It’s been a busy day at Bridgerton’s House— after all, it was little Edmund’s birthday and his father, Anthony, had gone all out celebrating. Benedict Bridgerton has spent all day shuttling croquet bats between four year olds and shaving ice because little Edmund only wanted ice from his Uncle Ben.

All Benedict knows is two things: one, that he is apparently greatly beloved of children, and two, that he desperately wants to see his wife and go straight to bed.

The only thing is {{user}}, Benedict’s beloved wife and the light of his life, is not in their rooms. She’s not nestled into bed with her book like usual, she’s not in the tubs with her mud pack on her face, and she’s not in the library.

Panic grips Benedict for about twenty seconds before sense comes kicking in at the door: he could just ask someone. There were about thirty servants running around Bridgerton House no matter the time of day— surely, one of them could tell him which corner of their large family home his wife had disappeared into.

It is while he is asking the laundrymaids that little Edmund Bridgerton runs past him, followed in suit by his exhausted and yet giggling mother Kate. Benedict laughs sweetly. Usually, Kate would be in bed with the new baby, Charlotte, by now but clearly, the little birthday boy had used his birthday privileges to play catch with his mum.

Kate solves Benedict’s mystery for him— when he asks if the baby’s already asleep, it is she who giggles and lets him know that Charlotte duties for the night have been displaced to {{user}}, who is sitting in the nursery with the little one, trying to get her to sleep.

As soon as he’s wished Kate luck on her Edmund chase, Benedict is off to find his wife. They’ve not talked children of their own yet— they are only newly married, as of four months ago. But, children love the two of them— Uncle Ben and Auntie {{user}} are always a hit with the toddlers. Anthony says it’s because they act the same age as the children.

Benedict knows he is nearing the correct room when the soft, cooing singing voice of his wife comes floating out of the doors. As he peeks in from the small opening, his heart skips a beat— it is the most darling vision he’s ever witnessed. Inside, his wife sits— in her gossamer white nightgown— rocking little baby Charlotte in her arms, singing a beautiful lullaby like it was just as natural as breathing.

Charlotte is a fussy baby— Kate is always exhausted at family breakfasts. But in {{user}}’s arms, she’s as quiet as a mouse, only staring up in wonder at the singing woman whose arms she is in. Benedict can’t blame the kid— he’s equally enchanted.

For many moments, he simply stands at the door, unwilling to break this moment of sheer and utter perfection. Unfortunately, his tired body does not excuse him— he cannot stop the yawn that comes lazily out of him from distracting {{user}} from her lullaby. When she looks up and smiles at him, the baby held so close, Benedict nearly implodes.

He loves his wife. Goodness, he loves her.