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bella notte
act i , distant memories
chapter fifteen , i think he knows

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        BELLE WINCED as she heard the click of the door shutting behind her. A slow breath left her lips as her back pressed against the hard wood of the door.

        She had returned from the Granville's some time before him, having left him asleep in a guest room before fleeing the scene, wrapt in guilt and anxiety.

      Grace had met her at the servants entrance, remarking upon her distressed manner which the Grantham girl had hastily dismissed before bidding her lady's maid goodnight and retiring to her room, praying that good night's sleep would help ease her conscience.

         However, she had not been so fortunate.

        Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his fingers dancing on her skin, tangled in her hair, caressing her jaw...

       And every time she opened them she faced with the knowledge that such sensations were no longer figments of her imagination but instead true recollections.

       Belle could feel her breath hitch in her throat as they replayed in her mind, a small smile creeping onto her lips. Every kiss, every touch had been everything she had fantasised and more.

       Another sigh escaped her as a pang of guilt shot through her chest, causing her smile to drop. The fact it had been everything she longed for and more almost made it worse, because it would never happen again — she vowed as such.

       No matter how wonderful it had been, if the consequence each time was to be how she felt right then; plagued with regret and guilt, despairing in the knowledge that his kisses were not for her as hers had been for him, then she vowed there would be no reprise of their encounter.

       She was resolute about it. She had spent enough time mulling it over in her mind as she paced her room, having given up on her attempts at sleep.

      The Grantham girl had been returning from the kitchen with a glass of water — another meagre attempt to ease her nerves — when she had heard his low groan echo out in the hallway.

        She cursed herself and her curiosity for getting the better of her — she should have stolen away the second she'd heard another presence, but instead she lingered, her fingers gripping the glass tightly in hand as she peered around the corner.

       Belle hadn't expected him to make his return that night, he had certainly seemed out for the counts when she had left him.

       That had seemingly been the downside of Henry's plan. While Belle had heard of different people having different side effects when consuming different alcohols, she had never seen a case be so true than in that of Benedict Bridgerton.

       While she'd noted that the effect of champagne on the man made him rather child-like and mischievous, it appeared that the effect absinthe had on him was extreme tiredness — although perhaps, in hindsight, it was the sheer amount he had consumed that had had such an effect.

       So while Belle relished somewhat in the memories of his arms wrapped around her, in reality the encounter had been rather short-lived. The pair had managed to steal away to a spare room, still wrapt up in one another, but maybe ten or so minutes later, the Bridgerton had fallen victim to the sandman, collapsing upon the mattress with a small snores leaving his lips every now and then.

        The Grantham girl had been rather amused, and allowed herself to stay with him for a few moments, watching as his eyelids fluttered and the corners of lips quivered in the ghost of a smile.

       In retrospect, she had been incredibly grateful that things had not progressed further between them, she was sure the guilt would only have been even greater if she had.

       So, in honesty, seeing him steadily make his way up the staircase had surprised her immensely considering his state, hours prior.

      This mix of surprise and curiosity had been what rooted her to the floor, spectating his slow movements. It was only when he let out another groan that she was brought back to reality and quickly sought to steal away into her chambers, before he could catch sight of her.

       With the door shut behind her, Belle made her way back over to the bed, perching on the end as she let out another long breath, her chest tightening at having seen him so soon after their encounter. A swelling of anxiety threatened to overpower her but she was quick to dismiss it.

        At the end of the day, Benedict Bridgerton did not know it was her.

***

        BENEDICT COULDN'T take his eyes off her. His jaw was clenched in thought as he watched her converse with the Duke, hands reaching up and fussing about with his collar whilst he looked solemnly down at her and she responded with gentle smiles of encouragement.

       The church was rather empty. Daphne and the Duke had opted for a small ceremony, with a larger reception to be held at the house later on. Benedict sat with his family on the left of the church, Colin at his side who was animatedly chatting with their mother who sat in front of the two men, with a spare seat for Anthony, following his escort of Daphne down the aisle.

