"I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone."
- Evermore by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver
How Anthony and Kate knew so many people, Benedict couldn't even begin to fathom. Both the Bridgerton and Sheffield-Sharma clans were present, but they did not make up the bulk of the people there. How had he not known that his broody, and sometimes downright boring older brother, had this many friends? It seemed impossible. Ridiculous, even. As he sipped his drink, he decided that most attendees had to be Kate's friends and relatives.
Across the room, he spotted Eloise and Penelope in deep and, undoubtedly, private conversation. Colin tried to keep Gregory and Hyacinth from terrorising more guests than necessary. His mother and Francesca spoke with some people he didn't recognise, but they appeared fine nonetheless. Benedict knew he should be mingling, but he just wasn't in the mood for a party today even though he'd been looking forward to it, and it had been on his calendar for weeks. Today, he was itching to paint and was absentmindedly scraping dried paint from under his nails when someone bumped into him.
"Sorry," the girl mumbled half-heartedly, eyes narrowing once they met his. "You bloody Bridgertons are everywhere, aren't you?" She grumbled, snatching the champagne glass out of his hand and downing its contents in one go.
She handed it back to him. "Don't they have anything stronger?"
Baffled, he looked at his empty glass and then at the woman before him. She had honey-brown hair and wore an intense shade of red lipstick. He couldn't pinpoint the exact colour of her eyes, but they were pretty, that much he could tell.
He smiled. "I'm Ben-"
"Benedict Bridgerton, yeah, I know."
"How did you-"
She interrupted him again. "Process of elimination," she explained. "Anthony's hosting, I've met Colin, I believe the fourth boy is young, and since you're all named alphabetically, it wasn't hard to discern that you're Benedict."
He gaped at her, completely taken aback by every word out of her mouth.
"Be careful," she said, looking directly into his eyes. "You might catch a fly." She tapped his chin lightly and walked away, leaving Benedict stunned beyond words.
He looked over his shoulder, watching her snatch a champagne glass off a tray. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should be concerned but barely managed to finish the thought before Anthony and Kate appeared in his periphery, approaching him with private smiles between them.
"Brother," Anthony began when in front of Benedict. "You look flustered."
"I…" he trailed off. "I just spoke to..." It dawned on him that he didn't even know the woman's name, so instead, he gestured in the general direction she had gone with his now-empty champagne glass.
Kate smiled knowingly. "Augusta," she told him. "She's a childhood friend. She winds people up just for the fun of it."
"What kind of person does that?"
Anthony's entire body stiffened as if his life flashed before his eyes. "Augusta," he said simply, and Benedict could swear his brother shuddered.
Benedict stole a glance at Kate. "Is he okay?"
The laugh that escaped Kate was infectious. Her whole body shook, and the smile that accompanied the laughter was so bright that Benedict had no trouble understanding exactly what had attracted Anthony to her. He couldn't stop a chuckle from leaving his own lips.
"He's fine," she assured him once she'd caught her breath. "I think Augusta traumatised him when they first met, and he couldn't exactly run away. We were in France, on her turf."
"I was not traumatised," Anthony argued. "She's just a little intense."
Kate raised a subtle eyebrow at him. "Intensely protective," Kate reminded him. "Imagine what she was like with the boyfriends she met after a few weeks. We'd been together a year before you met her."
"Because she lived in France."
"Because I didn't want you to be scared off," Kate argued again. "You passed the Augusta test."
"The Augusta test?" Benedict asked, truly intrigued but unsure if he actually wanted to know what it entailed.
"If Augusta approves, you stay," Anthony informed him. "Apparently, but I didn't know that when we went to France for our first anniversary."
Before Kate could argue any further, and they would be here forever if she did, Benedict made what he thought was a safe and somewhat funny statement.
"Stay away from Augusta, got it."
In hindsight, that was his first mistake. Probably.
"Oh, no, please don't," Kate begged, suddenly entirely focused on Benedict. "You'll get along just fine. She's only a menace to anyone who shows interest in Edwina and me, so you're fine."
