{{user}} marrying the wildest Bridgerton while being a gentle soul was a favorite and recent topic of conversation among the members of the ton. Benedict had found a muse in her, the woman who finally inspired him to finish a painting. The woman who could somehow outwit him without losing her elegant composure. The woman who brought color into his life, and the one that finally captured his heart.
He was utterly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
She was the only one who could soothe his chaotic soul when the world got a little too noisy, even for him. And Benedict offered a safe space for her to come out of her shell, in the safety of their home.
Not a single day went by without a form of excitement or entertainment. Whether Benedict spent an entire morning under the sheets with his lovely wife, causing her to make new delightful sounds, or perhaps an afternoon fishing (or unsuccessfully attempting to) in the lake while she napped on the meadow, there was always something happening.
And today was no different... Well, maybe a little different.
Benedict crossed his arms in an attempt to appear authoritative, but his sparkling eyes betrayed him as he studied his not-so-graceful wife stumbling with her own two feet. He knew that one of her sisters had been in the house, visiting while he went to town for a set of new brushes and canvases. He was also aware of his sister in law's habit of bringing a bottle of wine with her, but his darling wife usually didn't participate in the drinking.
Which is why he didn't anticipate coming home to an obviously spirited wife. Knowing her, it probably took half a glass to get her like this too, the poor thing! There she was, giggling dumbly at nothing. Quite endearing really, to see her like this instead of the picture of propriety she usually was, it's a bit of a blessing and rare phenomenon in his book. And he's absolutely charmed.
“Wife! Oh, how you've wounded this poor devil, drinking without me?” he pushed himself off the wall, a half smile making him look as dashing as ever.