      On the right of the church was the Duke's dearest friends. Lady Danbury sat with Nicholas Grantham, chuckling as she witnessed the young boy talk with Will Mondrich and his wife, Alice, who had also been invited to the ceremony.

       But yet his gaze was on Belle, who had risen from her seat and was conversing in low voice with the Duke.

        The hearing with the Queen had gone exceptionally well he had come to understand, allowing for the wedding to go ahead the day after, as promptly as formerly intended. 

      He would have expected to have discussed such change in events with the Grantham girl but had not exchanged with her since their conversation on the swings — or rather, as he was slowly coming to believe, since the night of Henry Granville's party.

       The day following the party, Benedict had been nursing a rather wicked hangover which had left him very little focus to spare to his suspicions. But, now, a day later, he found himself fraught, unable to shake the memories of the party — or more so, of her.

       Maddalena Vespucci. The name had come back to him eventually, which had initially dispelled his suspicions of the Grantham girl but the more he thought, the more he studied her, there was no doubt in his mind — they were one and the same.

      And yet he still couldn't find himself completely believing it.

       If it were true, how could it be that she was acting as though nothing had happened?

      In truth, it was her behaviour that almost convinced him that he had all too quickly jumped to the the conclusion he'd simply wished to be true.

       For the last twenty four hours, Benedict Bridgerton had been at war with himself and with the thought of Isabella Grantham.

     But now he was resolved.

       In the end, it was the little things that settled the debate in his mind; the brightness of her eyes, the curve of her smile, the curl of her hair.

        He knew in the depths of his soul there was no other who could make him feel as she did.

       He had felt it the seconds he'd laid eyes on her at the Danbury Ball, only for it to steadily grow as he got to know her vivacious personality once more.

        He'd suppressed it as their friendship blossomed, as she'd expressed her lack of interest in the marriage mart, his understanding being that she viewed him purely platonically — after all she was no longer a blushing schoolgirl.

       Yet as the weeks passed, the lingering touches, stolen glances caused him to believe that perhaps his feelings were not quite as unrequited as first thought.

        There was some deep seated subconscious recognition when his eyes had landed on Maddalena. In his mind, there was no question, the only way that Maddalena could make him feel the way Belle did was because Maddalena was Belle.

        To a logician, the theory would seem far fetched, but the more he thought it over, the more sense it began to make — her unexplained absences, unnamed new acquaintances.

        He might have been able to overlook it but, one thing was certain, he could not overlook how he had felt that night and how that same feeling had blossomed in his chest right in that moment as he surveyed the Grantham girl in the church.

***

          BELLE CURSED THE name of Henry Granville. Though he had yet to approach her at the reception, she had made sure that he was on the receiving end of many a pointed stare.

       She had hoped that her nerves would have stilled following the evening of the party — oh, how wrong she was.

       The cold light of day had only caused her nerves to spiral. Avoidance was now her new friend,  she had yet to exchange so much as a smile with the Bridgerton man following that evening. She had convinced any interaction with him would cause her resolve, that she was trying so desperately to maintain, to crumble.

          Belle had noticed that he'd been acting strangely. She had hoped it was a symptom of his hangover. She had been rather concerned, following the amount of liquor he had consumed, she was surprised to see him standing the following day — the fact he'd managed himself up the stairs that same night was, in itself, a rather impressive feat.

        But when his strange behaviour seemed to be solely directed at her, panic slowly began to overtake her.

       Perhaps he had connected the dots, she knew that there were holes in Henry's scheme — or at least he suspected her of something, the way he regarded her was not with a look saved for the innocent.

       She attempted to go on acting as normally as she could, amidst avoiding him, but she wasn't sure if that only fuelled his suspicions.

        Belle, once again, was conflicted.

       She didn't know what to think. She didn't know if she wanted him to know the truth or not.

        If he did already somehow know, it was safe to say that their friendship was ruined.

        And even if he did know that it was her now, Belle was sure that at the time he did not — for he was too full of drink to suspect anything other than what she and Henry had told him. Therefore, the fact he'd returned her kiss offered no insight into his own affection — for he did not think the person he was kissing was her.

