was unlucky in love, then.  Interesting.  Perhaps Isabella would know more.  He was her guardian, after all.

Later at the reception, Eloise found him and kissed his cheek.  “I like her,” she declared.  “She’s quiet at first, but if you pull her out of her shell, you’ll find she likes the modern poets.  She doesn’t waste her time on Mrs. Radcliffe.”

“Wonderful,” Benedict proclaimed.  “I wouldn’t know what to do with a wife who read Mrs. Radcliffe.”

Eloise made a face at him.  “You will like her.  I like her, and that’s what matters.”

“If you say so, Elly,” he teased.

He only got to see his pretty little wife when he took her hand and threaded it through his arm to take their carriage—the carriage that had belonged to the Swan household and still bore their emblem—to Swan House. 

“We could become the Swan-Bridgertons,” Benedict suggested when he got his wife alone.  “The fortune is yours.”

Isabella looked up, startled.

“That is, if you want to,” he amended.  “It was just a thought.”

She was wearing her bonnet again, which covered her glorious dark hair.  He longed to see it down, flowing around her shoulders.  He supposed he might have the privilege sometime during their honeymoon, if he were lucky.

Isabella blinked at him.

“It would be a way to differentiate from my three other brothers.”

“Yes,” she considered, her voice quiet but nonetheless strong.  “You have three.  The Viscount, Colin and—” she paused.  “They were in alphabetical order.”

“You’ve read Lady Whistledown,” Benedict observed.

“No,” she answered quickly.  “I heard Eloise mention her, and I asked, and Eloise said she was a gossip sheet, but Mr. Darcy doesn’t allow gossip sheets in the house.  I noticed on my own.  Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise—they’re in alphabetical order.  Surely, the younger ones must continue with the trend?”  She looked up with intelligent eyes.

Benedict took her in and realized Isabella wasn’t only pretty, she was almost beautiful.

“Francesca is in Bath,” he told her, “and then the youngest are Gregory and Hyacinth.”

“Gregory!” she declared.  “How could I forget Gregory?”  Her face became almost animated and it quite took Benedict’s breath away. 

She didn’t notice and settled back into her seat in the carriage.  “I think I should like to be Mrs. Swan-Bridgerton.  Or should we be the Bridgerton-Swans?  That sounds much better.”

Benedict considered.  Usually the lady’s name would come first, the man’s name taking importance as the final name, the lady’s name qualifying the man’s like an adjective, but Bridgerton-Swan did sound better.

“Shall we practice our signatures?” he suggested.  “We don’t have to order our cards for another week.  I might ask Anthony for his opinion.”

“—Yes,” Isabella agreed after a moment. “That is most reasonable.  Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He looked up.  “Benedict,” he corrected.  “My name is Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she agreed.  She paused, waiting and he looked into her dark eyes.

“What is it, Isabella?”

“My name is Bella,” she corrected carefully.  “Georgiana called me ‘Isabella,’ but even my father called me ‘Bella’ or ‘Bells.’”

Nodding, Benedict agreed, “Bells.”  He rather liked that.  It fit his pretty little wife.  “I like that.  ‘Bella’ for company.”

“Thank you,” she murmured as the carriage came to a halt in front of what was undoubtedly their house.  Benedict stepped out first and handed his wife down.  They walked out into a small and tidy house. 

There were only two bedrooms, the master bedroom and her childhood bedroom, so Benedict had had the two readied, and took the master bedroom for himself and allowed Bella her own room, telling her that he expected nothing from her.

“You are still very young,” he told her, “and you do not know me.”

“No,” she agreed carefully, as she took off her bonnet and set it down.  “Thank you.”

“I told the kitchen to prepare some soup in case we were hungry—”

Bella came up to him and placed a small white hand on his chest.  She seemed hesitant, but he looked down at her and carefully clasped her hand in his own.  “You are a kind man, Benedict.  I feared the worst.”