"Menace is an understatement," Anthony muttered.
"I heard that," Augusta whispered in Anthony's ear, startling him. She had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, but before Anthony could even muster up a response, she had disappeared into the crowd once more. Benedict followed her head of honey brown hair for a moment.
"She keeps him on his toes," Kate said, eyes shining bright with amusement.
Benedict refocused his attention on the couple in front of him. "Good luck, brother, you're marrying into that."
The death stare Benedict received from his brother let him know that Anthony was painfully aware of the fact. If they hadn't been at the engagement party with a thousand guests around them, Benedict was almost sure Anthony would have hit him - or tried to, at least.
Benedict turned the corner and spotted a cascade of honey-brown hair down the aisle in the paper section. Sensing that someone was watching, Augusta looked up and groaned when they locked eyes. He wandered down to meet her.
"You bloody Bridgertons are-"
"Everywhere," Benedict finished. "You said."
Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, turning her head back to the section of paper she'd been inspecting before his arrival. He was surprised to see her in the art store. She hadn't struck him as an artist when they met, but what did make someone look like an artist? He'd argue that he didn't look like one either, and yet his work had been displayed in several galleries, and he was currently a guest lecturer at the most prestigious art school in London. None of that showed in his appearance, so he pushed the assumption away.
"What are you doing here?" She asked without taking her eyes off the selection of paper.
"I could ask you the same thing," he challenged her. Her jaw tensed, and Benedict wanted nothing more than to run his finger along the line of it so he could memorise it and sketch it later. There was no doubt in his mind that he would.
"Looking at the paper," she told him matter-of-factly, gesturing vaguely at the selection in front of them.
"Hm," he hummed, not knowing what else to do. "I was running out of some of my paint colours," he explained, holding up the tubes. "So I came to get new ones."
"Good for you." The corners of Benedict's mouth turned upward. Something stirred deep inside him. A feeling he vaguely remembered from a time in his life that was so different to what it looked like now, a time when he had been so irrevocably in love that he thought it would last forever. Until it didn't. His love for Henry had fizzled out and gone away quietly. He hadn't known it was gone until Henry announced that he was leaving, that they couldn't be together anymore. Benedict had been sad, of course, and the breakup had been difficult, but it hadn't broken him. It wasn't earth-shattering like the kind from the movies, and he quickly got over the initial loneliness. Because that's all Benedict really missed about his relationship with Henry: The companionship, the knowledge that he had someone to come home to, someone to share the sofa and the bed with after a long day. He hadn't thought about Henry for a long time.
To his own surprise, the feeling didn't scare him. It felt warm, spreading from his stomach to his chest and his fingertips. What did catch him off guard was the person who provoked those feelings. This was only the second time he met Augusta, and she hadn't exactly been welcoming towards him, but her cold exterior seemed like exactly that, a mask. It seemed like a facade she'd put up to keep, not just him, but everyone out. Something about her intrigued him, and he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, just that he wanted to find out.
"Do you know what you're looking for?"
"Paper," she said simply.
He grinned. "I can see that, but do you need recommendations?"
She finally turned to face him properly with a storm raging in her eyes.
"Do you have experience with watercolour?" Admittedly, he didn't. Benedict had never even considered taking up watercolour as a medium, and when he was younger, he had thought it a girly one. After overhearing him mention this to Anthony, a fourteen-year-old Eloise had given him a piece of his mind and told him just how belittling and sexist that idea was. He'd brushed it off initially, but his sister's voice always lingered in his head, so when some of his art friends had expressed similar sentiments to his own, he'd defended it and taught them a lesson. He'd called Eloise that same night, quite proud of himself. She, however, was less than impressed and called it the bare minimum. He agreed, even now.
"I don't," he admitted.
"Then you can't very well help me, can you?" She grabbed a pad of Strathmore watercolour paper and marched past him to the counter. Behind the counter stood an elderly man who appeared to be in his seventies, and he gave Augusta a wide smile when she placed the pad in front of him and went to get her wallet.