       Belle stifled a breath.

       If he knew, was he now regarding her regretfully or were the two of them barely scratching the surface?

       Either way she was certain that she wasn't going to be the one to bring any of it up. She just needed to remain calm — a challenge that had been aided greatly by the many glasses of champagne she had drank at the wedding reception.

       "A joyous occasion, is it not?"

        Belle's eyes narrowed as Henry approached her, having ambled from where he had previously been in conversation with the very man who plagued her thoughts.

       "He knows, doesn't he?" The Grantham girl dismissed his greeting, a shaky breath leaving her lips before she take another gulp.

        "I don't think he knows anything." Henry replied, his voice low as Belle rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw.

       "Alright, suspects then, if you want to get into semantics." She pressed her lips together, as she scanned the room, failing to spot the Bridgerton. "He can't see you speaking with me, it will only fuel his suspicions further."

       "Belle, he already knows you and I to be acquainted." Henry chuckled at her panicked state, resting a hand on her arm.

       "Yes, and now he knows why!" She rebuked, pulling her gaze back to her friend. "I saw you conversing. What was he saying?"

       "He spoke mostly of the other night. Extending his thanks." Henry shrugged, eyes narrowing as he recalled the interaction. "His manner was a little strange however. He excused himself awfully quickly."

      "You swore he shouldn't remember anything." Belle hissed under her breath, as she caught sight of the man once more, quickly averting her gaze as she saw him stop in his tracks where he stood across the room from the pair.

       "Perhaps you underestimated just how great an effect you have on him — even absinthe can't obscure everything, Belle." Henry mused as he took a sip of his own champagne, his manner still jovial despite his companion's anxieties, as he too registered the reappearance of the Bridgerton across the room.

       "This is precisely what I wanted to avoid."

       "And what is that exactly?"

       "This strangeness." Belle mustered, taking another gulp of her champagne, casting a brief glance in Benedict's direction, before taking a sharp inhale. "He's looking at me as though he doesn't even know me."

        Henry let out a small chuckle, casting a quick glance over to the man.

       "I can assure you that is not how he's looking at you."

        Belle felt her jaw clench as she brought her gaze up to her friend's, before slowly turning her attention to the man across the room, who was surveying her with the same expression he had fixed her with, the day they sat upon the swings. Even with the distance between them, his eyes bore into hers, causing her chest to tighten as he raised her champagne flute to his lips.

        "He knows." Belle muttered quietly, unable to tear her gaze from his.

       "I think he does." She could hear Henry agree from beside her, as she let out a slow breath, watching as the man pursed his lips as he regarded her.

        How exactly it was he had come to know Belle couldn't fathom. All she knew was that it was a truth she was about to be confronted with.

        Breaking the eye contact between them, the Grantham girl hastily finished her champagne, placing the empty flute in Henry's grasp before she excused herself from his company.

       Weaving in and around the guests with polite smiles, it wasn't long before Belle emerged into one of the downstairs corridors, turning the handle to Anthony's deserted study and quickly slipping inside, knowing that Benedict was hot on her tail.

        Letting out a slow breath, she took a few steps into the room, keeping her gaze firmly ahead of her, even at the sound of another's footsteps and the sound of the door clicking shut as he joined her in the room.

        "I must say I'm impressed." Benedict remarked, causing her to slowly turn to face him, her lips pursed as she did. "I have found myself completely dumbstruck all day all the while you are the picture of composure."

         He gestured her up and down, causing a small chuckle to leave her lips — she prayed she was masking her nerves effectively.

       "What do you want?" She asked, choosing to not quite yet face the truth.

       "Oh, I don't know ... Maddalena."

       She could feel his eyes scanning her face for any hint of a reaction. A gentle inhale was all that she gave, as she brought her gaze to meet his, squaring her jaw.

         "What are you talking about?"