They parted to unpack and Benedict found himself listening to the sound of Bella quietly talking to her ladies’ maid in the next room.  When the dinner bell sounded, he came down and found the dining room, which was small in proportion, and was somewhat pleased to see the table had been arranged intimately.  He held out the chair for his wife, and they partook of their simple fare.

“Shall we play piquet after supper?” he asked.

She looked up, startled. 

“You do know how to play piquet?” he checked.

“Yes.”

“Then would you like to play?”

“I’ve never gambled.”

“We can play for secrets.”

Bella paused and then shrugged.  “I don’t have many secrets to tell.”

“Then the game will be one-sided,” he told her with a small smile. 

When supper was over, he pulled the chair out for his wife and let her lead him to the sitting room where there was a spring fire going.  She found the cards and he cut them, dealing her in.

He lost the first point.  Considering, he told her, “I was quite jealous of Colonel Fitzwilliam when he implied he meant to marry you himself.”

She stilled.  “You cannot be serious.”

“You don’t think me capable of jealousy?”

“Not after so short a period of knowing each other, perhaps not, but I meant Colonel Fitzwilliam.  He’s barely spoken two words to me in the past six month!”

“He called it a military campaign.”

She blinked at him and then drew a card.  She lost the next point.

Bella considered for a long time before she admitted, “Just before my father died and I came to live with the Darcy’s, there was a boy who wanted to marry me.  My father, Charlie, didn’t approve.”

This intrigued Benedict.  Was this Bella’s first love?

“What was his name?”

“Edward Cullen.  He’s the surgeon’s son.  It would have been an imprudent match, but he picked me wildflowers.”  She had gone pale at the admission.  “Some would call him handsome.”  It was clear she was not among them.

“Hmm,” Benedict answered.  “I take it he still lives in Forks.”

Bella suddenly became timid.  “I believe so.”

Benedict quickly looked up.  “I’m not angry at you, Bells.  I was just considering if I would have to threaten him or whether he would respect our marriage.”

“Oh-oh.”  She drew a card.  “They were only wildflowers.  You have never given me wildflowers.”

“Do you like wildflowers?”

“Not particularly.”  There was more to the story than just a dislike of wildflowers.

“Then I shall get you something you shall like much better.”  He drew a card.

Bella lost the next point.  She considered.  “It’s not my secret.”

“Whose secret is it?”

“Georgiana’s.”

Benedict considered.  “Does it hurt you?”

Bella thought for a long moment.  “It was hurting me, but it doesn’t hurt me anymore.  At least, I don’t think so.”  She breathed out angrily.

“I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Bella considered for a long moment.  “Georgiana tried to elope.  She forced me to act as go between.”

Anger welled up in Benedict, but he forced himself to keep a calm countenance.  “Miss Darcy never should have put you in that position.  Does Mr. Darcy know?”

“Not about my part.”

“But he does know about the elopement?”

“Yes.  I told him.  Georgiana still is quite angry, but she doesn’t know it was me who told.  I hope she never finds out.”

“Whoever the man was, he wasn’t honorable.”  He drew a card.

“No.  He wanted her thirty thousand pounds.  He tried to court me first when he thought I had more money, but I would have nothing to do with him.  That’s when he switched to Georgiana.”

“You have the better fortune.  You may have less of an outright settlement, but you have an estate that generates income.  You’ll generate her entire fortune within three extra years and then continue to generate income, and we have this house in London.”

She smirked.  “You probably thought I was penniless when I tripped into your arms at St. James’s Palace.”

“Your gown was plain despite the outrageous feathers in your hair.”  Benedict’s blue eyes flashed up at her.  Her dark eyes were laughing at him.

“Georgiana insisted on the feathers.  She wanted Queen Charlotte to be able to see them.”  She rolled her eyes, terribly unladylike, but it fit her personality.  “Georgiana picks out all my clothes.”

“Well,” Benedict told her.  “The feathers almost made me sneeze.”

“I have to be re-presented,” she warned him, “though now it will be as Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton.”

“Did you save the feathers?” Benedict asked, half-seriously.

Bella chuckled.

