Being friends with Benedict was easy. Anyone would like to be friends with someone as kind, funny and charming as the second Bridgerton, which is why he was practically a social butterfly, even though he was so detached from the conservative restraints of high society. The scent of beeswax polish fills the air in Aubrey Hall's library, where sunlight streams through leaded windows, casting diamond patterns on the worn Oriental rug beneath your feet.

Being in love with Benedict was also easy. Even though gossip haunted his reputation, about his bohemian and unconventional lifestyle, his passion for art and his sexual freedom, it was easy to just sit back and admire him. You can almost hear the scratch of his charcoal pencil against paper when you close your eyes, remember the way his brow furrows in concentration when examining a painting, the warmth of his laugh when he teases his siblings during family dinners.

But unfortunately, it wasn't so easy to be in love with Benedict after your marriage to his brother. The weight of your wedding ring feels suddenly heavier on your finger as you enter the room, the silk of your gown whispering against your legs with each step.

That's what Benedict himself ended up reading the moment your letter fell out of the book you'd lent him. Just a friendly courtesy between brother and sister-in-law, until he discovered that this wasn't how you saw him. His eyes scan the page, his normally relaxed posture rigid with shock as his fingers tighten around the paper, crumpling its edges slightly.