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He touched her cheeks. “I know who you are.”
She chewed on her lip.
“And do you want to hear the funniest part?” he continued. “Do you know one of the reasons I was so hesitant to give my  heart completely to you? I’d been saving a piece of it for the lady from the masquerade, always hoping that one day I’d find her.”
“Oh, Benedict,” she sighed, thrilled by his words, and at the same time miserable that she had hurt him so.
“Deciding to marry you meant I had to abandon my dream of marrying her” he said quietly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry I hurt you by not revealing my identity,” she said, not quite looking at his face, “but I’m not sure that I’m sorry I  did it. Does that make any sense?”
He didn’t say anything.
“I think I would do the same thing again.”
He still didn’t say anything. Sophie started to feel very uneasy inside.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” she persisted. ‘Telling you that I’d been at the masquerade would have served no purpose.”
“I would have known the truth,” he said softly.
“Yes, and what would you have done with that truth?” She sat up, pulling the covers until they were tucked under her arms. “You would have wanted your mystery woman to be your mistress, just as you wanted the housemaid to be your mistress.”
He said nothing, just stared at her face.
“I guess what I’m saying,” Sophie said quickly, “is that if I’d known at the beginning what I know now, I would have said something. But I didn’t know, and I thought I’d just be positioning myself for heartbreak, and—” She choked on her final words, frantically searching his face for some kind of clue to his feelings. “Please say something.”
“I love you,” he said.
It was all she needed.
Epilogue
Sundays bash at Bridgerton House is sure to be the event of the season. The entire family will gather, along  with a hundred or so of their closest friends, to celebrate the dowager vis countess’s birthday.
It is considered crass to mention a lady’s age, and so This Author will not reveal which birthday  Lady Bridgerton is celebrating.
But have no fear.. . This Author knows!
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 30 APRIL 1824
Stop! Stop!”
Sophie shrieked with laughter as she ran down the stone steps that led to the garden behind Bridgerton House. After three children and seven years of marriage, Benedict could still make her smile, still make her laugh .. . and he still chased her  around the house any chance he could get.
“Where are the children?” she gasped, once he’d caught her at the base of the steps.
“Francesca is watching them.”
“And your mother?”
He grinned. “I daresay Francesca is watching her, too.”
“Anyone could stumble upon us out here,” she said, looking this way and that.
His smile turned wicked. “Maybe,” he said, catching hold of her green velvet skirt and reeling her in, “we should adjourn to  the private terrace.”
The words were oh-so-familiar, and it was only a second before she was transported back nine years to the masquerade  ball. “The private terrace, you say?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And how, pray tell, would you know of a private terrace?”
His lips brushed against hers. “I have my ways,” he murmured.
“And I,” she returned, smiling slyly, “have my secrets.”
He drew back. “Oh? And will you share?”
“We five,” she said with a nod, “are about to be six.”
He looked at her face, then looked at her belly. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I was last time.”
He took her hand and raised it to lips. “This one will be a girl.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“I know, but—”
“And the time before.”
“All the more reason for the odds to favor me this time.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad you’re not a gambler.”
He smiled at that. “Let’s not tell anyone yet.”
“I think a few people already suspect,” Sophie admitted.
“I want to see how long it takes that Whistledown woman to figure it out,” Benedict said.
“Are you serious?”
“The blasted woman knew about Charles, and she knew about Alexander, and she knew about William.”
Sophie smiled as she let him pull her into the shadows. “Do you realize that I have been mentioned in Whistledown two hundred and thirty-two times?”
That stopped him cold. “You’ve been counting?”
“Two hundred and thirty-three if you include the time after the masquerade.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been counting.”
She gave him a nonchalant shrug. “It’s exciting to be mentioned.”
Benedict thought it was a bloody nuisance to be mentioned, but he wasn’t about to spoil her delight, so instead he just said,  “At least she always writes nice things about you. If she didn’t, I might have to hunt her down and run her out of the country.”
Sophie couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, please. I hardly think you could discover her identity when no one else in the ton has managed it.”
He raised one arrogant brow. “That doesn’t sound like wifely devotion and confidence to me.”