         "That is what you call yourself, isn't it?" He mused, cocking his head to the side as he took a step towards her. "I did think it a little strange that you never divulged just how you came to know Henry Granville so well but after that night—"

        "I was under the weather that night, Benedict." She cut him off, taking a challenging step toward him, arching a brow. "You saw me retire to my bedchamber."

       Benedict pressed his lips together as he surveyed her, before letting out a small chuckle.

       "Now, you're a good liar, I'll give you that." He applauded her efforts. "But I am not a fool."

       It was now Belle's turn to let out a chuckle, as she averted her gaze from the man, turning on her heel and stepping away from him and his questioning.

         "Oh, I heartily disagree."

         A moment of silence passed between them that Belle couldn't quite read from where she stood unable to face him, her chuckling faded away slowly before she was forced to take another sharp inhale.

         "I know it was you."

         Belle's breath hitched her throat, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as he spoke. His voice was almost in her ear, he had crossed the distance between them, now standing directly behind her.

        There was something in his tone as well. A note of desperation that caused her to turn back around and meet his gaze, her guard slowly dropping as she spotted the sincerity in his eyes.

        "You may have thought that pouring all that liquor down my throat would have helped you but there are some things a man just can't forget." He all but whispered to her, as his eyes surveyed every inch of her face as though he was trying to savour every detail.

       "Is that so?" She replied, her words faltering momentarily as he reached out and delicately caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

        "Belle, tell me it was you." He almost pleaded with her, the distance between them almost non-existent.

       The Grantham girl let out a gentle sigh, before pressing her lips together in a small smirk, surveying him with a knowing expression.

       "You might have to jog my memory." She whispered, her nose brushing against his, at which he let out a shaky breath of relief, a wide smile spreading over his face as his hand settled on the curve of her jaw as he brought her face closer to his.

        "My pleasure."

        Reaching up to take his face in her own hands, Belle let out a relieved chuckle. However, before his lips could grace her own, the click of the door knob turning immediately alerted the pair, causing them to rapidly separate from one another's embrace.

        "Brother!" Anthony cried as he strode into the study, eyebrows furrowing as he caught sight of Benedict with Belle. "What are you two doing?"

       "Belle was beginning to feel faint." Benedict quickly fabricated, casting a glance at the girl beside him, resting a gentle hand on her arm, as she fervently nodded, affirming his story.

        "He suggested we depart from the ballroom so as not to cause a scene." She informed the eldest Bridgerton, who gave a short nod at their tale.

        "Sensible of you." He commended them. "But do leave the door ajar, the last thing I need is another brother up to mischief behind closed doors."

        Both Belle and Benedict faltered at his words, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

        "Brother—?"

        "Later." He dismissed Benedict's queries, as he stood back from the door, nodding at the Grantham girl, indicating for her to exit ahead. "Feel better, Belle."

       Belle pressed her lips together in a tight smile, as she stepped away from Benedict, feeling his hand slowly slip off her arm as she moved out of his grasp.

        "Thank you, Anthony." She replied, with a court nod as she moved out of the room, sparing Benedict a knowing look as she departed.

***

         BELLE HAD TO commend Benedict, for his lie had seemingly convinced Anthony not to question their activity behind closed doors, but she couldn't say the consequences of such a fabrication had benefitted either of them.

       By the time she had returned to the entrance hall, she found most of the guests to be making their exit from the reception.

       Anthony had quickly fallen into step with the girl and had led her towards his mother, informing her of the Grantham girl's state at which Violet Bridgerton had insisted that she retire early, suspecting the fainting spell to be linked to the bout of illness, she had succumbed to a few days before.

       While Belle was touched by their care, she couldn't help but be mildly vexed at the course of unfolding events.

         Despite their instance, Belle had assured both the Viscount and Viscountess that she would do so, after bidding goodbye to the new Duke and Duchess, wishing not to miss their departure — especially not to some phantom illness.

        She was lucky they'd agreed. Although, they didn't let her out of their sight.

        The farewells were very brief. Belle hugged Daphne tightly and wished her well, at which the Duchess offered a small smile in response.

