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And even though she had no idea where she intended to go from this moment on, she had the oddest feeling that her life  had just begun.
Chapter 15
This Author is quite certain that the male half of the population will be uninterested in the following portion  of the column, so you are all given leave to skip to the next section. However, for the ladies, let This Author  be the first to inform you that the Bridgerton family was recently sucked into the battle of the maids that has been raging all season between Lady Penwood and Mrs. Featherington. It seems that the maid attending to  the daughters Bridgerton has defected to the Penwoods, replacing the maid who fled back to the  Featherington household after Lady Penwood forced her to polish three hundred pairs of shoes.
And in other Bridgerton news, Benedict Bridgerton is most definitely back in London. It seems he took ill  while in the country and extended his stay. One wishes that there were a more interesting explanation  (especially when one is, like This Author, dependent upon interesting stories to earn one’s living), but  sadly, that is all there is to it.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 14 MAY 1817
The following morning, Sophie had met five of Benedict’s seven siblings. Eloise, Francesca, and Hyacinth all still lived  with their mother, Anthony had stopped by with his young son for breakfast, and Daphne—who was now the Duchess  of Hastings—had been summoned to help Lady Bridgerton plan the end-of-the-season ball. The only Bridgertons Sophie  hadn’t met were Gregory, who was off at Eton, and Colin, who was off, in Anthony’s words, God-knows-where.
Although, if one wanted to put a fine point on it, Sophie already had met Colin—two years earlier at the masquerade. She  was rather relieved that he was out of town. She doubted that he would recognize her; Benedict, after all, had not. But somehow the thought of meeting him again was quite stressful and unsettling.
Not that that should matter, she thought ruefully. Everything seemed quite stressful and unsettling these days.
Much to Sophie’s extreme lack of surprise, Benedict showed up at his mother’s home the following morning for breakfast. Sophie should have been able to avoid him completely, except that he was loitering in the hall as she tried to make her way down to the kitchen, where she planned to take her morning meal with the rest of the servants.
“And how was your first night at Number Six, Bruton Street?” he inquired, his smile lazy and masculine.
“Splendid,” Sophie replied, stepping aside so that she might make a clean half circle around him.
But as she stepped to her left, he stepped to his right, effectively blocking her path.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said smoothly.
Sophie stepped back to her right. “I was,” she said pointedly.
Benedict was far too debonair to step back to his left, but he somehow managed to turn and lean against a table in just  the right way to once again block her movement. “Have you been given a tour of the house?” he asked.
“By the housekeeper.”
“And of the grounds?”
“There are no grounds.”
He smiled, his brown eyes warm and melting. “There’s a garden.”
“About the size of a pound note,” she retorted.
“Nonetheless...”
“Nonetheless,” Sophie cut in, “I have to eat breakfast.”
He stepped gallantly aside. “Until next time,” he murmured.
And Sophie had the sinking feeling that next time would come quickly indeed.
Thirty minutes later, Sophie edged slowly out of the kitchen, half-expecting Benedict to jump out at her from around a corner. Well, maybe not half-expecting. Judging from the way she couldn’t quite breathe, she was probably whole-expecting.
But he wasn’t there.
She inched forward. Surely he would come bounding down the stairs at any moment, ambushing her with his very presence.
Still no Benedict.
Sophie opened her mouth, then bit her tongue when she realized she’d been about to call out his name.
“Stupid girl,” she muttered.
“Who’s stupid?” Benedict asked. “Surely not you.”
Sophie nearly jumped a foot. “Where did you come from?” she demanded, once she’d almost caught her breath.
He pointed to an open doorway. “Right there,” he answered, his voice all innocence.
“So now you’re jumping out at me from closets!”
“Of course not.” He looked affronted. “That was a staircase.”
Sophie peered around him. It was the side staircase. The servants’ staircase. Certainly not anyplace a family member  would just happen to be walking. “Do you often creep down the side staircase?” she asked, crossing her arms.
He leaned forward, just close enough to make her slightly uncomfortable, and, although she would never admit it to anyone, barely even herself, slightly excited. “Only when I want to sneak up on someone.”
She attempted to brush past him. “I have to get to work.”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes, now.”
“But Hyacinth is eating breakfast. You can hardly dress her hair while she’s eating.”
“I also attend to Francesca and Eloise.”
He shrugged, smiling innocently. “They’re eating breakfast, too. Truly, you have nothing to do.”
“Which shows how little you know about working for a living,” she shot back. “I have ironing, mending, polishing—”