"Miss Augusta," he greeted. "I haven't seen you in a long time."
"Hello, Sean." Benedict glanced between the two of them. "Just that for today."
"You got it," he said, a thick Scouse accent coming through. "Peri not with you?"
Augusta smiled wide. "No, the sitter missed him, so I let them spend some time together at the park." The old man, Sean, rang up her item and told her the total. Augusta paid with her card and placed her wallet back in the pocket of her coat.
"Well," Sean began, handing over the pad of paper. "You should bring the little guy in soon; I think I'm due for a cuddle."
Once again, Augusta's smile was as wide as he'd ever seen it, which caught him off-guard. "He's not so little anymore, but you got it." Was Peri her child? And why was the shopkeeper so familiar with her and her situation? It bothered Benedict more than perhaps it should.
Augusta stepped aside and let Benedict place his items on the counter in front of Sean. Sean gave him the once over, then turned his attention back to Augusta. "He with you?"
"No," she said at the same time as Benedict said the opposite.
"No," Augusta clarified after Sean had finished chuckling and informed Benedict of his total. "I'm aware of him. His brother is Kate's fiancé."
"Ah, yes," the man muttered, accepting the cash Benedict offered him. "I did hear Miss Kate was engaged to a Mr Bridgerton."
"That's right," Benedict jumped in, somewhat annoyed that they spoke about him as if he wasn't there. Sean dropped the change into Benedict's hand with a kind smile. While he put his wallet and paint tubes in his rucksack, Augusta continued her conversation with the shopkeeper, whose Scouse accent became more apparent when he spoke casually.
Benedict hesitated, wanting to wait for Augusta so they could talk more, but he felt awkward standing there, so he murmured a goodbye to both of them. He ducked out of the store into the brisk September air and willed his heart to slow down. It hadn't even occurred to him that it was beating faster than usual.
He made his way down the street away from Covent Garden where the little niche art supply store was tucked into a quiet corner of the busy main square that was usually overrun with tourists.
"Benedict," his name was shouted from behind him.
He turned and was surprised to see Augusta half-jog her way to him. "Wanna grab some coffee?"
"Sure," he agreed with barely a hint of a smile on his lips. He was trying to keep his usually expressive features as natural and even as he possibly could.
Together, they walked to a small coffee shop that was hidden in a small side street, hidden from the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden. Benedict had never been before or even known of its existence. He simply followed Augusta's lead. Once again, she knew the young woman behind the counter, who gave them a small discount on their drinks even though Augusta insisted it was fine.
They sat at a table towards the back of the shop.
"Do you know everyone?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Augusta's brows furrowed. "In what way?"
Benedict shrugged, hoping the gesture came off more natural than it felt. "You knew the man at the art store, and you seem to know this shopkeeper, as well."
Augusta chuckled as the young woman, who looked barely eighteen, approached them with their coffees. "Sean was my father's mentor when he wrote his thesis. They were close," Augusta explained. "Millie is his granddaughter."
"Let me guess," Millie said, placing their cups on the table. "He asked about Peri."
"He did," Augusta confirmed. The young woman, who Benedict now knew was named Millie, disappeared back towards the counter to serve new customers that came through the door.
Augusta sipped her drink, and Benedict couldn't help but watch. He watched her lips curl around the edge, leaving a faint stain of red lipstick behind, and he watched as she licked the foam from the corner of her mouth. He was willing it to memory so he could paint the image later.
"Is Peri your son?"
Augusta choked on her coffee and started coughing violently into a napkin, trying to salvage some sense of dignity. Benedict rose to get a glass of water from a jug on a nearby abandoned table.
"Here," he offered. "Drink this." Augusta accepted, downing its contents in one go. Once she'd come somewhat to and had wiped the tears from her eyes, she looked him dead in the eye.
"What?" She asked, eyes bewildered.
"Is Peri your son?"
Author's Note: I've been so nervous and excited to post this fic for a long time. I'm pretty proud of it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Be sure to leave a review and let me know what you think. Follow me on tumblr itscapokaybye.