It is said that second-born sons have all the fun. This much is certainly true for Benedict Bridgerton, free from the burdens held by his eldest brother, the Viscount. One must wonder, how does the second eldest Bridgerton spend his time?
To the to...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
When Benedict was eight years old, his favorite horse died of old age. The horse was called Bo, and it was the one Benedict had learned to ride on. He spent many evenings in the stables at Aubrey Hall, talking to Bo as though he could understand the boy. It did not bother him that he couldn't, it simply felt nice to have somebody to talk to. He knew he had Madeleine and he had his family, but it was different knowing that the one listening to you always had time for you and could not find a way to judge you.
He would talk about things he was embarrassed to speak to any of his family or friends about. On one particular evening in late September, he sat next to Bo and gently stroked his mane as he told him about his family.
"I know my father loves me, of course he does. It just seems that nothing I do is ever as good as what Anthony does." The boy sighed, picking at the hay on the floor.
"I showed father my sketch this morning and he smiled and told me it was beautiful. I was so happy that he liked it." He smiled sadly, continuing. "But then during lunch, Father went on and on to us about how good Anthony was getting at hunting. He kept talking about how proud he was and how much of a strong man Anthony will be. For half an hour, he talked about how great Anthony was and how he would make a wonderful Viscount. I just wish he was that proud of me sometimes, you know?"
Bo snorted lightly as he moved around on the hay and Benedict sighed, watching him.
"Maybe one day I will be really wonderful at something. Maybe art. I would like that." The young boy smiled at the thought. "I could show father one of my paintings and he would hang it in the foyer and look at it everyday and think of how proud he is. Maybe my work could even be in a gallery and he would go to look at it! He would tell people how his son made that and how proud he is of me." Benedict's tone got excited at the thought and he grinned at the horse.
"You think that will happen, Bo? Hm?" He scratched his fur lightly and Bo nuzzled his head into the boy's hand. Benedict continued to talk, thinking out loud of ways to make his father proud one day.
"Or maybe I could take up-" His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound coming from Bo. He had never heard it before and he could only think that it sounded like the kind of moan a human made when they were sick. Bo's head lightly fell to the ground and he laid there, moaning softly.
"Bo, are you okay? What's wrong? What is it?" His voice was nervous as he sat up straight, taking Bo's head lightly into his hands. The horse's breathing got heavy and slow and he could not seem to hold his own head up. Benedict scrambled to get up and he ran to the exit of the stables, calling loudly for his father.
Edmund was across the yard with Colin and his head shot up at the sound of his boy's panicked shouts. He took off running toward the stables, worried that Benedict was hurt or something had happened.
"Son, what is it? Are you all right?" His voice was laced with worry as he held the boy's face, examining him for any injuries.
"Father, it's Bo. Something is wrong with him!" Benedict exclaimed in panic, grabbing his father's sleeve and rushing him over to the horse.
