Post by zora on Oct 31, 2022 10:44:53 GMT
template by punki of adoxography
breaking our patterns
--- for Benedict Bridgerton
Returning to London after spending some time in France had been anything but easy for more reasons than she could possibly count. She wasn’t planning on coming back and slipping right back into her usual routine – in a sense, she wasn’t planning to come back at all. The designs she had submitted to Paris’ most respected house of fashion had been rejected and though a part of her was expecting just that she couldn’t help but feel cheated out of an opportunity she had worked so very hard to earn. Hard work was never something she shied away from, but she was well aware that in the past social season, she found herself in the hands of some… distractions. Or to be completely honest, one distraction in particular.
Letting loose at London’s secret parties had never been a problem before and nor was it now – they served her well, emptying her head and providing inspiration. They were a matter of the night, and when they ended so did her thoughts about them. Her thoughts about him persisted, though, and without knowing or intending to he snuck his way into her work, painting her mind and her garments blue, making her cuts and lines more daring – but her art wasn’t like his. Fashion was very much bound by the rules of society, even though Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t. Her art had to come first. She had to come first – so the only thing she could do was push him out.
If only it weren’t so damned hard to do so. When she ran into him at Eloise’s fabric choosing on the Bridgerton estate she could barely look into his eyes and a part of her hoped that would tell him all he needed to know. Yet it felt just like turning the page for her as well, when their book needed to be closed. She was left scrambling to find the right words to end the prologue. “Monsieur Bridgerton.” A letter she sent him was brief, telling him to come to her shop just after closing hours. She had sent her apprentice out to fetch some fabrics, ensuring them al least some privacy, but gathered the tall windows of her store would grant her distance from him – distance she dreaded, but knew she needed. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Letting loose at London’s secret parties had never been a problem before and nor was it now – they served her well, emptying her head and providing inspiration. They were a matter of the night, and when they ended so did her thoughts about them. Her thoughts about him persisted, though, and without knowing or intending to he snuck his way into her work, painting her mind and her garments blue, making her cuts and lines more daring – but her art wasn’t like his. Fashion was very much bound by the rules of society, even though Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t. Her art had to come first. She had to come first – so the only thing she could do was push him out.
If only it weren’t so damned hard to do so. When she ran into him at Eloise’s fabric choosing on the Bridgerton estate she could barely look into his eyes and a part of her hoped that would tell him all he needed to know. Yet it felt just like turning the page for her as well, when their book needed to be closed. She was left scrambling to find the right words to end the prologue. “Monsieur Bridgerton.” A letter she sent him was brief, telling him to come to her shop just after closing hours. She had sent her apprentice out to fetch some fabrics, ensuring them al least some privacy, but gathered the tall windows of her store would grant her distance from him – distance she dreaded, but knew she needed. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”