They played halfway through the night and then went to bed happy, Benedict clasping Bella’s hand in his arm before he kissed her forehead goodnight.

He went to bed much happier than he had woken up.

It turned out, Bella was adorable when she woke up.  She came to breakfast with her hair braided to one side, wearing a dressing gown, sipping at her tea. 

Benedict had given the housemaid strict instructions to buy a copy of Lady Whistledown if the paper boys came by selling them.  He wouldn’t have his wife be uninformed. 

He was reading The Times, Bella looking over a book of poetry, when he asked her what she was planning to do with her day.

She looked up, confused.

He glanced at her over his paper.

“I,” he told her as he folded The Times back down, “was going to go to the club.  I’m waiting for my application to The London Academy of the Arts to be rejected.  I’ll be back for dinner.”

She blinked. 

“Would you like to go see Miss Darcy?  Or Eloise perhaps?  She will certainly be in if she hasn’t gone to visit Penelope Featherington.  I’ll send the carriage back for you.”

“We’re married,” she seemed to realize.

“You can send your card and invite any of your friends here.  We can’t accept invitations for the evening for a couple of weeks—”

“You’re an artist?” she breathed, and Benedict couldn’t tell if she were pleased or not.

“Yes?—I suppose I am now an estate holder, thanks to you, my dear—”

“How marvelous!” she cried.  “Of course, as a second son, you would need a profession.  We are the Bridgerton-Swans now, or the Swan-Bridgertons, we are people of property—”  She was smiling widely.

He smiled back at her.  “I will have to show you my sketchbook.  It is such a mess, in all honesty, but—”

She leaned forward and carefully kissed him, blushing.  Pulling back, Benedict had to force himself not to chase the kiss.

“What was that for?”

“I—I don’t know,” Bella stammered, looking off to the side.

Benedict smiled to himself.  “Shall I send the carriage back for you?”

“I’ll send my card to Eloise and Georgiana.  We have a footman.  Georgiana is across the square.  Grosvenor Square is not too far.”

“I’ll drop your card myself,” Benedict promised, leaning forward and taking Bella’s hand that was resting on the table, “if you can make it up in the next half hour.”

She blushed again.  “Consider it done.”

Bella made it up quite nicely, crossing out Darcy House to replace it with Swan House, and writing out her message on the back.  Benedict took it with a kiss to his wife’s hand and went out to the club at half-ten, quite early but being uncertain what to do now that he was a married man.  He supposed he could write to his steward and go over his accounts, but that could surely wait for a day or two.  He was, after all, lately married.

Eloise was sitting in boredom in the drawing room, so gladly accepted the invitation, going off to grab her pelisse.

Deciding to change his plans, Benedict went to find Anthony, only to realize he was out, searching for the next Viscountess Bridgerton.

Benedict arrived home promptly at four—and it was strange to think of Swan House as “home.”

He found Bella sitting on the floor of the library, with an atlas in front of her and a magnifying glass, and he took her in fondly.

“What are we looking for?”

“Atlantis, of course,” she replied in all seriousness.  “I have yet to find it.”

“All of human history has yet to find it,” he responded, coming into the room and sitting down opposite her.  “I see we are looking in the Pacific Ocean.”

She looked up, the magnifying glass still in her hand.  “That’s because no one’s really looked there before.  They’ve only looked in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans.”

“Really?” he asked, having never thought of it before.

“Really,” she answered, setting down the glass somewhere over the west coast of the United States of America.  “—I’ve been practicing our signature.”

“Oh?” he asked, curious.  “How did you find it?”

“Bridgerton-Swan is far better, though I understand why you would prefer it the other way around.”  She lifted up her hand in the air.  “Benedict Bridgerton Swan.”  She punctuated each syllable with a wave of her hand.  “How do you like it?  We can double barrel without a hyphen.”

“Isabella Swan Bridgerton.”  He posited.

“Isabella Bridgerton Swan,” she countered.

