Chapter Thirteen: The Aftermath of the Duel

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In the original storyline Benedict first visits the Granville studio instead of attending the Trowbridge ball, and the night before Daphne's wedding he infamously hooks up with Lucy and Madame Delacroix. I decided to divert from this plot: Benedict was at the Trowbridge ball dancing with Franny (much to our delight) and he definitely will not be sleeping around the night before the wedding. The reason for this is because I want Franny to be the first who gets introduced to painting nights at the studio. You'll soon see how the events unfold. And I would like to thank you again for all the reads, votes, and comments. It's wonderful to get feedback from you and I am flattered that you enjoy Benedict and Franny's story. Also special thanks to Kayla who took the time to proofread the chapter! ✨

Lady Holmes

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Benedict was born second. It meant that when their father died only at the age of thirty-nine, Anthony, the first-born, assumed the role of the head of the family. All the duties and responsibilities fell on him: managing the financial matters of the family, guarding their sisters' dowries, and having to sire an heir to preserve the Bridgerton bloodline. Anthony was still very young to do so, having only just turned eighteen, and even though their father had taught him everything he needed to know, he was barely a man when he took over. But he did, according to his best abilities, and he continued to take family matters seriously. Being the second-born meant that Benedict never had to prepare for such a scenario: while he received an equal amount of love and attention from their father, he always had a little bit more freedom. It was overlooked if he did not do his calculations, rode a horse, or learnt about social customs as well as Anthony. And he liked it that way. Nevertheless, he always wondered whether he could carry the weight his brother did and came to the conclusion that he was lucky that he never had to. He loved his family immensely, he would walk through fire for each one of his siblings, and his mother, but he always lacked something Anthony instinctively seemed to possess. Anthony commanded respect with one severe glare and was father to their younger siblings when it was needed. Benedict, on the other hand, was always more easy-going, did not take life as seriously as his brother did, nor was his purpose laid down for him. And that was fine with him, having the freedom to explore what he wanted to do in life.

So, when his brother demanded him in an imperative tone to be his second while preparing their grandfather's old pistol, he froze to the spot. Having the titles, estates, duties passed to him made him break out in cold sweat. As Anthony contemplated the possibilities of himself or Hastings dying methodically, Benedict could not utter a word. He loved his brother deeply, for as long as he could remember, he was always by his side. Bickering and teasing, challenging him to fencing and riding matches, laughing if he fell, but offering his hand immediately. Anthony was his very best friend who encouraged him to do better, listened deeply when he needed him to, and introduced him to the world. The thought of losing him was almost impossible to bear. However, at that very moment, all these dreaded scenarios came very close to reality. Benedict wanted to protest, to find another way, to work out another solution, but he understood that this was how matters were settled between gentlemen. If Anthony had not demanded satisfaction, all their sisters would bear the consequences, the very Bridgerton name would be tarnished, their father's legacy destroyed. Benedict knew very well that Anthony was ready to sacrifice his life to prevent that from happening.

As they rode in the dark, the cold wind was blowing, the city had yet to awaken, and was covered in thin darkness. Benedict had a never-ceasing worry in his stomach eating him up from inside out. Whatever was to transpire that night could be devastating. In the best case, one of them would be wounded, but even if that happened, there was no guarantee the doctor could intervene in time. As Benedict was riding his horse, with the pistol box under his arms, he could hardly register the movement. With each second passed they came closer and closer to a possible and very likely showdown. His brother was above furious and unapologetic; it was questionable whether he would fire wide and the duke too proud to yield meaning that one of them would possibly meet their ends.

The sun had come up by the time they reached their destination, offering very little warmth on the chilly morning. They stopped their horses, jumped down and consulted the doctor. Benedict's last hope was dissuaded when the man snorted sarcastically at the suggestion of being able to control a moving bullet. They could hear the horses neighing, foreshadowing the arrival of the duke. Benedict took his last chance to talk some sense into his brother, something on which he was also short. Anthony's final request concerned a lady Benedict must take care of, should he find himself unable so, and he could not deny him. As his brother handed him their late father's watch, his most precious family heirloom signifying his position as head of the Bridgertons, Benedict addressed him in a sombre tone, thousands of sentences came to his mind, but he could not formulate any as Anthony cut him off and hurried off. He was unyielding.

Will walked by his side and they examined the pistols with careful precision as the rules dictated, while Anthony glared in a frenzy at the duke who only met his eyes in the last minute to apologise. Benedict handed the pistol to his brother without a sound and uttered a prayer in his head. The irreversibility of the moment became clear as the opponents stood with their backs to each other. Both shouted "ready" and they started taking the steps slowly, drawing away from each other yet coming closer to the final moment. Benedict felt his heart in his throat and clutched on the wooden box as if his life depended on it. When they turned around, the duke held his arms up high in the air, while Anthony aimed the weapon at him, his hands shaking, his nostrils flaring, his eyes mad with fury. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a shot was fired but cut short by a blue-cloaked figure suddenly appearing on a white horse. Everyone rushed to Daphne's rescue, who, by one in a million chance, was not hurt. Shortly after, a shouting match has unfolded between Anthony and Daphne, so Benedict stepped in before his brother could jump at the duke. Anthony, growing impatient at the conversation, demanded the duel to be resumed. However, Daphne declared loud and clear that she and the duke were to be married. Benedict let out a deep breath, lowering the pistol in his hands, thanking that events were to be resolved by a wedding, and not a funeral. Finally, what probably had been the longest night since their father's death, came to an end.

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Benedict did not close his eyes for a second, as his body was filled with the mix of adrenalin and scotch he had helped himself to along with his younger brother, in a vain attempt to cloud their thoughts. Benedict's mind, however, could not be any sharper as it was racing with thousands of bloody scenarios and various deaths any of the participants could have suffered and which he would not get rid of soon. Finally, exhaustion has taken over his body, drifting him into faint sleep.