       When the Duke had moved to stand before the Grantham girl, she fixed him with a knowing look before pulling him too into an embrace, instructing him to take good care of the wonderful woman he now called a wife.

        As the carriages pulled away, Belle and the Bridgertons waved after them, offering slight chuckles upon watching Gregory, Hyacinth and Nicholas chase them some distance along the square before retreating.

It was then as promised did Belle return to her chambers and it was there she had remained ever since.

As the light sky of the day slowly bled into the darker sky of night, Belle had discarded her wedding attire and changed into her nightdress, and similarly had undone the complex twists her hair had been pinned in, allowing her dark curls to cascade down her back.

She laid in her bed, gaze fixated on the ceiling above her, her chest rising and falling in slow breaths as she reconciled the events of the day.

Slowly she sat up, her finger tapping the exposed skin of her thigh in anticipation; she had to see him.

Belle didn't waste another second before she arose from the bed, pulling on a light dressing gown over her nightdress as she made for the door.

Taking care to close the door silently behind her, the girl wrapped her dressing gown around her frame as she hastily moved along the dark hallway, her bare feet cold against the hard wood floors.

She turned the corner, taking even more care to be quiet as she passed the rooms of other sleeping family members, before she arrived at the door she knew to be his.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at it, hesitantly raising her hand in a fist with which to make knock.

However, before her knuckles could make contact with the hard wood, she was startled by the door swinging open before her.

Belle let out a surprised gasp as she retreated away from the doorway, which now revealed Benedict, his shoulders rising and falling in the same ragged breaths that had torn through her as she had left her quarters in search of him. It was clear to her that she had halted him in his own search — his search for her.

She regarded him for a moment, a loose white night shift hung upon his frame, his hair was tussled, he too had clearly tried to find some solace in sleep, only to be unsuccessful.

The pair now stood opposite one another, an invisible barrier between them that once they crossed they both knew meant there was no going back for either of them.

Belle let out a slow breath as she regarded the man, the gentle expression that donned his face as she looked upon her.

She didn't have to think twice before crossing the small distance between them, Benedict met her halfway as the pair wrapped their arms around one another, their lips meeting in a tender kiss, muffled sighs escaping them as they stumbled back into the bedchamber, the door gently clicking closed behind them.

"You really thought a little liquor could cause me to forget this." Benedict whispered against her lips, hands tangling in her hair, causing her to chuckle into the kiss.

"Well, I am in the habit of underestimating you." She replied, softly as her hands moved around his neck, softly playing the hair upon the base of his neck.

"You forget I know you, Belle." He reminded her as his lips parted from hers, pressing soft kisses along her jaw and neck as he spoke. "The curve of your jaw, the shine in your eyes, the curl of your hair—"

Belle cut him off by bringing her lips back to his, causing a low moan to emerge from the back of his throat, as he pulled her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"When did you become a poet?" The Grantham girl mused, her breathing ragged as she slipped her arms out of the dressing grown, Benedict clumsily aiding her, as they allowed it to fall into a heap at their feet.

"Tis only when I'm inspired." Benedict replied, bringing a hand up so his fingertips slowly caressed her cheek at which she gave a low chuckle, before capturing his lips once more in their fierce kiss.

She breathed against his lips, as her hand danced across his chest, moving down in order to find the hem of his shirt. Belle could feel Benedict begin to smile into the kiss as she clutched the hem in hand and slowly began pulling it up his body and over his head, leaving him shirtless before her.

He pulled her flush against his torso, the pair of them immersed in light laughter as they stumbled their way towards his bed, crashing down upon the mattress as chaste kisses exchanged between them, their limbs slowly becoming entangled in the sheets.

"Then let us continue to inspire one another." Belle whispered in his ear, at which Benedict gave a low chuckle and pressed a hard kiss to her jaw.

Her eyes met his, deep brown meeting ocean blue and Belle Grantham hoped he would never look away and simply allow her to drown in him.

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘!
THESE. TWO.
i burn for them x

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