“I quite take your point.”  He stood and held out his hand for her.  She didn’t even hesitate before taking it.  “Have you ordered tea or shall we ring a servant?”

“Charlie never took tea,” she told him.  “We have to ask for it.”

“Then we shall ask for it.”  He set her down at a small table near the window and pulled the bell pull.  When a footman arrived he ordered the tea.  “Did you take tea at Darcy House?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered.  “Mr. Darcy always tried to be present to show Georgiana he was taking an interest in her life after—” She paused.  “After.”  She glanced out the window.

“He is a good brother,” Benedict posited, picking up the atlas and magnifying glass and setting them on a large table.  “How long have you been with the Darcy’s?”

“Three years,” Bella answered.

Benedict was surprised.  “You must have been very young then when Edward Cullen brought you wildflowers.”

She blushed.  “Fourteen.”

Fourteen was entirely too young.  Benedict would have to thrash the man when they arrived in Forks at the completion of the Season. 

“It must be a long time since you’ve been here, then.  It’s a credit to the servants that they have kept the house so well.”

“Yes,” Bella answered, looking around.  “It’s exactly as I remember it.”

Benedict only hoped she found it comforting.

They played chess in the afternoon.

Every time one of them lost a piece, he (or she) would have to share a truth about himself.

“My favorite color is brown,” Bella pronounced.

“Brown?” Benedict asked, curious and a little surprised.

“Like the sand when it is darkened by the waves,” she told him, “and you can stick your toes in it and sink your feet fully into it.  Brown.”

“We shall have to go to the seaside then,” Benedict decided.  “It could perhaps make a lovely second honeymoon when we know each other better.”

“Do you think?” Bella asked wondrously.

“I certainly do,” Benedict agreed, moving his castle four spaces forward. 

He was infinitely better at chess, and Bella lost a knight.

“Georgiana and I shared a room at Darcy House.  I’m not used to sleeping alone.”

Benedict paused, considering.  “Are you asking to share a bed, Bells?”

Her dark eyes flicked up, more than a little hesitant.  “If you’re honorable.”

Benedict knew he was honorable, but his pretty little wife was going to kill him with her big doe eyes and her dark lustrous hair.  “You may always come to me,” he told her, “and withdraw when you so choose.”

Her dark eyes flicked up again.  She didn’t answer him, but moved her queen.  She lost a pawn.

“I cannot play the pianoforte,” she admitted.  “I am not so accomplished as other young ladies.”

“I noticed there was no pianoforte in the sitting room.”  It wasn’t a question, though there was a question in it.

“Charlie called it ‘noise.’”

“Then Mr. Swan did you a disservice.  Did Mr. Darcy never offer to have you taught?”

“I thought I was too old at that point.  Georgiana was so accomplished, I was afraid of sounding like a child in comparison.”

Mr. Darcy, then, had also done his wife a disservice. 

“Do you sing?”

“I cannot hold a tune.”

Benedict captured a bishop.  He would admit a truth though, as poor Bella had told him so much about herself.

“I had never thought to marry.”

Her dark eyes looked fearfully up at him.  “You hadn’t?”

“I find I am glad, though, in my predicament.”  He looked at her with his blue gaze, willing her to see the truth in it.

Her eyes caught his and held, and she blushed, down her pretty neck.

“Shall we retire?” Benedict asked, even though it was only half nine.  “I could read to you.”

She looked over at the clock and then nodded.  “I shall tell Mary we are moving into the Master Bedroom.”

Mary put up a screen for Bella to change behind and she came out looking demure with her hair in that same braid and her toes peeking out from under her maidenly nightshift.  Benedict made sure not to stare at his young wife as he climbed into bed after her, picking up a copy of Pope’s poetry, and settling in beside her.

He fell asleep to her hand resting on his heart, and wondered if she drew solace from the rhythm of it.  He drew her closer in his sleep, his nose running up along her hairline.  Benedict woke up with his hand in her hair and he pulled her nearer until she was fully in his arms, holding her until she woke up.

She startled for a moment but then relaxed, pressing her face against his chest and over his heart.

