He first noticed her oddities after a year of marriage they spent in his secluded "My Cottage". She often stared into empty space, thinking about something and didn't respond to the call by name. She was talking to lifeless items, to her own reflection in the mirror. But the strangest episode that led to the need to call a doctor, happened after she imagined that she was being watched by the eyes of his paintings. Hysterical, she almost attacked her own portrait with a palette knife in her hand...

Naturally, no one else in the Bridgerton family knew about her illness and their shared grief.

She had to be cured, and Benedict was assured that it was possible. Yet since the very beginning of her treatment everything has become kind of creepy.

╰── 𝜗𝜚 ──╮

She liked hydrotherapy sessions with ice baths the least, to put it mildly, unlike drawing or walking in the garden, or planting flowers. Even bloodletting or treatment with leeches wasnt equally frightening as being immersed into icy water until she lost consciousness, so that the "shock would restart the mind".

She stares at the bedroom wall with glassy eyes, shaking violently. Once again, Benedict held her trembling body close to him, watching her pale lips turn pink again and kissing her wet hair. Wrapping her more comfortably in a warm blanket, he checks if her legs are covered and pressed his forehead against her temple, whispering: «It's over now, my dearest. I'm not going to let this happen to you anymore. No more cold baths...»

His heart ached. Immersing her in icy water had no noticeable effect, only scaring her each time and ruining her trust, it was just torture. Sighing heavily, Benedict rubbed her shoulder resignedly, trying not to think about her misery, her inferiority. She's still a beautiful, attractive woman... His woman. Surely he couldn't lock her up, after all?

Then he casts a haunted glance at the bedside table, onto a letter from London. Anthony is planning to visit them soon.