“It still beats,” he assured her.

“Not all hearts do,” she answered cryptically before she drew away, looking up with her dark brown eyes. 

“What can you mean?”

Not answering, she held herself still for the longest moment before pulling away and getting out of bed.  He let her go, but not without regret.

Bella had told him that Edward Cullen had once given her wildflowers. 

What she hadn’t told him was that he still sent her wildflowers on the first of the month.  They arrived from Darcy House with some of her post and she looked at the direction before setting it aside.

“Take this to the trash,” she told the footman, but Benedict had already seen the direction.

He fished it out and opened it to find dried bluebells and digitalis.  The sender, Edward Cullen, listed his address as Cambridge.

Benedict showed it to Anthony later that day at the club.

“He sends her flowers?”

“She throws them away, but if I have the right of it he’s been doing it for three years.”

Anthony looked at the wrappings.  “He doesn’t know she’s married.  They were sent to ‘Isabella Swan’ at ‘Darcy House.’  Surely Darcy cannot know of this, otherwise he would have put a stop to it years ago.”

“I have little faith in him as a guardian from the little Bella has told me of the goings on in the Darcy family,” Benedict admitted, thinking of Georgiana Darcy’s intended elopement and Bella’s acting as a go-between against her better judgment.  “He never should have put Bella in heels for her presentation at court given how clumsy she is.”

“Surely you must blame Lady Matlock for that,” Anthony objected.

“That is the least of my objections,” Benedict told him.  He took a long sip of his drink.  “I cannot tell you what I know, but if you acted in such a way with our sisters, I would call you out.”

Anthony looked at him.  “As bad as that?”

“Worse,” Benedict promised him.

Looking back down at the paper wrappings, Anthony seemed to be decided.  “We must go down to Cambridge then and find this Edward Cullen.  I’d hate to see it come to a duel, but something must be done.”

“Indeed,” Benedict agreed.  “We ride at dawn tomorrow.”

Bella was not happy when she heard he was leaving for a day trip on the morrow.  “But why?” she asked.  “We are still on our honeymoon.”

“A matter of business.”

“I know for a fact Mr. Darcy has not brought round the books from the Swan Estate.  Georgiana said that he wanted to give us time alone together first before he pushed you into estate management.”

“I go with Anthony.”

“Can he not take Colin?” She looked up hopefully with her dark brown eyes and Benedict hated to break her heart.

“I shall hopefully be home not long after dinner.  Mother has invited you over for a family meal.  You shall not be alone.”

“As much as I admire the Viscountess Bridgerton—”

“Let us not quarrel,” he asked her.  “We have been married but nine days.”

“Nine days,” she sighed.  “I did not think myself so difficult.”

He reached for her and kissed her gently.  “Mrs. Bridgerton Swan.  You are not so difficult as that.”

“No?” she asked, smiling.

“Never,” he told her, kissing her once more.

She slept chastely in his arms once again, her ear pressed to his heartbeat, and he held her close.  Benedict did not wake her when he rose before dawn, taking his clothes with him and changing in another room.  His horse was saddled and Anthony arrived early and they took off for Cambridge just as the sun was rising.

Edward Cullen was easy to find.  He was in surgery, but Benedict and Anthony did not let that stop them.

Learning who their quarry was, Anthony dragged him out from his lecture and Benedict looked him up and down.

Edward Cullen was a young man of barely twenty, with skin as pale as marble, a deep crimson gaze, and bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in nearly a week.

“You, sir,” Benedict addressed him, “are sending my wife flowers, and I believe you have been doing so since she was fourteen years of age.  I demand you stop or I will call you out.”

Cullen looked up, startled, took what appeared to be an unnecessary breath, and asked, “Bella is married?  Darcy married her off?”

Before Benedict could answer, Anthony placed a hand menacingly on Cullen and asked, “Why did Darcy not put an end to your letters?  Surely he could not have approved.”

“I asked for Bella’s hand—”

“Mrs. Bridgerton Swan,” Benedict corrected.

“Mrs.—” Cullen licked his lips.  “I asked for her hand.  I am making myself a gentleman.”

“She is the daughter of a baronet,” Anthony reminded him.  “You are the son of a surgeon.  You could never be called a gentleman.”

Benedict looked Cullen over.  He could not see how Bella could ever have called this creature handsome.  “You will cease and desist—”

“My love for Bella—”

If Benedict had been thinking rationally, he would have thrown a glove at Cullen.  Instead, he punched him in the jaw—and broke his hand in the process.  “Oh sweet heaven,” he cried as pain ruptured up his arm.  “I think it’s broken.”

Anthony immediately came up to him as Benedict cradled his broken hand, and Cullen hadn’t even moved, as if he hadn’t even been punched.

“You can never understand, you worthless human of a—”

Benedict lunged for him.  Anthony had the foresight to pull him back.  It was only later, when Benedict’s hand was wrapped up that he realized what Cullen had said.  “You worthless human.”  Human.  Was Cullen not human?

“I don’t think he has a heartbeat,” Benedict murmured, looking over at Anthony. 

Anthony glanced over, eyebrows raised.

“He called me a ‘human’ in a derogatory fashion, and Bells can’t believe I have a heartbeat.”

“She can’t believe you—”

“—have a heartbeat, yes.”  He took another drink of his beer.  “Cullen has done more than send her wildflowers.  He’s imposed himself on her at some point, and he doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

“How long has he been at Cambridge?”

Benedict shrugged.  “Bells is only seventeen.”

“She’s too young to be a debutante.”

“I’ve thought of that.  Perhaps she was trying to get away from Cullen.  Darcy can’t protect his own sister from fortune hunters.  He certainly can’t protect Bells from whatever he was.  My hand is good and truly broken.”

Anthony considered.  “We should regroup and learn more.”

“Agreed.”

It was difficult riding a horse with a broken hand, but Benedict managed it.  He didn’t make it back to Swan House before dinner, but he did make it in time to read Bella poetry before she went to bed.

“What happened to your hand?”

He had considered what to tell her, and he realized only the truth would suffice.  “I punched Edward Cullen for calling you ‘his.’  He doesn’t have a heartbeat, does he?  He called me ‘human’ as if that were something disgusting.”

She stilled.

“How long has he been imposing on you?”

Bella looked away and let out a breath.  “Since Georgiana invited him in.  He can’t come in unless you invite him.”  She turned to Benedict.  “Don’t invite him in the house.  You’re the owner.  Only you have the power to invite him in.”  There was a slight hysterical tinge to her voice and Benedict immediately came up to her and put his arm around her.

“I won’t invite him in,” he promised.  “He needs an invitation?  Like—I don’t know.  What is he, my darling?”

“He’s a vampire,” she breathed.  “He was drinking Georgiana and Mrs. Young’s blood slowly, but they didn’t realize it.  He made them forget somehow.  I don’t think he drank mine.”

“Was there ever an elopement?”

“There was a flirtation.  I passed maybe two or three letters for them.  I made it sound worse than it was so Mr. Darcy would remove us Ramsgate.  I’m a horrible friend, but Georgiana had invited Edward in for tea, and I couldn’t stay there anymore.  He came in through my window at night and would watch me sleep—if I slept at all.”

“Why did you come out so early?”

“So I wouldn’t be sent away with Georgiana again.  He’d just come and she’d just invite him in again for tea.  She thinks it’s horribly romantic.  There’s nothing romantic about it.”  She pulled away and looked into his eyes.  “He didn’t compromise me any more than you did when I tripped and tore my dress.  I promise you, Benedict.”

He ran a hand down the side of her face.  “I wasn’t thinking of that, darling.”

“You weren’t?”

“No,” he promised, leaning in and kissing her softly.  “I just want to find a way to get rid of him.”

“But how?” she asked.  “There’s no way to get rid of a vampire.”

“Except with a stake through the heart or a silver bullet,” Benedict murmured.  “I just need to challenge the monster to a duel.”

Fear welled up in Bella’s eyes.  “He’s so much older than either of us.  He once told me he had lived on this earth for a century!”

“I can outsmart him,” Benedict promised, hushing Bella.  “We’ll work this out later.  Come to bed.  He can’t come find you here.”  He pulled Bella to him and she reluctantly came to bed, her head resting over his heart, her small fist clasping at his shirt.

Of course, he couldn’t shoot a gun with his hand broken on a monster’s face.

The next day he went to see Darcy.  Surely he had some idea about Edward Cullen.

“Cullen?” Darcy asked, confused.  “Isn’t he the local surgeon?”

Benedict glowered at him, his arm in a sling and his hand wrapped up.  “He’s just the young puppy who’s been sending Isabella flowers every month for the past three years.  Miss Darcy invited him to tea at Ramsgate over my wife’s objections.”

A thunderous expression overtook Darcy’s face.  “Georgiana did what?”

“I know this isn’t the only occasion Miss Darcy has acted outside of propriety,” Benedict told him carefully.  “You need a better rein on your sister.  You also need to check your post.  Your man sent round the flowers not two days ago!  I went and saw the man yesterday at Cambridge and broke my hand on his jaw.”

Darcy glanced at Benedict’s broken hand.  “He must have an incredibly strong jaw.  Is he laid up at the surgeon’s?”

“Not as such,” Benedict admitted.  He took a deep breath.  “Darcy—”

“Why didn’t Mrs. Bridgerton Swan tell me?” Darcy demanded.

Benedict looked to the side.  “She was scared.  I’m not sure she trusted you, either.—She didn’t trust me.  I had to go through the trash to find the flowers.”

A troubled look came over Darcy’s features.  “Georgiana will be dealt with.  Clearly a firmer hand is needed.  I’m not sure Mrs. Ainsley is up to the task.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Benedict admitted, finally accepting a glass of brandy.  “Perhaps she is the stabling influence Miss Darcy has been greatly in need of.  I cannot say.  You may want to ask Isabella.  She’d know.”

The suggestion didn’t sit well with Darcy.  “She was my ward not a fortnight ago.”

“Yes.  But she is a married woman now and she is in possession of information you are in need of.  She told you of an elopement, I know that much.  Surely she is a trustworthy source of information.”

“She is that,” Darcy agreed, taking a drink from his own brandy.  “I am sorry about the flowers.  If it’s the monthly packet I’m thinking of, I thought it was from friends at Forks and, therefore, harmless.  Mrs. Bridgerton Swan never gave me any indication it was anything more sinister.”

More fool Darcy then.  He was next to useless.

Benedict was still waiting to hear from the London Academy of Art.  Bella was spending her days with Eloise and, much against Benedict’s better judgment, Georgiana Darcy, and Benedict spent his days in the Bridgerton gardens with Anthony shooting targets with his left hand.  Colin had gone off back to Greece traveling and Gregory was too young for such pursuits.

“Have you kissed her yet?” Anthony asked.

“Have you kissed Edwina Sharma?” he smirked back.

Anthony didn’t seem at all bothered.  “Miss Edwina isn’t for kissing.  She’s for heirs.”

That sounded like no fun at all.  What was the purpose of making heirs if there was no kissing before or after?

“Miss Edwina is everything that is perfect.  She is refined, accomplished, she speaks several languages—”

“She sounds an absolute bore,” Benedict concluded, taking aim and firing.  He was slightly to the left.  He was never going to get this right.  “A wife should get your blood stirring.”

“Should she?” Anthony asked, loading his pistol and taking aim himself.  “Women of the night and mistresses are for the stirring of passions.  A wife is for quiet evenings of logical conversation.”

Benedict scoffed.

Anthony hit his target directly on the bullseye.

Benedict cursed him.

When he got home that night, he kissed Bella soundly just to prove a point, and she laughed into his mouth.  If he slept that night with a pistol loaded with silver bullets under the bed, no one could blame him.

The End.